#please send more for as long as you want to read them!

[gyuswhore]

Never Shall We Die (3; final)

«« Nothing is too outlandish when it’s a life of liberty on the line. »» 

PAIRING: kwon soonyoung x reader

PLAYLIST: right here!

pirate lingo glossary (pls refer!)

SYNOPSIS: Deadliest pirate on the high seas or a damn fool? The stupid King and his men have snatched Hoshi's precious pirate ship with their too clean, too soft hands; grounds to question his own vices. Except, when he and his crew land in the quarters of a navy ship, revenge on their roster, they stumble across a princess in its gallows. Hoshi wonders if he's just struck gold, or if you'd become the final tread to his downfall.

GENRES: pirate!au, enemies to lovers, slowburn, angst, fluff, smut [minor dni], some pirates of the carribean vibes but ? idk

WORD COUNT [full fic]: 48.1k

Part 1: 17.07k | Part 2: 15.2k | Part 3 [final] : 15.8k

@highvern's out of context comment box: new fear unlocked: hoshi with explosives, victorian ankle moment, HATE HIM (need him carnally), hoshi covered in soapy water would distract me enough, strip for me pirate mingyu [hes litrally taking off his jacket], your honor hes a bitch, freaks!, mingyu crushes hoshi's head like a grape, WONWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, massive dick, the way i literally gasped like an old scandalized woman

masterlist

WARNINGS: slowburn, plot heavy, happy ending bc no angsty endings in this household, being taken hostage, knives, bombs, and guns, mentions of blood, mentions of SA (does not happen and it is not explicitly mentioned), alcohol, mentions of death (patricide), hoshi is ✨selectively moral✨but kind of moral nonetheless, side character death, [pls lmk if im missing something its alot] smut tags: hoshi loves thighs, corruption kink to the mAX, clit stimulation, oral (f. receiving), breast play, p in v sex (unprotected, 1800s contraception will make you prefer it but pls dont do this irl), making out

[AN]: final part oh my god if youve read the other parts up till now, THANK YOU SO MUCH I LOVE YOU i hope you guys enjoyed reading this as much as i loved writing it, im really proud of this fic and im so happy so many of you have enjoyed it so far. @highvern betaing as always ty for not giving up on me. AS ALWAYS, PLS TELL ME YOUR THOTS IN THE RBS OR THE REPLIES OR SEND ME AN ASK LITERALLY WTV MUAH MUAH HAPPY READING <3

THIS IS THE NICEST PRISON Hoshi has ever been in, which was saying something, because he had been in quite a lot of prisons. 

But it was uncomfortable nonetheless, six grown men tied up and shoved into a crouching space to be done with as the men that prowled above pleased. 

Hoshi would be lying if he said he hadn’t had to restrain from pushing some of those sorry soldiers into the ice waters beyond the glaciers. He had resisted, the crew had resisted, but just enough to convince them of their unwillingness. 

Hoshi had realised early on that there was no possible way of getting aboard Tigress without somehow climbing aboard the King’s boat first. The king wasn’t about to simply hand Hoshi’s ship over, and there was no indication that they'd wait till after nightfall to depart. 

Hoshi also knew that the King would refuse to have him die so easily in the waters of the Green Islands, his pride depended on it. He imagines the man drawing up the specifics of the most gruesome execution the Kingdom would ever see. Hoshi was counting on it. 

The bounds could’ve been broken out of and the locks somehow picked, but Hoshi also knew that he had to wait. Wait for you to find him first. 

“What’s taking her so long?” Jun asks. He’d been the most anxious out of all, the shaking feet and restless moving making it clear. 

“The bomb won’t…go off still strapped to her, will it?” Minghao asks and Hoshi isn’t quite sure he wants to know the answer. 

“It shouldn’t. Not until she pulls the tab. But…”

“But?” Hoshi whips around. “Why is there a but? You were supposed to make sure there was no but!”

“Big bomb, more boom, less predictable!” 

“Are you sure we can’t break out and look for her ourselves?” Mingyu grumbles, the most compromised with his longer limbs folded in uncomfortable positions.

“The minute they know we’re loose they’ll swarm her. There won’t be a way to get to her, not without fighting off every last bastard on this ship. They’ve taken our stuff too, we don’t stand a chance.”

They did, actually, stand a chance. But that was only if they were to break away and head straight for Tigress that was empty and standing right beside this very ship. But they couldn’t. Hoshi couldn’t. Not without taking you with him. 

Nobody dares to suggest the easier route, and he doubts it’s just because of what he wants. 

But panic was beginning to trickle into Hoshi’s veins anyway, the closed off brig refusing to give him any indication of the time of day. 

The sun was only beginning to set when they were taken to the ship, and he knew they were near done for if they didn’t finish what they started before nightfall. He can’t tell how long it’s been, and it eats away at his insides. 

Please be okay. 

And then he hears it, the sound of a body hitting the floors with a loud thud, a chortle of air before it’s knocked out. He finds himself sitting up straighter, pressing his hands to bars of the prison, trying to peer out the narrow walkway that leads to the doors. 

And then you appear in the lamplight, haphazard and ruffled up beyond measure. 

The knife in your hand drips with blood, your shirt torn at the arms, your hands bloodied and bruised. 

When Hoshi sees your face he almost doesn’t recognise you. 

There’s angry blooming marks of red and purple all across your neck and collarbone, your eyes bloodshot and red, watering like you’d been swimming in salt water. 

“Who did this?” he asks before anything else, watching you drop to your knees in front of the prison, unanswering as you fumbled with a giant ring of keys in your hand. 

You jam each key into the lock, twisting it to no avail. Your hands are shaking. 

The crew finally twist out of their loose bonds, Minghao lurching forward immediately, swatting your hands away. He picks out a few skinny pins from his boot, picking the rusty lock. Despite the strange angle, the bars creak open within seconds. 

“There’s…There’s ropes hooked onto the ship on the main deck.” 

Your voice sounds like you’re speaking through sandpaper, talking while struggling to emerge with the bomb you had. 

Hoshi doesn’t know what to do when he crawls out of the space. 

He’d had it all figured out in his head, what would happen in every possible outcome. You getting hurt wasn’t in any of his universal conclusions; especially not on this ship. They’d kill his crew, they might even kill the King with themselves, but you were meant to remain unscathed. 

“Why–why do you look like that? What happened?” Nothing registers in his head, not even when Jun is pushing him out into the hall. 

“Get up to the deck and get out across the lines!” Jun gruffs in his ears. “That bomb’s gonna go off with us still on here.”

He sees the canister that lies in the same prison they had just exited, he sees your mouth moving without sound. All he can think of are the distinct fingerprints around your throat and how it looked like somebody tried to kill you before they tried to kill him. 

“Soonyoung,” he hears you say in a broken voice and that’s all it takes for him to snap out of it. 

His crew is looking at him expectantly. He looks back at the door and sees the crumpled bodies of the prison guards. 

So much for leaving quietly. 

The minute Hoshi is out the door of the brig, he finds a chest next to the collapsed, bleeding soldiers. Kicking it open, he can only scoff as he finds the entire crew’s weapons in such close vicinity. 

He feels better with his dagger at his hip, along with the rest of his knives that he slips into the loops. Even more so with the rest of his crew armed and ready. 

“We know where the deck is.” He swallows, eyeing his crew’s weapons in their ready hands. He knew they’d agreed to ensure the clean sinking of the ship, but the fallen bodies on the floor were an ode to a different route they’d have to take. “Don’t hesitate if someone gets in your way.”

Taking cautious steps to the upper decks, he finds more bodies collapsed onto the floor, bleeding and unconscious. He opts to ask you the details later, wondering how you were able to take down all these guards by yourself. 

It isn’t until they reach the stairs that lead to the main deck that he comes across a guard. 

Before the witness can raise any alarm, Hoshi’s slamming the butt of his dagger into the side of his head, knocking him clean unconscious as he falls off the side of the short railing. 

Clambering up the steps as quietly as possible, he raises a hand behind him to signal his crew to halt, peering into the main deck first. 

The sun is still out, but low in the sky as it dips in the sky. There’s a few people on the deck, pacing and moving about in preparation for departure. Angling his gaze, he finds ropes suspended over the edge of the railing, parallel to the water. 

He can’t see Tigress, but he knows that’s what the ropes are hooked on to. 

“Jun,” he beckons. “How long till the bomb on the other ship goes off?”

The bomb Jun had planted in the first ship they had arrived in should be going off any time now, and Hoshi finds himself needing it to go off now. 

Jun barely opened his mouth to reply when the ship shuddered. 

For a moment, Hoshi thinks the bomb in the brigs had gone off, but when he finds the clambering of boots to one side of the ship, opposite to where the ropes tied to Tigress, he realises their surrogate ship had given its last gift to the crew. 

The rest of the ship would be bounding to the main deck to inspect the noise soon, so he shoots a quick, “Hurry!” behind him before stepping onto the main deck. 

The entire deck is occupied with the ship that lies a ways away across the expanse of sea, the beginnings that would soon lead the entire ship to be engulfed in flames. It’s tilting at a dangerous angle. 

Hoshi stands as he uses the crew straight towards the ropes that lead to Tigress. Glancing, he finds Mingyu and Chan already hanging on the suspended ropes, making their way towards the empty deck of their ship. 

Hoshi keeps his eyes on the occupied men on board, still staring at the lightshow that was their old ship. It isn’t until one of them turns, eyes towards the stairs that lead to the lower decks, that his eyes dart to the unfamiliar men on the deck. 

“Fuck,” Hoshi curses, before lunging, grabbing the man by the shoulders and covering his mouth, dragging him wordlessly to the edge before throwing him off the ship and into the icy waters below. 

“Go!” he hears you rasp brom behind him, ushering him to the ropes. 

The crew is gone, Jun making the last jump to land on the deck. They’re running around, pulling ropes and fastening the sails to push the ship off into open waters as soon as possible. 

There’s two ropes that tie the two ships together, and Hoshi ushers you onto one of them, pushing you to suspend yourself before he follows. 

“There’s not enough time, go to the other one!” you tell him, pushing him to hold onto the other tattered rope. 

Soonyoung eyes your state, “Are you sure you can—”

“Yes! I promise I can, please, before they cut both the ropes.”

So he trusts you, eyes straight ahead to the railing of his ship, gripping the rough, frayed rope to push himself towards the deck. His hands burn, but he finds himself moving ever closer to his final destination. 

His hand grabs hold of the wooden railing of his Tigress at long last, pulling himself onto the deck of his beloved ship. Immediately whipping his head to his right, he tries to find you reaching the ship with him. The crew is preoccupied in attempting to get the ship ready for departure, he finds your form nowhere. 

When he looks back, the rope he had climbed was gone, leaving gaping space in its absence. He trails the second rope, from the hook that had dug into the railing of Tigress’s wood, trailing it to the naval ship’s deck. 

What he sees puts his heart in his throat. 

You stand on the deck of your father’s ship, swarmed by now alert guards and soldiers who swarm you, yelling profanities and orders as they watch their prisoners get away right in front of them. 

Hoshi watches as you lift your dagger, and cut the last rope that ties you together, free to fall and hit against the hull of his ship.

He calls out your name in what could only be described as a guttural scream. 

His crew halts whatever it was they were doing, taking the steps to realise what had just happened. 

Hoshi’s boot meets the top of the railing, ready to take the plunge into the water. He’d climb back up the ship and get you out. He doesn’t know what you were thinking, what he was thinking when he left you there, but he’d get you out. 

Arms pulling him, he’s yanked back and positively thrown onto the deck.

“What is wrong with you?” Minghao yells, pushing his captain back as he springs up. 

“She—”

Your father emerges from the crowd of guards and soldiers that run rampant on the deck, approaching you at the railing of the main deck. 

Hoshi sees the hand that remains on his shoulder, the blood that covers the still bleeding wound, the effort it takes him to simply walk. 

The bruises on your neck, the wound at his shoulder that looks like it was slashed through by a knife. 

And then it clicks in Hoshi’s head, what had truly happened in the hours that you were out of his sight. And all he sees is red.

WITH THE WAY THE words on the pages seem to double, you would’ve thought you were going mad. 

You’re a child, barely grown into your own body as you sit in the dimly lit library of the palace, utterly exhausted, wishing to be anywhere but sitting at the wooden desk with your name on it. The moon barely shone through the window, your only source of light the fireplace that burned in the corner and your lamplight. 

It was a time where you felt like you could prove yourself, that perhaps, the reason your father refused you his approval was because you were simply not working hard enough. And now, at an hour where you should be fast asleep in your four poster bed, you attempt to understand diplomatic structures and everything that made your country what it was. 

It was late, and there was nothing you would’ve liked more than to put your head on the table and rest your eyes for a few tantalising seconds, which you do, right over the book you were reading. 

You awoke in the same place, shaken awake by a panicked looking servant, the sun shining through the great windows of the palace library.

It seems your disappearance from your bedchambers had put the entire palace in disarray, not realising the princess was fast asleep behind the giant pile of books other servants had already skimmed past thrice. 

Not only were you unable to recite the rankings of the constitutions with the vigour your father required, but you were unable to give him a reason as to why you were absent for both breakfast and morning lessons. 

He made the servants kneel in the throne room for hours, and did not fail to tell you that it was all your fault.

And now, in the ice cold of the Green Islands, old and wise enough to know that your father simply needed a reason to despise his heir, you accept the hands around your throat as his final act of terror. 

Red faced and arms shaking, your father does not speak to you as he presses down on your windpipe with all his might. Your vision is going dark and splotchy, and you decide, for a moment, to let him have this moment. 

He’s too preoccupied in applying his pressure to realise that you’ve raised your right foot enough for your hands to fish out your knife from its place, taking positivity in the handle of your knife that fits in your hand. 

Before you can lose consciousness, you raise your arm high, and plunge it directly into his neck. 

Howling, he releases you from his hold, both of you dropping to the floor of the ship with a resonating thud. You cough, sputter and hack, cold hands finding your now warm neck. 

Your father lays clutching his shoulder as he remains in agony on the floor, and you realise you missed the crucial plunge in your own disarray. 

It was good enough, rendering the old man incapable of finding his bearings. 

You watch as he writhes on the floor of the quarters that almost became your figurative deathbed, the same hands that wrapped around his own daughter’s throat now clutching the shallow wound that renders him useless. 

Standing over him, throwing your own shadow on his body, you feel a surge of power, a rush of adrenaline that shoots straight to your head. Perhaps this was your circulation returning from the deprivation, but you let the feeling imprint in your soul, let your father’s broken figure bring you satisfaction.

You leave him there, writhing in pain, digging your knife under the lock of the quarters, pulling back to break it away from the door. The guards stationed outside do nothing as you leave, and it isn’t until you’ve taken to lower decks that you hear the distinct yell of, “Your Majesty!”

Two more guards, who don’t expect an altercation from their princess, simply buffer as you send your knife plunging into them both. You do it deep this time. 

Nobody was innocent, you knew these people as your father’s closest men, and knew that all of them were to remain silent as their King murdered his daughter. And when the remorse doesn’t do that thing where it trickles in after doing a bad thing, you decide you weren’t part of the innocents either.

It’s easier than you would’ve expected to get to the crew in the brig, letting out a sigh of relief as you appreciate the familiarity of people on your side. 

And when Hoshi took his place to guide everyone out and into the open space of the main deck, you let your racing mind rest and decide to trust the man in whatever decision he made to lead you all out. And he did, he led himself and his crew right into the ship that was theirs, safe and where they would have the upper hand. 

Hoshi didn’t know it when he climbed onto the ropes that lead to his boat that he wouldn’t have made it if you hadn’t stayed, hadn’t used your voice of authority to keep the soldiers from attempting to shoot at the escapees, cut the rope while Hoshi remained suspended from it, still only halfway there. 

You didn’t look at him when you sliced both ropes before either party could pull back, didn’t register him screaming your name across the void, pretending it wasn’t taking everything out of your strength.

But you couldn’t jump into the water, not now when a dozen of the royal guards remained ready to take the plunge to save their princess as their duty. The same guards that would comply with their king when told the princess was dead for reasons they all knew but were to forget. 

The bomb had to go off first, and you had to keep them away from hooking another line to the ship in the meantime. You were operating on a flawed plan and an overenthusiastic crowd of guards that were moments away from shooting a canon straight into the side of the disconnected pirate ship.  

The distraction comes in the form of your father parting the crowd of soldiers like the red sea, swatting every soldier that attempts to help his bleeding form for anything it was worth. He approaches you at the railing, and for once, you don’t look at the ground in his presence. 

“Bold,” he heaves, the effort in his voice apparent. “Bold of you to think you could slip away.”

“I haven’t tried to slip away, father,” you correct. “I’ve stayed right here, even after you failed to kill me. And I, you.” 

“Nobody is going to listen to you, child. Give in. This is the easy way out,” he says. 

As if on cue, Jun’s bomb goes off for the second time, but this time the ship shudders with more force. It has your father unbalance and fall, along with multiple other soldier’s stumbling. You grip the railing tight, counting on your father’s need to live. 

Despite your horrid throat and the ache in your body, you announce as loud as you can. “The bomb is in the brig, this ship is sinking.”

The fallen king trembles in a rage you had never quite seen before. Any other time of your life, you would’ve wished for the ground to swallow you whole to be the subject of such anger. 

Except, in the setting sun, a burning ship in the background, a pirate ship that awaits you, and the ground beneath your feet that was actively sinking into the freezing water; you smile at your doomed King. 

“Get to the brig! Secure the lower decks, do not let this ship sink or so help me God!” His voice rings across the deck, spittle blowing from his mouth at the situation. 

And just like that, your father gives you the final gift of clearing the main deck out for you, leaving but a few straggling soldiers that are too preoccupied with either the sinking ship or their bleeding sovereign. 

Looking back, you find the crew of Tigress standing at the railing, you find Hoshi already half over the edge and send him a slow nod. 

Turning back to your father that remains on the floor of the ship that would become his coffin, you utter your next words; for yourself, and the girl that was every second before this, all the way to her first ever memory of sad:

“You’ve taught me to be a ruler fit to be the best for our Kingdom. Consider your death my first act of service for the Crown.”

And then you jumped into the darkening void of the waters below. 

The cold feels like every nerve in your body ceased to work. 

It was nothing at first, the temperature so intense it had your body numb in the face of shock. And then it grew, to a striking cold, and then a feeling that pricked every inch of your skin like a million needles plunging into your body. It was only getting worse with each passing second, before it was so painful it was hot, going from cold to searing and blistering like you’d plunged into the licks of flames. 

Nowhere in your body did you find a rational sense of mind, something to tell you to kick, flail or float. The warped sky was an orange through the green, only more vibrant. Like there were two ships actively burning on the surface of this water. 

Hoshi’s face appears behind your closing eyelids, like a mirage or a taunt. Like he was there with you when he wasn’t. 

Would he come for you? Would he take the plunge for the girl he held in his arms, promising her something to fill the gap of a companion, right before she killed her own? 

You’d given him what he wanted; your father, his worst enemy, dying as he sank slowly into the bottom of the ocean. You’d run your course of use, and if he was as smart as people claimed, he’d leave you to suffer the same fate as your father. 

He could find his freedom elsewhere. 

And you would find your freedom in the close of your eyes, and the sinking feeling of nothingness. 

Except, you feel a hardness against your body, stronger even than the current of the waters. Moving impossibly upwards, you remember opening your eyes to find a leather cord suspended in the float of the water, before you remember nothing. 

THE GREEN ISLANDS WERE on fire.  

But as unnatural as it seemed, Hoshi had no inclination to register anything but the way the ship in front of him tilts so far out it's already half submerged in the waters. He’d assumed they might have to ready the cannons, but with the way debris and hollowed wood floats in the waters below, they would not need to. 

The King was about to be introduced to Davy Jones’ Locker at the hands of his enemy and successor, but Hoshi could not care enough right now to relish in it. 

Right now, he stares at the direct circumference of water your body had made contact with and disappeared into, like the world would explode if he lost his place. 

“Should I jump as well?” Mingyu asks, already half taking his boots off. However, when the man turns to find his captain gone, he lurches over the railing to find his captain diving into the water through all the debris.

Hoshi lets the momentum of his dive take him as further down as possible, whipping his head around as soon as his eyes open into the abyss. The water ripples and erupts in showers of bubbles as broken pieces of ship come apart to fall into the water. It blurs his vision immensely, any ripple that could be you in the water coming out to be yet another piece of wasted wood. 

The deeper he goes, the more the water presses into his ears. He was a good swimmer, good at holding his breath when needed, but even he had limits. 

When he cannot see any sign of you, he begins to feel the churning of something skin to panic brew. Panic was never good, not this deep in the water. 

Twisting and turning, flailing about in place, moving dangerously closer to the burning ship that continued to drop flaming bits of killing slabs, he finds no sign of you in the water. 

Instead, he watches men in uniform sink deeper and deeper in their failed attempts to stay afloat. 

All he can think about is if they were losing the battle for air, then so were you, somewhere deeper in the void than he was. He prays that he’s looking aimlessly, that you’ve already somehow made your way to the surface by yourself, and you were safe on the deck. 

The beaded bracelet that remained on his wrist, but belonged to you. 

“A reason for you to come out of this alive.”

Even without the encasing on his wrist, you had given him more than enough reason to want to come out of this alive, to want to live beyond just for himself and his duty to the crew he’d taken in. 

He chose the life of a pirate because it was his only out, and every member of his crew that he recruited in succession, he acted as the hand he had needed so desperately in that awful brothel where his mother despised him and his father, a faceless man of Port Ash. 

Amphitrite was not kind, it was a lesson he learned quickly in his first ventures out at sea. So he too, had to learn to be unkind, to survive in the horrid bellies of ships that weren’t his own. And when Tigress came into his life like a vessel of hope, he found a home in her merciful wood, in the ship that he could call his very own. 

Hoshi lived as a free man on his ship, with his crew that had become his brothers in ways beyond what the thick of blood could offer. He did not care if he lived or died after that, as long as it was on his ship, in the waters that held no quarter for anyone, but gave him everything that nothing else could give him. 

And so when you approached him with a proposal so bizarre yet so apt for a man like him, he could not refuse. It may have been the way he saw himself in you, terrified of the prospects  but thirsting for an escape more than the fear that came with it. 

Besides, the king was a nuisance that needed to go, and he found himself agreeing to play the hand too complicated for you. 

What he did not expect was to end up here, in the depths of the ocean in the most uninhabitable part of the earth, trying to pull you out of the cold, unrelenting sea. 

Hoshi realises in that moment that this might ruin him, the possibility of breaking the surface without you. 

He decides that if the heavens do not let him find you, he would simply drown in the same waters that gave him purpose, and find peace with the idea that he would lay rest in the same waters as the person who might have given him something more. 

Kwon Soonyoung, the deadliest pirate to cleave the seas, was in love with you. A princess, so undeserving of a man like him; a bastard, a rogue, a good for nothing criminal. 

And when he spots the all too familiar build of your form, the linen shirt under the corset he had tied for you just hours ago, the dark brown trousers that signified the change he’d brought into your life, he swore to leave everything he’d ever known to thank the skies and seas for bringing him to you.

His burning lungs, screaming and searing for air, grabbing for your suspended arm that looked as defeated as your closed eyes. Tugging you towards him, he wraps his arm around you to press you to him as tight as he could. 

Relief. And with the warm sting in his eyes that he doubted was from the salt in the water, he’s sure of everything he’s felt with the feeling of you in his arms. 

With the bruising on your neck, the bleeding wound in your father’s shoulder, he finds it within his breaking body to begin kicking upwards. 

Every limb, every cell, every hint of life in his body shrieked with its efforts to make him stop. There was no air in his lungs and he’d lost track of time in his search for you, he doesn’t know how long he has. 

But if the blots of nothingness in his eyes were anything to go with, he doesn’t presume he has much. In a last ditch effort, he attempts to kick his boots off to weigh him down a little less, holding your dead weight tighter than anything. 

He was so close, he could feel the warmth of the upper levels of the water change in its temperature on his skin. The glow was near blinding as the orange refracted on the disrupted surface of the ocean, so close yet so far. 

Inch by inch, kick by kick, memory by memory, he does everything left in his drained power to touch the surface. 

And he does, breaking out hand first into the burning air of the world above, taking the longest gasp of air he ever has in his life. Once he’s sure he knows where he is, he pushes you up further on his chest, your head resting against his collarbone, still unconscious. 

“Stay with me, princess,” he pants into your ear, hoping you could hear. “I’ve got you.”

Chan and Mingyu are in the water beside him, pushing him towards the pulley that awaited them. 

Mingyu makes an attempt to take your weight of his already struggling captain, but Hoshi finds himself holding on to you tighter, simply urging him to help him back on the deck. 

The minute your head hits the wood of the deck, he’s checking your pulse. There’s no regard for the chaos that ensues around Tigress, both him and his crew too preoccupied with the way you were not breathing. 

“I–I can’t feel anything,” he stutters his words as Seungkwan places a less panicked hand at your neck, under your nose. 

“It’s weak, she’s taken in too much water.”

In an instant, he reaches for his knife at his hip, only to realise it was gone, lost somewhere in his rescue. 

“Knife,” he rasps before repeating louder. “Someone give me a knife!” 

The minute a hilt is in his hands, he’s pushing you over, to reach the back of your constricting corset, pushing his knife into the complicated sailing knot he’d tied it into before, breaking it free. With both hands, he takes hold of the top of the corset and rips it clean in half. 

Turning you back over, he presses his hands over your clothed stomach, pushing into it with all his strength in an attempt to get the water out of your system. He keeps his eyes on your face, and when he sees no sign of you coming round, he feels another set of hands pushing him off. 

Seungkwan takes over for his weakened captain, pushing into your stomach harder, attempting to get a break out of you. 

“Why isn’t she coming around, what’s going on?” He throws the question aimlessly as he takes your unmoving face in his hands, trembling from everything. 

Only a moment later, he hears the glorious sound of you sputtering like something was stuck in your throat, promptly spilling out an ungodly amount of water onto the deck as you retch loudly. 

Sitting up from the force, your hands clamp onto the deck as you cough and heave, Hoshi’s hand coming behind you to thump your back hard, pushing you to throw up any remaining seawater from your body. 

The sight of your back moving up and down, the audible sound of you taking in air; it was enough for Hoshi to simply lay on the deck and pass out. 

You rear your head and look up at him, both of you still breathing heavily. 

“You’re okay,” he assures, gulping. He takes your face in hands cupping it very gently as he speaks to you. “Go with Seungkwan, you’re okay, you’re safe.”

Nodding, you let yourself be helped up by the rest of the crew, watching as you’re led to the lower decks of the ship. 

“Open your shirt, let me see the wound,” Mingyu says, and Hoshi doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Looking down, he sees his shirt soaked in red, sticking to a wound on the right side of his torso. He didn’t even know where he got it. 

It looks like a shallow gash, but enough to leave a scar. He takes it better to have it tended to while he was still high on adrenaline and he couldn’t feel much of the pain. 

By the time Mingyu and Minghao are done cleaning him up and Hoshi’s standing upright with wobbly legs, he finds the two burning ships beyond his own mere floating structures of wood that were in slow flame. There’s too much debris, too many bits of everything that bob in the large expanse of water to make out any bodies. 

“There’s nobody,” Mingyu tells him. “Most of them were in lower decks when it all went down. Trapped themselves.”

“And…?” he asks in silence. 

“He stayed on the deck until it sank,” Minghao informs. “Yelling about how he…about how he should’ve finished her when he had the chance.”

“Horrible king and somehow an even worse father,” Mingyu scoffs. “Made it better to watch him die.”

“He didn’t suffer enough,” Hoshi croaks as the marks on your throat dot his vision. 

Just then, floating in the water, illuminated by the final streaks of setting light, Hoshi sees it. A darkened purple cloth right next to the hull.

“That,” he points out. “Get that out of the water.”

The late king’s purple cape laid on the deck of Tigress, darkened with water, but also with his blood.

To the Kingdom, this cape would be the last piece of their King that was gone too soon. But for every person on this ship, it would forever be their spoils of war.

Hoshi makes sure the cape will be dried and stored, ordering his crew to begin their slow journey out of the Green Islands, before he too crumples onto the deck unconscious. 

IT WAS A SPECTACLE to see Hoshi in his element. 

Something about how he seemed to beam, like this ship was charging him a different kind of energy. It was infectious, the rest of the ship decreasingly sour as they put on musical performances on the main deck while they cleaned the floors. 

As relieved as you felt, the tight ball of anxiety refused to leave the pit of your stomach as you grew closer to the Kingdom. Nothing could prepare you for the shitstorm you’d have to deal with the moment you’d step onto the soil off a pirate ship of all things—let alone as Queen. 

The first few days following the ship's exit from the Green Islands were difficult, if that was all you had to describe it. You took to your hammock for most of the day, curled up as you pretended to sleep, only waking up when one of the crew would come down to force feed you and to make sure you hadn’t died. 

You knew they were doing all this to make you feel better, and somehow it was working. More than halfway through your journey, you began to feel more like yourself, emerging from your cave to visit the deck on times other than the nights. 

Even now, as you sit on the floor of the deck with Seungkwan, who hands you an all too familiar stack of parchment, you feel nothing as you take them into your hands. As you read his handwriting scrawled in ink, you appreciate your past self for having the sense to keep them all. 

“I’m glad you’re feeling better now,” he says to you. “Had us worried for a while there.”

“Sorry.” You smile weakly. “But thank you for…everything. I don’t think I could ever express how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. All of you.”

“I’d like to think we’ve gone past the status of mere business partners,” Seungkwan chuckles. “Lion befriends the bear? Whatever it is. But know we’d do it again.”

Blinking back the sting of tears and doing your very best to not let the warm feeling in your chest overwhelm you, you place the letters on the floor next to your folded legs. When you look up, Seungkwan's eyes are on your neck.

“They’re taking their time to fade, aren’t they?” you say. 

Seungkwan has a hard look in his eye, “I guess you didn’t need your letters to remind you of anything after all.”

Your mind wanders, drifting past how easily this crew could have been forgotten in the unforgiving elements. Perhaps you would have let the man that wrapped his hands around your neck finish his job.

“Was getting captured part of your grand plan?” you ask Seungkwan. 

“Hm?” It takes a moment to realise what you may be questioning him about, smiling slightly. “What makes you think we went in with a plan?”

“I thought I asked you to man the wheel?” Hoshi stands above the both of you.

“Not to batten down the hatches,” he side-eyed his captain. “Clear waters ahead, the wheel does not need manning.” 

You zone out as they squabble over nothing, not finding the heart to be entertained by their back and forth. Seungkwan either loses or forfeits, because you feel him rise from next to you, only for his captain to take his place. 

“What are you thinking about?” Hoshi asks. 

“Everything,” you sigh. 

“How come Seungkwan gets a thank you for your service and I don’t? Need I remind you who jumped for you and who didn’t?”

Rolling your eyes, you answer him, “Thank you, Captain Hoshi Kwon, I am forever indebted to your service.”

He chuckles in exaggeration, “Oh please, all in a day's work.”

“I mean it.”

“Hm?”

“I never did say thank you. But you did jump for me when you didn’t have to.”

“Who said I didn’t have to?”

“Our deal was done.”

“Of course not,” he scoffs. “Our deal was to get you out when you jumped. I merely honoured that promise!”

“Merely?” you raise a brow. “Was it all merely a matter of conscience?”

His gaze locks with yours. “Don’t ask questions you know the answers for. I would’ve jumped even if you asked me to rope myself to the mast.”

“Please. I have enough blood on my hands and I haven’t even sat on my throne yet.”

“Blood is only on your hands if you tell a soul of what you’ve done,” Hoshi utters. “You’re the only living soul who knows.”

“And you are…?”

“Pirate. Our word means nothing.” Hoshi smiles. 

The thought hangs in the air as you take in the man in front of you. He’s changed an era’s worth, yet all the same. His hair is longer, going from his initial shorter crop to curling around his ears, shielding his eyes. It makes him look younger, like a boy with much to live for. 

That, and the multitude of notable scars he’s added to his collection, many of which have somehow been because of you. The wound at his torso is doing better, but far to go in its quest to heal. 

Hoshi senses something amiss even after his sermon. Breaking his gaze, he turns to look straight ahead at the raised bow of the ship instead. 

“Do you know how I got my splendid reputation for being the filthiest pirate on the seas?”

You can only stare, “I have a few guesses.”

He chortles, “Other than my criminal status.”

“Tell me.”

“Unnamed sailors have the odds of a peanut facing its inevitable fate of being crushed under a straggling boot. Pirates don’t see the government as their enemy when they’re own supposed brothers are more likely to jam a cannon in their mouths.”

He lets out a heavy sigh before continuing, “My mistake wasn’t that I was on the losing side in my early days, but more about how I was leaving nothing behind when I was done.”

“How humble,” you hum. 

“Dead men tell no tales. When it’s worth it, it might be better to leave a straggler or two to live to tell the tale. A routine stab in the jugular can turn you into somewhat of a myth.”

“Am I a survivor?” you question. 

“You may be sovereign on land, but you’re also an unnamed pirate,” he responds, turning back to lock eyes with you. “And you’ve left nobody to tell the tale.”

No one listens to a pirate, and everyone listens to a Queen. 

“This isn’t to say there won’t be a legend that follows you.” He quirks a brow as he speaks. “Shows up and claims her father and his entire ship and crew sank at sea, only to befriend his sworn enemies in the aftermath. And then it evolves; she sent a cannon through her fathers ship, he died at the end of his own daughter's sword, she cursed him to captain a crew of the undead for eternity.”

“Have I planted the seeds for yet another ghost story?” It’s difficult to not giggle at the thought, despite how morbid. 

“You’ve given yourself substance,” he says, a little stronger than before. His eyes too, wander to your neck and the bruises that refuse to budge. “Beyond just a royal or even a pirate. You did it for your honour as a human being, and that may be braver than anything I have ever conquered.”

In your anxiety ridden, feeble mind, your thoughts had convinced your conscience that everything would be over the minute your father’s heart stopped beating. That it would bring you peace at last. 

And it did, especially when it felt like you’d gotten rid of this constant monster under the bed that had followed you far into adulthood. But from the bleeding heart of the creature emerged yet another one of its brethren, and then another and then another. 

Smaller albeit, but monsters nonetheless. Problems nonetheless. 

Weeks of this, and in one short interaction, Hoshi seemed to have given you the key to turn this monster into a pet. 

On instinct, you feel your hand reach up, brushing against the skin of his cheek. It’s an all too familiar setting, seated on the deck of a ship too close for anybody but yours’ comfort. But without the rum and resentment, of course. And how you doubt he’d pull away this time. 

Very lightly, you brush your lips against his. It was nothing but to simply feel him again, to feel a semblance of familiarity. 

You feel him take your hand that rests on his cheek to place a kiss on your palm, nuzzling his nose into the concave of your hand. 

Everything that was to come seemed a little more possible in that very moment. 

Even more so when his fingers found the sensitive areas of your coloured throat, when his lips closed against your jaw, only to trail lower and to press into the marks his fingers continue to trail tucked into your neck. 

That night, when slipping into your hammock felt like the most unbearable prospect in your near future, it couldn’t possibly be worse than uttering your next question to the man that seems to fix it all.  

“Will you stay with me?”

With nothing but the light snores of the rest of the crew and the creaking of the ship, both you and Soonyoung laid in a hammock most definitely not meant for two. Head on his chest, ear pressed against where his heart beats under his scar, it’s bliss. 

The feeling of his warm body against yours and the scent of him settling in your lungs, you decide that this was enough. At least for now. 

IT WAS DIFFICULT TO give yourself the full list for obvious reasons, but it does seem to help when you tick off all the possible reasons why your patience has run as thin as it has. 

Sitting at the decorated seat at the convened court of old men appointed by your father, you briefly wonder if you should finish them off too amidst your flash of anger. The men continue to squabble and babble about the next course of action, slamming their wrinkled hands on the pristine table and sending their own daggers of threats to the other inhabitants of the table. 

“If you’d like to send a search party for the King’s body, be my guest,” you finally speak, having had quite enough when the throb in your temple worsens. “But remind me what troops you’ll be sending to the North if your best men will be gone for months attempting to find a body they never will.”

The dispute in the North side of the Kingdom was taking up most of the conversation anyway, and you doubt they’d put customary burial rites over their own glory of victory the North would bring. 

“Your Majesty—”

“I would happily jump on the next search ship for my father,” you lie through your teeth. “But I watched him drown in front of my own two eyes, and as the next sovereign I cannot let you waste our resources for something that will both risk our soldier’s lives and have them come back home empty handed.”

Perhaps you had come off slightly more heartless than you intended, so you quickly add, “Please, let my father rest in peace.”

That seems to end the conversation easier than you had expected, but they’re quick to jump to the next issue not long after. 

“The court would also like to bring light upon the palace guests.”

Tightening your jaw, you slump against your seat slightly. “What about them?”

They remain silent as their mouthpiece attempts to form the right words for the following question, mostly because you’ve addressed this multiple times beforehand but they continue to sit restless. 

“Allow me to help you, Lord Bridge,” you sit up straighter, intending to put this matter to rest. “My guests will remain here for as long as they do, and if you have any more arising issues towards my guests I will only take it as your collective issues towards me.” 

In the moment of silence, you continue, “The Kingdom is in a place of instability as we are all well aware. I find it most appalling that you remain fixated on trivial matters of the palace’s domestic code of conduct than you do for the wellbeing of this country!”

Silence yet again as you wait for their forcibly rehearsed chorus of apologies. 

“Our greatest apologies, your Majesty.”

The pain in your temples becomes near unbearable as you dismiss the table after that, screeching your chair as you push it back as loud as you possibly can to do nothing but spite the men. 

Turning the corner out of the room, you catch the open gates that lead to the paved gardens outside, the sun seeping into the marble floors indoors. Taking an instinctive step towards the gardens, you find most of the crew sprawled onto the grass as they soak in the sun. 

Chan and Seungkwan look like they’re wrestling, their laughter ringing throughout the open court while their captain snaps at them to cut it out, only to get roped under one of their headlocks all the same. 

There’s a call of your name and a giant wave from Mingyu, who spots you from beyond the flower beds. Still leaning against the gates, you smile and wave back. 

Years the halls of the palace had gone, never hearing laughter in its walls. And something about watching them let themselves ruin the petunias and laugh so loud it echoes, heals you just a bit. 

Even that night, when you find yourself in your giant four poster bed you’ve slept in since you were a child, this time dozing under the arm of another, you feel the itch of a healing wound somewhere in your heart. 

Soonyoung laid with you for every night on the ship since that night, and stayed even here where the space was big enough to host the ghosts of your worries if not distracted. 

He had found you on that first night in the palace still awake, haunting the library fireplace with another stack of papers to keep you company. 

“Can’t sleep?” he’d asked as he picked up some of your documents. 

“Clearly not,” you huff. The papers were mere decorations as you attempted to find an excuse to leave your rooms. 

“You realise you won’t be much of an effective monarch if you exhaust yourself to death?”  

There was no answer to that, especially when you were absorbing nothing of your new duties. You’d expected to fall asleep on the armrest of the uncomfortable settee whenever it was that you exhausted your brain of thoughts, even then refusing to sleep in that large bed. 

He’s awfully persuasive, because as he tucks you into those very sheets, about to leave but not before placing a kiss on your forehead You stop him. 

“Stay. Please.”

True as he has always been, he does.

THE CROWN IS HEAVIER than you had expected, even more so when it remains on your head for longer than your previously practised sessions walking around the throne room. The crew was exceptionally good at giving you things to train with, including fraudulent rodent scares to ensure the crown would not topple from your own head the minute you rise from your coronation.

And now, as you finally remove the decorative piece from your head after your actual coronation to replace it with something lighter for the following ball, you find relief in the fact that you’d only ever have to wear the actual thing only a few times in your life. 

Everything moves as smoothly as it could, the decorated pirates that saved their Queen from a horrid shipwreck taking up most of the attendees attention as they either question inquisitively or send snarky remarks to the men who are well versed in how to rebut in true informal manner. 

The past months had taken up more of your time than you had anticipated, and during the latter half of the still twinkling party, you attempted to spot the person you’ve been trying to corner all night. 

Soonyoung stands at the edges of the gathering, empty handed as you watch him reject yet another offer for a drink from the trays that float about. His attire is the most formal you had ever seen, his face scrubbed and hair pushed back for the glorious occasion. 

Approaching him from the sidelines, you take hold of his wrists and pull him towards one of the many doors in the ballroom and into a hallway you knew for a fact was rarely ever frequented. 

“I feel I haven’t seen you ages,” you say once you’re sure you’re alone. 

“Probably best for you to keep busy,” he replies with the smallest smile. 

“Have the wrappings on your wound come off?”

Looking at his covered torso, he runs an instinctive hand over where the wound was. “Just a smaller patch now, but it’s nearly there. Disappointed it won’t scar too much.”

“Disappointed?” 

“These are my spoils of war, miss princess,” he adds with a smirk, before correcting himself. “Ah, miss queen?”

“Doesn’t have the same ring,” you comment. 

“The crown suits you.” His voice is soft and sincere.

Scoffing a little, you answer, “I would hope it did.”

“Although, I do prefer you in trousers and a knife.”

Laughing, you can only agree. Especially in your heavier than yourself dress and jewels. “I think I prefer them too.”

At the mention of your new status, he asks, “Shouldn’t you be milling between your new subjects?” 

Keeping your eyes on his face, you wait until he meets your gaze. “I have more important things to attend to.”

He breaks eye contact first, and you can feel the distance grow further. One reach and you could take his hand in yours. 

But you don’t. 

“I know I’ve been quite busy, but…” you trail off as you attempt to find the words. “Is something the matter? What’s going on?”

With a long sigh, he runs a hand through his kept hair, effectively tousling it a little. “I was going to wait until after the ball to tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

He makes no moves to look at you when he utters his next words. “The crew and I will be leaving at dawn tomorrow. We’ve taken up enough of your space and it’s best if we don’t intrude any further.”

It’s like you’ve taken a blow to the chest, the air knocked out of your lungs as you register what he’s just said. “You’re….you’re leaving?”

“I would think we’ve both gotten what we wanted. We had a deal.”

Deal? Why was he mentioning that now?

“Are you going to abandon me too?”

His head snaps up to finally meet your eye, mouth opening closing as words betray him. 

“What happened to what you said about gaining you? All of you?” There’s a blatant accusation in your words.

“And you have! We’ll visit. Assuming the state doesn’t want my head on a pike anymore,” he chuckles uncomfortably. 

In a moment of desperation, you take his hand in both of yours; his scarred, gnarled hands that tell you even in the dark who’s warmth it is that you feel every night next to you. 

“Stay. Stay with me, please,” you plead. “I can’t live in this place alone, I despised it when I was young and I’ll only despise it even more now.”

Soonyoung brings his other hand to clasp over both of your own, eyes closing as you hear him take a somewhat shaky breath. “I’m doing this for the both of us.”

“So am I! I can’t possibly rule a kingdom by myself.”

“I’m sure you’ll find someone—”

“I don’t want someone! I want you!”

He begins to whisper your name, moving his face away to blink rapidly. 

“How do you feel about becoming a pirate king? I can never forbid you from the waters, that’s your home, and you will have it.”

He does not look at you, but you know he’s listening more intently than ever before.

“But I ask you as someone who loves you more than I have ever anything else, will you stay and marry me?”

Soonyoung falters as he absorbs the fact that you’ve just proposed to him. 

“I—” he stutters. “The court—”

“The court wouldn’t dare to deny me the man that saved my life.”

You squeeze his hand tighter, moving impossibly closer. 

“And even if they do, I'm ready to fight for the man who fought for me. So answer me as a man and not a pirate, Kwon Soonyoung, will you marry me?”

Soonyoungs mouth enclosing over your own is all the answer you need as you feel him break free of your hands to let them find your waist instead. Amidst the pile of fabric he pushes himself into you as close as possible, letting your hands guide his head to move against your mouth. 

It’s everything, as you grip onto the back of his shoulder, pressing unforgettably into his open mouth. He takes in your bottom lip between his own, sucking before letting go, only to engulf your mouth once again. 

“We’ll figure it out,” you whisper against his lips, feeling the nuzzle of his nose against the apple of your cheek, hot tears spilling from your eyes. “I promise, we’ll figure everything out.”

He shushes you when he feels you shudder in his hold, pulling away to rest his forehead against yours. “No need to torment your pretty head. Not right now.”

For once, you listen to your pirate captain without a fight, simply feeling the stretch of your lips as he moves down to capture them once more. 

The pressure of his hands isn’t nearly as strong as it would’ve felt without the layers upon layers of fabric that cover your form, but standing in this desolate hallway, you swear his fingers might as well be caressing your bare skin underneath. 

The thought sends your mind into a dazzling spin, letting go of his mouth with a gasp, suddenly needing to take a step back. 

“I have to—I have to go back inside,” you breathe into his slick mouth. “Meet me outside my quarters at midnight.”

As scandalous as it was, you could not deny how alive it made you feel to be like this, meeting in darker corners in the dead of night. But for now, you allow him to fix the bits of your ensemble you could not see. With the bad of his thumb, he blends in the smudges of your rouge, swiping at your lips ever so delicately to ensure he leaves no trace of himself. Tucking the loose strands of hair back behind your ears, and finally, fixing the encrusted crown on your head, a flash of one of the diamond’s gleams reflecting onto his perfect face. 

“You’re beautiful.” There’s a dazed look that graces him. “Beyond beautiful.”

With one last innocent press of your smiling mouth onto his, you promise him your midnight. 

BY THE TIME IT was finally an appropriate hour for you to excuse yourself for the evening, you were near to exploding entirely. 

Whispers of “Are you alright, your Majesty?” plaguing you through your already racing mind. It was beyond difficult to keep the constant shaking of your foot unobvious, however you could not simply up and leave whenever you wanted—at least not yet. The monarch would remain in an unstable authoritative position for quite some time after ascension, and with the unorthodox situation at hand, you assume you’d really have to push yourself if you were to be of any use as sovereign. 

But when the time finally came and you were escorted out of the grand ballroom, only mere ticks away from the resounding bells of midnight, you were holding back from breaking into a sprint. Outside your quarters it was empty, but you remain steadfast in your refusal for your ladies in waiting tonight, promising you could dress yourself for bed on your own. 

Standing at the double doors of your rooms, still the princess’ quarters as you refuse to move into the Queen’s rooms, you stand waiting. The two guards remain staring straight ahead, and you wait for the clicking of your ladies to go muffled before you ask. 

“Has the Captain approached?” 

“No, your Majesty.”

You try not to feel disappointed, despite knowing the midnight bells were yet to sound. “If he does, allow him in, please.” 

Opening the double doors, you half wish you had let your ladies help you out of the god awful dress, tight and loose in all the wrong places. The jewels are thrown haphazardly on your vanity, needing the heavyweight of them off of your body. 

Perhaps months of little to no bedazzling had rendered you incapable of wearing anything mildly less comfortable than linen and leather, but you suppose you’d slip back into the habit just as easily as you slipped out of it. Your nightgown feels like heaven on your tired, tired body, and the dimly lit interior of your bedchamber is only encouraging you to slip under your covers and fall deep into sleep. 

That was one thing about the ship you doubt you’d ever miss. 

Three rapt knocks outside of the heavy double doors have you sitting rapt at attention, hastily making your way to the door from your vanity. Pressing the front of your nightgown down, you open the door slightly and poke your head out. 

Soonyoung stands at the door, nervous of all things, still clad in his full suit. You smile as you let him in, closing the door to turn the lock. 

“Your guards mortify me.” 

“Oh? So they’re doing their job right?” You walk up to him and grasp onto his lapels, pulling him down to meet the lips you’ve missed so much despite only being hours apart. “Why? Has this big bad pirate found his match in the palace guards of all places?”

“Hmm,” he’s humming against your lips. “I could take them both.”

Giggling like you were in love, you wrap your arms around his neck and hold him close. 

“I hope you weren’t bothered too much,” you say. “The aristocracy seem to have being a pain in the ass written in their birthrights.”

“I think they were too scared to approach, probably thought I’d start swearing and snatching the pearls right off their necks. Some of them were bearable, asked me how long my sword was.”

It’s difficult to not laugh at that, “Well?”

He raises his brows unceremoniously, “Won’t you like to know?”

Taking the opportunity while you giggled uncontrollably at the situation, he goes back placing never ending kisses to your mouth. Sighing involuntarily, you melt into him once again, infinitely more relaxed than in the hallway. 

Soonyoung’s eyelashes brush against yours in a whisper of their own, only reminding you how close you were to him in the moment. His kisses go from soft and fleeting to something with a little more vigour. The warmth of his mouth goes back to overtaking the lower half of your face, sucking and licking into your mouth like his life depended on it. 

If your mind was reeling when his hands were merely ghosts of pressure over your heavy dress, the feeling of his palms and fingers so distinct over your nightgown, the only thing separating you two, is enough to have your knees begin to buckle. 

From your waist, they move to your back, before caressing back to the sides of your waist, thumb running in circles. Gentle handfuls of your flesh, bunching and letting go of the material of your nightgown. Very soon, his mouth leaves yours and instead moves to your jaw, the air in the room letting you feel the wetness that he leaves behind as a passionate trail.

He soon reaches the junction of your jaw and neck, leaving a particularly long suck in the area that has a gasp leaving your mouth. Remaining in that area, you feel the pleasant graze of his tongue on your skin, only making you tilt your head farther out to let him carry out his loving. 

Your mind wanders back to the hands that grope you in ways that would defame you, the unseemly palms that have you needing to feel him all the same.

With grazing hands, you slip your fingers underneath his jacket, pushing it off one shoulder. He understands the message, flicking it off of his frame before loosening his cravat and throwing it somewhere behind him. 

Unlatching from your neck, he comes round to face you to find your face the epitome of disconnected and dazed. 

“Can you wait for me on the bed, my love?”

“But—” The thought of him being even an inch away was most aggravating, but he cuts you off before you can refute. 

“I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” Soonyoung rests his forehead against your own, taking your hands in his. “I’m right here. I just need to take this awful suit off.”

Your face must have been peculiar because he’s immediately jumping, panicked. “Uh—do you not want me to, we don’t have to, I just thought—”

“No!” you yelp, wide eyed. “I, um, I’ll wait. On the bed, I mean.”

He lets you walk over to the giant four poster bed, pushing the flow of your gown down when you realise how high it had ridden, cheeks burning scarlet at the thought of exposing so much. 

Hearing ruffles from behind you, you cannot bring yourself to look back at him, already extremely lightheaded and afraid that the sight might make you faint altogether. 

Perhaps you were experiencing a delayed case of sea legs, because it’s more difficult than usual to make yourself comfortable on the soft beddings. You make a futile attempt at slowing your breathing. 

By the time Soonyoung is done, meeting you in the middle, you keep your eyes on his face as he’s immediately climbing over to kiss you softly. Hand on the back of your head, he guides you to lay flat, adjacent to the headboard so you’re laying on the breadth of the bed. 

He handles you like you were made of glass, and it only makes the strange ache between your legs increasingly present and uncomfortable. 

Noting a cool feeling on the base of your throat, you open your eyes and catch the leather cord that dangles from his neck, the letter opener charm that’s attached to the end of it connecting you two as your lips part. Just beyond, through the dip of his collarbones and the valley to his chest, you catch the scar  that curls above his heart. Even lower, you find the smaller wrappings of his scarring wound. 

You trace over the edges of the new addition, shaking hands as you try your best to not brush over the wound. 

On the other side, Soonyoung has his hands on shin as his body hovers over you between your legs. Curling around, he caresses the skin of your bare calf, drifting to the back of your knees. He takes the opportunity to lift your leg, urging you to wrap it around his waist. 

The action has gravity doing what it does best, the hem of your nightgown dropping to bunch over the junction of your leg, your entire thigh exposed for the air. 

Soonyoung takes no time to let his hands wander higher, taking light handfuls of the flesh of thighs, dragging his grip further and further up. 

“Nearly tipped the ship over when I saw you in those fucking trousers,” he says, eyes closed as he drags his mouth over the inner part of your thigh. 

The sound that leaves your mouth is breathy, mind preoccupied with how quickly he was making his way towards the apex of your thighs. He’s using his mouth like he used it on your own lips, nipping at the flesh before biting down hard. 

“Soonyoung!” 

Tongue running over the patch, he sucks on the area to sooth the bite. It’s taking everything out of you to not twitch uncontrollably in his hold, the heat in your core reaching temperatures you’ve never experienced. 

Unlatching himself from your thigh, Soonyoung rears his head slightly. The sight has your head rolling back, mind drifting to the face of the man who’d visited you in your dreams, the same man that had now made home between your legs. 

Before you realise it, the bunched hem of your nightgown is flown upwards entirely, fluttering as the fabric lands on your stomach. 

Your heat is bare underneath, evident with the way Soonyoung keeps his eyes on the now fully exposed part of you. Your chest continues to rise and fall as you lift your head to look at him, eyes half closed and mind muddled.

“What…What’re you doing?” 

Soonyoung looks like you’ve disturbed him from a trance, snapping up to look at you as you ask him your question. 

It hardly registers in his mind. What was he doing? Was it not obvious—

Ah. 

If the mere sight of your bare thighs weren’t enough for him to release his load onto the sheets untouched, your unawareness might just end up doing it for him. 

Of course you didn’t know why he was at eye level with your cunt; women from this world were not supposed to know. 

The buzz in his mind renders him useless for a few moments as his vision blurs, the pain in his lower region unbearable. The thought of him being the first person to do this to you, to pleasure you like this; he wasn’t sure if he’d make it till the end of the night alive. 

Screwing his eyes shut, his palms full of your thighs, he drops his head and counts to ten. 

“Will you let me show you how a Queen is meant to be worshipped?” 

Wet mouthed and unhinged eyes, your arousal was doing nothing but multiplying at the sight of him. 

“Do you trust me?” he asks. “I promise I’ll make you feel good.” 

It takes you less than a moment to nod your head, eyes locked with his. 

Bringing a hand closer, he dips one finger into the beginnings of your hole. Bringing some of the glisten onto his fingers. Your lips are parted and he brings a second finger to gather your arousal, rubbing over your entrance ever so slowly. 

The motion makes you let out a heavy exhale, gripping onto the bunched fabric at your stomach till your knuckles turn white. 

With little warning, you feel his fingertips push and drag upwards, right over the sensitive bundle of nerves. Immediately, he’s rubbing your arousal all over the area, rubbing your clit in rhythmic circles with both fingers. 

You can’t stop it when you throw your head back and let out a slight whimper, relishing in the feeling that overtakes every last sense and capability, anticipating the next surge of pleasure that courses through your entire body like you've been struck by a bolt of something.

Vision obscured, you loll your head to the side when you feel his fingers retract, confused. 

All you catch is the outstretched nature of his tongue, and how it lands directly where his fingers were. 

You let out the loudest moan yet, back arching off the bed as he licks a forceful drag up your cunt before moving back down your clit, circling your hole with the tip of his tongue, right before repeating. He flicks your nub right where he’s found you twitch the most, back and forth as your hips begin to fail at your suppressed stutters, his hands needing to pin you down onto the sheets to continue. 

He becomes more generous, laying his tongue flat now as he massages your nub so good. Your thighs are closing around his ears and he does nothing to stop you, nearly suffocating between them. Hips going from their stutters to a grind, you find your hands flying to his hair, grip tighter than you thought you’d come down with. It doesn’t help that he’s now taken a finger to circle your entrance while his lips suck on your clit. 

“Soonyoung.” It’s all you can say, throat incapable of forcing anything but his name, the burn behind your eyes only making it harder to not say it louder. 

When he pushes the finger in, it has you letting out a moan, the foreign feeling against your walls only forcing them to clamp onto his digit. Gradually, you feel his pace quicken as he slides his finger in and out of your hole, his mouth still doing beautiful things to your cunt. 

It doesn’t take long for him to shove in another finger, stretching your hole as you let out a constant string of noises through the pleasure, ever-building as every passing moment only scrambles your brain further. 

And then you feel him groan, a vibration throbbing through your system. 

It’s suddenly all too much, and before you can tell him what’s going on, you’re rendered incapable. You don’t know where your limbs fly, but all you feel is white hot and overwhelming to an unbelievable degree. 

“Oh–ungh—” Your body is telling Soonyoung all he needs to know as he only pushes into your pussy even further, letting you ride out your high as you claw at him in every way possible. 

Inevitably, the feeling subsides and you realise you’ve been reduced to sobs, tears streaking the sides of your face. Laying flat with your head still on the sheets, you stare at the ceiling of your four poster, trying to remember where you were. 

Barely noticing the man that now hover above you, you hear him whisper. “Are you alright?”

Nodding weakly, you don’t even try to lift a finger in the remaining aftermath. 

“I need words, my love.”

Swallowing thickly, you give him a breathy, “Yes.”

The lower half of his face glistens in the light like unorthodox diamonds, and all you can think about is how you need him closer to you. 

You make an attempt with your nightgown, your trembling arms, still coursing with the aftershocks of your orgasm. 

Soonyoung decides to help, hands pushing your spine into an arch as he pulls the slip up and over your head, now entirely bare in front of him. 

You watch as instead of throwing the fabric away, he brings it to his mouth to wipe the slick off, tainting the gown with your essence. 

Mouth over yours in a salty kiss, you pull him into you as close as humanly possible, needing to feel his heat, his weight, his scent as close as possible. His mouth reaches your throat again, lips brushing over the expanse as he places open mouthed kisses over the nearly faded marks. 

His hands are lingering once again as they ghost the sides of your breasts, thumbs coming close to your nipples before retracting in a caress. He takes them in handfuls as he goes back to busy your lips with his own, massaging the mounds with a pressure just enough to have you reeling. 

Flicking your nipple lightly, he goes back to circle the bud with thumb again. Making himself further familiar, his fingers begin to pinch and pull at them, pressing down to get a noise out of you, one that you sound as you breathe into his mouth. 

Trailing over your stomach, he pushes himself off of you. On his knees, he takes the distance as his chance to look at you in your entirety for the first time. Your fucked out expression and your lack of words is doing nothing but fueling him, your loud breaths somehow more sinful than anything he could ever do to you. 

In one swift motion, he’s slipping his arms beneath you, pulling you up so he can lay you against the headboards and pillows. You barely register what’s happening, having given yourself up to him long before. 

Grabbing one of the millions of cushions on the bed, he swings one over. Using no strength of your own, he lifts your hips and places it down beneath you, effectively propping you up. 

And then he’s meeting you at eye level, hands cupping your face. “I need you to listen to me, darling.”

He waits for confirmation, of which you can only nod, still seeing mild stars. “Do you want to stop?” 

It's a visceral reaction; the violent shaking of your head, the hand that flies to his bicep. “N–no!”

You pause as he grips onto your upper arms tight, right as you continue. “I just—a moment. Don’t stop, please.”

Leaning down, he places a long kiss on the corner of your mouth before moving his head to fit into the crook of your neck. He nuzzles his nose against the skin below your ear. 

“I’m right here,” he whispers. “For as long as you want me.”

His kisses go from desperate to something with a little more intent, pressing his lips into your neck consistently. Oh so gently, it begins to feel like a draught. He turns into calm just as he could become chaos, bringing you down from the after effects of his own actions. 

The hum that leaves you is unthinking, fingers remaining deep in the roots of his hair. Your own nose is pressed against his hair, his scent mixed with sweat infiltrating your nostrils. It fills your head with a pleasant buzz, one that you feel force a pull at the corners of your mouth. 

“I meant it when I said it,” you murmur into his hair. “I don’t want anyone but you.”

Raising his head, he meets your eye, smiling slightly. “I believe you. Forgive me for making you believe I was trying to leave you.”

“You weren’t?” 

He presses his lips into a line, exhaling as he drops his chin to his chest. “I’ve needed to be selfish my whole life just to survive. Leaving…I wasn’t sure how I would’ve gotten on that boat in the morning without taking you with me somehow.”

Moving back to look at you, you realise very quickly there’s more to the mere glassy look in his eye. “For once, I wished to be anything but a pirate, to be anywhere but near the sea. Not when you wouldn’t be there with me.” 

Taking one of his beautifully decorated hands to your mouth, you kiss the soft of his palm. “You’ve done more than anyone ever has to protect me.” 

You laugh against his hand, “This is my turf, captain. Let me protect you… protect us.”

Something injects you with a dose of bold, and you find yourself wrapping your arms around his raised shoulders. “But…I believe we were in the middle of something. I’d hate to ruin the mood.”

The smirk that graces his lips is immediate, pushing you back down onto the sheets as you let a laugh escape you. 

And then you feel something warm graze your bottom lip, pointed in the way it pushes inwards. He’s brought the glinting letter opener charm up to your lips, the trinket pinched between his fingers as he continues to keep it on your mouth. He kisses you deep as the metal remains between you two, your hands run across the expanse of his back, feeling the muscles ripple as he props himself between you. 

“I love you,” he cuts between the kiss to groan, the charm dropping from between your mouths to your chest. 

“I love you, mmh—” His fingers have found your clit mid confession, rubbing quickly as he attempts to get you all hot and withered again. 

Your legs raise on instinct, back arching as he rubs you mercilessly, the pressure building quicker than it had before. 

“I–I think—” you start to tell him, and it seems it’s all he needs to remove his fingers entirely. 

“Soonyoung!” you yelp, landing on the bed with a thud. 

Looking down, you find his hands wrapped around the length between his own legs, and you realise this was your first time seeing it. Past the white-oozing slit, his tip is a painful looking red. If his hands weren’t already pumping and he hadn’t already lined himself up to your hole, you would’ve taken him into your own palms, done exactly with your mouth that he’d done with his own. 

But you can’t find it within yourself to stop him when you feel the initial push of his bulbous tip against your hole, the stretch causing you to drop your mouth open. 

“Fuck,” you hear him curse, and when you look up you find his own eyes screwed shut. His hands grip the plush of the pillow beside your head as tight as ever, face askew like he was holding himself back from combusting entirely. 

Slowly, you feel the stretch turn into something akin to a burn, a sting in the back of your eyes. You let him push himself into you at his own pace, the never ending battle between your mind and your refrained hips ever present as you attempt to keep them at bay. 

He keeps his pelvis flush against yours ince he’s sheathed himself inside you entirely. BOth of your pants fill the thick air of the room, the throb of your walls around his shaft leaving a tremble in his forearm despite your forsake. 

Hand somewhere above your head, you feel Soonyoung pull out ever so slightly before pushing back in. Just like this, in shallow thrusts, he pumps himself in an out of your walls in a slow pattern. 

It begins with a simmering tremble of pleasure that prolongs as he drags his cock in and out, and then in and out, and then—

Your eyes fly open when you feel his hips slam against yours with a resounding sound, fingers gripping his arm as he does it again, your moans penetrating the air. Before you know it, he’s hiked your legs up to wrap around his waist, ankles locking as he goes back to snapping his hips into you. 

“Oh, Soonyoung.”

Your nails are digging into his bicep like it was the only thing tying you to this earth, the only thing keeping you from passing out entirely. He’s taken up a brutal pace, pistoning into your clamped walls with a vigour unmatched. 

All Soonyoung can hear is the stretch of your moans and groans directly in his ear, the obscene squelch of both of your fluids mixing at your middles. Your hands have migrated to his back, clawing at the skin like you’ve been utterly possessed. 

He can’t seem to mind, not when they’ll simply become reopening wounds every time he’ll have you like this, all to himself and no one else. He wonders vaguely if your guards outside can hear the way you’re losing yourself in him just as he is in you, wonders if it appalls them that a filthy pirate gets to have their Queen in his arms as her vindictive pleasure. 

One hand rubbing over your slick clit, he pulls back to sit on his heels, the angle allowing him to keep ever part of you occupied, his spare hand coming up to toy with the pillow of your breast. 

It’s all too much, for the both of you as your collective noises become increasingly frequent and high pitched.

And then he’s pushed you over the edge, the shake of your thighs electrifying as you nearly scream out in the bliss of your high. Hands moving every which way to find a grip as you let the feeling crash into you over and over again. 

“Oh, that’s so good, so good, oh my goodness.”

You’re still in the middle of your climax when Soonyoung can’t take it anymore, letting himself release his load inside of you like a mark. It’s a mess of force and pleasure as the both of you lose sight of your strengths and weaknesses, the feeling of his hot cum shooting into your walls only prolonging your orgasm even further. 

He continues to thrust, continues to play with your nub, continues to flick at your nipples despite the orgasm subsiding. It’s all suddenly too much all at once, the sharp jerk of your body and your voice asking him to stop. 

“Soon—Soonyoung, it’s too much.”

Hands coming to a halt and his thrusts slowing, you feel him ease himself out of you. 

It’s a sight Soonyoung doubts he could ever forget even if he tried, your still pulsating walls doing everything but keeping the milky white of his load inside you, globs of the liquid spilling out as you shudder near lifeless on the bed. His hands grope at the inside of your thighs, pulling your lips apart to take in the mess he’s made. 

He can’t help himself when he pushes two fingers into your hole, feeding his cum back into your hole right where it belongs. 

You’ve only barely started to come round when he meets you at eye level, plopping next to you on the bed. 

“Hi,” he grins. 

“Hi,” you breathe back, hands coming up to touch his face. 

He lets you breathe for a few moments as he finds himself getting off the bed to find your tainted nightgown, moving back to you to spread your legs and wipe you clean as best as he could. 

You find it within yourself to allow him to pull you into a sitting position, a cup of water from the nightstand pressing against your tired mouth. 

“Come on, just one,” he urges as you slump against his chest. 

You take a few sips as he coaxes you into drinking the full cup and half of the second helping. 

He gives up as he holds you against his chest, brushing his fingers through your tangled hair to push past your face. 

“Are you alright?” he asks you. Your eyes are closed when he leans down to place a peck on the apple of your cheek. 

“Mhm,” you muffle. “Want to sleep.

“I’d let you, but…”

“Soonyoung, I can’t go again,” you whine. 

He chuckles, “I meant to ask where we could find some sugar around here. You barely ate anything at the ball.”

“The kitchens?” you answer with a floating question mark. 

Soonyoung can’t help it when he squeezes you so tight it has you complaining loudly, not being able to sustain the love just in the tiny expanse of his heart. 

“Come on, let’s get you some cake before both our hearts give out.”

BUNDLED UP IN WARMER clothes, the only thing the palace walls hear is the tiny whispers and giggles of you and your lover as you make your way to the kitchens. 

It’s empty at this time of night, the dying embers of the fireplace the only source of light. Soonyoung uses every last bit of his thievery to manage to find a basket of dough balls, the syrup more readily available at the table in the centre.

The tingling in your brain can’t seem to decipher the overwhelming happiness that floods you from the ends of your hair to the tips of your toes. Especially when you call out his name amidst his shuffling, your heart can’t take the grin on his face as he hurries to join on the floor in front of the fireplace. 

Arm looped through his own and your head on his shoulder, you decide you’d be quite okay dying like this. 

The dough balls are cold and the syrup is probably a little too sweet, but you can’t possibly complain when it warms you just the same. 

“I’ve despised my name my entire life,” Soonyoung starts in the silence, picking at the insides of his treat. “Some old merchant sailor was giving his ship away in exchange that the taker would take care of it. He’d built his Tigress from the first board to the last sail, but the years had made their mark. It was practically falling apart when I took it off his hands.”

He pushes the remaining bit of the pastry into his mouth, muffled as he continues, “He had a strange name, said it was given to him by his crew when they realised he was born without a name. Hoshi. I liked it well enough so I kept it.”

“Soonyoung—”

“That one. I wanted to replace the name I loathed, the one my own mother gave me.” You watch as his throat bobs as he swallows. “Ash is my birthplace, my mother worked in the brothels where I was born only because she couldn’t get rid of me.”

Taking one of the hands that wrap around his arm, he brings your fingers to your mouth, kissing the tips of each one. “I despised that name, until I heard it from your lips.” 

“Soonyoung.” It felt right on your tongue, like you were destined to say his name. 

“Yes, my love?” He smiles softly. 

“I love you.”

“I love you more,” he says as he kisses you again. “Thank you for keeping my name, thank you for giving it life.”

You take the opportunity to grab one of the syrup soaked dough balls from the basket and stuff them into his mouth. “Enough, don’t tell me all this luxury’s made you soft.” 

It was a jab but a lighthearted one in any case, you loved to see this side of him and you doubt you would ever get enough of seeing him like this. Vulnerable with his softer smiles and squinted eyes. 

Bringing one of your digits to your mouth, you suck the remaining syrup off your fingers. 

Soonyoung is quick to take notice as he takes your hand and brings your fingers up to his mouth, running his tongue over the pads of your fingers to take in the remaining sugar left on your fingers. 

He keeps his eyes locked onto yours as he sucks on the tips of your fingers, making sure every last hint of sweetness is gone. 

And then he’s kissing you, tongue in your mouth as he moves against your lips slowly. 

Breaking apart, you whisper, “As much as I’d love to, the bakers will be coming in any minute now.”

Soonyoung’s grin is dangerous, and you find out why the minute you feel his arms loop around your waist and under your thighs, lifting you clean off the floor of the kitchens. 

You squeal before you can help it, his lips finding home in your neck as you laugh as loud as your chest would allow. 

You could get used to this. And you will. 

THE SERVANTS CARRYING THE giant stack of plates nearly topple over when you sprint past them, yelling a loud apology over your shoulder as you do nothing but hasten your pace. 

The paper in your hands is clutched tight in your fists as you run to where your carriage awaits, near yelling at the driver to make it to the docks before the streets would be full of the early morning merchants and bakers, slowing the gallops of the decorated horses. 

The town is waking as your carriage races past, the beginnings of the new day making itself known as the sun peers through the gaps of the houses. You’re incapable of sitting still, your heels tapping against the floors of your cabin incessantly as the docks grow nearer and nearer. 

And then you see it, the rush of dock handlers that see the royal carriage slow to a stop in front of the boardwalk. You slam the door open before any of the tens could do it for you, breaking into a sprint as you find the distinct flag of the royal crest wave high on the other end of the docks. 

You had already seen Soonyoung off in the dark of the night as he made his way to the ship that was near ready to depart as you slide to stop in front of the anchored ship. 

There was nothing sane about what you were doing, the chortles and shocked noises of sailors and merchants deaf to ears as you finally spot him near the prow. 

His eyes meet yours and he has to do a double take. 

Panting and needing to hold onto your knees for support, you peer up as you watch him run towards the ramp that leads down to the docks to see you, to ask why you were here when he’d kissed you goodbye mere hours ago. 

By the time he meets you at the wobbly boardwalk, you’ve somewhat recovered.

“Are you alright?” he asks you as soon as you’re within earshot, hands grasping onto your upper arms in evident concern. 

“I had to tell you, this came in right after you left.” You brandish the paper clutched into your fist, smoothing it over as the light catches the red stamp at the bottom. 

It takes him less than a minute to realise what it said, eyes blinking rapidly and mouth gaping like a fish. “They…They said yes?” 

“They said yes,” you repeat, nodding furiously as you break into a smile. “We can get married, Soonyoung, they said yes.”

His arms are crushing you before you know it, wrapped around you so tight as he buries his face into your neck, repeating it like a mantra, “They said yes…”

By the time you part, he keeps his arms around you, still embracing you in front of the entire port. You take hold of his face bringing it closer to you. 

“Three months, and then you come home,” you breathe. “And I get to marry you, in front of everyone.”

Soonyoung lets his lips meet your own in a chaste kiss as he corrects you, “I get to marry you in front of everyone.” 

There’s a thud of something nearby, and you look up to find the crew of the Tigress hanging over the railings of the newly appointed naval ship that looked suspiciously like a pirate’s. 

“He can’t come back home, if he doesn’t leave!” Seungkwan yells over cupped hands. 

You’d like to send him an affectionate gesture involving your middle finger, but choose to save him in front of the crowded port. 

“You’ll miss me, Seungkwan, just you wait,” you send him a pointed glare that he simply scoffs at. 

He might miss you, but you’ll definitely miss the lot of them when you return to a significantly emptier palace. 

“Don’t let the royal snobs walk over you, you’re a better sailor anyway,” you tell Soonyoung. “Not that I needed to tell you, anyway.”

“I promise on our future wedding to be a complete menace.” He grins at the declaration as you admire him in the morning light. 

One last time, you memorise the dips and hills of his features, pressing your final kiss into his lips as the voices telling him to hurry it up grow louder. 

He blows you a kiss from the railings as the anchor is hoisted, and you send him one right back. 

As your carriage trudges its path back to the palace, at a pace more acceptable for both the stamina of the horses and the integrity of the structure, your eyes remain glued to the shrinking ship that fades into the distant horizon. 

There’s a pang in your chest, one that brings a tear to your eyes. It’s all very dramatic, the way the melancholy makes a home in your heart. An inkling tells you how you’ll probably become quite used to the feeling, learn to greet it like a friend. 

For now you enter the lighter palace, and take your place on the chair in your study and find solace in the ideas your mind brings. 

That no matter how long Soonyoung will remain far from you, he will always come back home to you. 

Always. 

[AN]: ty for joining my babies on their journey, i cannot thank you all enough for reading all 48fuckingK words of this i love you guys truly!!! thank you for all the reblogs and comments on the other parts, it makes me genuinely so happy to see you guys enjoy this universe that i've built. I read every single comment and know i appreciate all of it so so much <3

[23victoria]

Am I Still Me? ❀

f1 grid x fem!reader, charles leclerc x fem!reader

wc: 6.6k+

summary: the aftermath of y/n’s horrible crash in suzaka, part 2 to ready, set, suzuka!!

warnings: cussing, angsty, sad, kinda depressing ig, emotional and physical trauma

authors note: sorry i took so long with this, honestly didn’t know what to write 😭💀, also if you get some of the references i put in here and characters names you a real one!! any feedback is appreciated and please like, comment, and reblog!! hope you enjoy!!

PART 1

f1 masterlist

The beeping of machines, the sterile smell of antiseptic, the distant murmurs of nurses and doctors—it all blurs together into a foggy haze. When you finally open your eyes, it’s like surfacing from a deep, dark ocean. The light is too bright, the sounds too sharp. Your body feels heavy, achingly so, and it takes a moment for the fog to clear enough for you to remember why you're here.

The Japan Grand Prix. The crash. The pain.

Your vision focuses slowly, revealing the worried faces of your parents, sitting by your bedside. Your mother's eyes are red-rimmed, and your father's face is etched with concern. When they see you awake, relief floods their expressions.

“Y/N, sweetheart,” your mother whispers, her voice thick with emotion. “You’re awake.”

You try to speak, but your throat is dry and scratchy. Your dad quickly offers you a sip of water, helping you take small, careful sips.

“How long…?” you manage to croak out, your voice barely more than a whisper.

“About a week,” he replies gently. “They had you in an induced coma to help your body heal.”

You try to take in the information, but your mind is sluggish, struggling to process it all. You notice the casts on your left leg, the bandages wrapped around your torso. Every breath sends a dull ache through your ribs.

“Your injuries were severe,” your mom says softly, as if reading your thoughts. “The doctor said you had a punctured lung and liver, three broken ribs, a laceration to your kidney, and broken femur and tibia in your left leg. The doctors… they did everything they could.”

The gravity of her words sinks in slowly. You close your eyes, tears escaping, feeling the weight of your injuries, the immense road to recovery ahead.

⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱ ✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱

The days blur together, filled with endless medical procedures and physical therapy sessions. The pain is constant, a relentless companion that gnaws at your resolve. The physical therapy is grueling, each session pushing your body to its limits. Your left leg, encased in a cast, feels like it’s made of lead. The simplest movements send waves of pain through you.

Your parents are always there, their support unwavering, but you can see the toll it’s taking on them. They try to hide it, but you notice the way your mother’s hands tremble when she thinks you’re not looking, or the way your father’s shoulders sag with exhaustion.

It’s not just the physical pain that wears you down. The psychological toll is immense. The fear, the uncertainty—it’s all-consuming. The thought of never racing again haunts you, a dark cloud that looms over every waking moment.

Despite their best efforts, the doctors and therapists can’t hide the reality from you. Your injuries are severe, and the road to recovery is long and uncertain. There are no guarantees that you’ll ever be able to race again.

A few weeks into your recovery, your finally allowed visitors, you receive a visit from Max. He enters the room with a tentative smile, looking unsure of how to approach you.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says, his voice soft. “How are you holding up?”

You force a smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “I’ve been better,” you admit, your voice tinged with bitterness.

Max sits beside your bed, his expression serious. “I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re going through,” he says. “But I want you to know that we’re all here for you. Whatever you need.”

You nod, grateful for his words but unable to shake the feeling of despair that clings to you. “Thanks, Max,” you say quietly. “It means a lot.”

He stays for a while, chatting about the latest races and team developments, trying to lift your spirits. But when he leaves, the emptiness returns, heavier than before.

Lewis visits next, his brotherly presence a comforting balm. He’s always been a source of inspiration and comfort for you, and seeing him now brings a glimmer of hope.

“Hey Y/N/N,” he says warmly, enveloping you in a gentle hug. “It’s so good to see you.”

You manage a weak smile. “Thanks for coming, Lew.”

He sits with you, sharing stories and offering words of encouragement. “You’re one of the strongest people I know,” he tells you. “If anyone can come back from this, it’s you.”

His words touch you deeply, but the doubts still linger.

George's visit is bittersweet. He’s always been like a brother to you, and seeing his concern is both comforting and heartbreaking.

“Hey, Y/N/N,” he says softly, his eyes filled with worry. “How are you holding up?”

You shrug, trying to mask your frustration. “Some days are better than others.”

He takes your hand, squeezing it gently. “I know it’s tough, but you’re not alone in this. We’re all here for you.”

You nod, but the words feel hollow. The reality of your situation is a heavy burden, one that seems to grow with each passing day.

Lando brings a burst of energy into your room, his usual cheeky grin tempered by concern. “Hey, superstar,” he says, trying to lighten the mood. “You’re looking better than I expected.”

You chuckle, appreciating his attempt to make you laugh. “Thanks, Lando. I guess I clean up well.”

He spends the visit telling you funny stories and trying to distract you from your pain. For a brief moment, you almost forget about your troubles. But when he leaves, the emptiness returns with a vengeance.

Oscar visit is quieter, more introspective. He’s always been a man of few words, and today is no different.

“Y/N/N,” he says, his voice gentle. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot.”

“Thanks, Oscar,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

He sits beside you, his presence a comforting anchor. “So…what do you wanna talk about?,” he says simply.

You look at him surprised, “What do I want to talk about?”

“Yea, what did you want to talk about” he says softly.

“You're not going to tell me that “You're strong, you’ve got this, you're gonna overcome this” you say indifferently.

He shakes his head saying “Nope.”

“Why?” you ask.

“Because I'm pretty sure everyone else who visited you has said the same thing, so I want to know what you want to talk about. Any good shows you’ve been watching? Hospital drama? Yes, no, maybe? Tell me I wanna know” he says gently.

You smile at him, greatly appreciating the normalcy his bring. You smile saying, “Did you bring food?”

He smirks, laughing “Yes I brought you y/f/f.”

You squeal, happy to have some outside food, the hospital starting to bore you. “Yes, there is some hospital drama. Apparently a resident has been sleeping with a neurosurgeon, and get this, he was married the whole time! And he didn’t tell her until his wife showed up last night for a case!” you say opening your bag of food.

Oscar looks at you in shock, “No way! Holy shit! Tell me more!”

Charles visit is the hardest. He’s always been your closest friend on the circuit, and seeing the pain in his eyes is almost too much to bear.

“Y/N/N,” he says, his voice choked with emotion. “I’m so sorry.”

“Charles,” you say, reaching out to take his hand. “It’s not your fault.”

He nods, but you can see the guilt etched into his features. “I know but I still feel like I should’ve been there for you earlier,” he says quietly.

“You were,” you reply, your voice firm. “And you still are.”

He stays with you for a long time, his presence a comforting reminder of the bond you share. But even his support can’t chase away the shadows that cling to your mind.

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One particularly difficult day, you’re in the middle of a grueling physical therapy session. The pain in your left leg is excruciating, and every movement feels like a battle. You’re sweating, gasping for breath, and on the verge of tears.

“I can’t do this,” you whisper, your voice trembling with frustration and pain. “It’s too hard.”

Your physical therapist, a kind but firm woman named Maria, looks at you with sympathy. “I know it’s hard, Y/N,” she says gently. “But you’re stronger than you think. You’ve come so far already. Don’t give up now.”

You want to believe her, but the doubts are overwhelming. The thought of never racing again haunts you, a constant shadow that refuses to be dispelled.

“I’m worried about her, Y/F/N,” your mom says, her voice thick with worry. “She’s losing hope.”

“I know,” he replies, his voice equally troubled. “We need to do something.”

The next day, they call a meeting with all the drivers who have visited you. They gather together like a small conference room, their faces etched with concern.

“Thank you all for coming,” your dad begins, his voice serious. “We wanted to talk to you about Y/N. She’s struggling, and we need your help.”

Your mom nods, her eyes filled with tears. “She’s losing hope, and we’re afraid she’s going to give up. We need you to remind her of the fighter she is, to help her see that she can get through this.”

Lewis, George, Lando, Oscar, Max, and Charles exchange worried glances, their expressions serious. They all care deeply about you, and the thought of you giving up is unbearable.

“We’ll do whatever it takes,” Lewis says firmly. “We’re not going to let her give up.”

The others nod in agreement, their resolve clear. They begin to plan regular visits, phone calls, and messages of encouragement, determined to lift your spirits and help you see the light at the end of the tunnel.

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The next few weeks bring a steady stream of visitors. Max is the first to arrive, his usual confidence tempered by concern.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says, sitting beside your bed. “I brought you something.”

He hands you a small box, and when you open it, you find a miniature model of your race car. “I thought it might help you remember what you’re fighting for,” he says quietly.

You smile, touched by the gesture. “Thank you, Max. It means a lot.”

Lewis is next, bringing a stack of racing magazines and a collection of your favorite movies. “I thought you could use some entertainment,” he says with a smile.

George brings a scrapbook filled with photos and memories from your racing career. “I want you to remember how far you’ve come,” he says softly.

Lando arrives with a box of your favorite snacks and a playlist of uplifting songs. “Music always helps me when I’m feeling down,” he says with a grin.

Oscar arrives with a stack of books, his quiet presence a calming balm. “I know you love to read,” he says simply. “I thought these might help you pass the time.”

Charles comes last, bringing a framed photo of the two of you celebrating after a race. “I want you to remember all the good times we’ve had,” he says softly. “And all the ones we still have ahead of us.”

Their visits bring a small measure of comfort, but the road to recovery remains daunting. The physical pain is relentless, and the psychological toll is equally severe. There are days when you feel like giving up, when the thought of never racing again is too much to bear.

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Today was another day of physical therapy, the room was sterile, the fluorescent lights casting a harsh glow on the rows of equipment in the physical therapy room. You sat on the padded bench, beads of sweat dripping down your forehead. Your physical therapist, Maria, stood in front of you, her expression firm yet encouraging.

"Alright, Y/N, we're going to try to put a little more weight on your leg today," Maria said, her voice gentle but insistent. "You’re making great progress, but we need to push a bit more."

You nodded mechanically, gritting your teeth. The pain was a constant, gnawing presence in your leg, a cruel reminder of the crash that had shattered more than just your bones. You took a deep breath and tried to stand, but the agony was immediate and overwhelming. You crumpled back onto the bench, gasping.

"Come on, Y/N, you can do this," Maria urged. "Just one more try."

Something inside you snapped. The relentless pain, the frustration, the overwhelming sense of loss—everything boiled to the surface. You exploded.

"NO! NO! NO! I CAN'T DO THIS!" you screamed, your voice echoing off the walls. "I CAN'T! IT HURTS! I'M IN PAIN! AND DON'T YOU TELL ME YOU KNOW HOW IT FEELS WHEN YOU DON'T! YOU HAVEN'T LOST THE ABILITY TO WALK! YOU HAVEN'T BEEN TOLD YOU MIGHT NOT BE ABLE TO DO THE ONE THING THAT GAVE PURPOSE TO YOUR LIFE!"

The room fell silent, the weight of your words hanging in the air. Maria's face paled, and she took a step back, her hands raised in a placating gesture.

"Y/N, I—" she began, but you cut her off.

"Just please, take me to my room," you said, your voice breaking. "I can't do this anymore."

Maria hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Okay," she said softly. She turned to call a nurse. "Please take Y/N back to her room."

The nurse arrived within minutes, her face a mask of professional concern. She helped you into a wheelchair and wheeled you down the long, sterile corridors back to your room. The journey was a blur, the walls closing in on you, each turn of the wheel a reminder of your limitations.

Once inside your room, you pushed yourself onto the bed, curling up into a ball. The nurse lingered for a moment, her eyes filled with sympathy.

"Do you need anything, Y/N?" she asked quietly.

"No," you muttered. "Just leave me alone."

The nurse nodded and exited, closing the door softly behind her. The silence that followed was deafening. You lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of despair settle over you. The hours dragged by, each second a reminder of the future that felt increasingly out of reach.

You heard the faint knock on the door but didn’t respond. You knew it was someone coming to check on you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. The knocks continued throughout the day, but you ignored them all.

You didn’t eat, didn’t speak, didn’t move. The room grew darker as the hours passed, the light outside fading into night. The pain in your leg was nothing compared to the ache in your heart, the sense of hopelessness that had settled in like a lead weight.

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Nights like this are the hardest. The darkness magnifies your fears, turning whispers of doubt into deafening roars. It’s one of those nights now, the kind where sleep seems impossible. The weight of your injuries and the uncertainty of your future press down on you like a suffocating blanket.

A soft knock on your hospital door interrupts your spiral of despair. It’s Charles, his silhouette framed by the dim light from the hallway. He steps inside quietly, his eyes searching yours with concern.

“Hey,” he says softly, pulling up a chair next to your bed. “I heard what happened, thought I’d check on you.”

You manage a weak smile, but it quickly fades. “Thanks for coming,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “I’m not great company right now.”

He takes your hand, his touch warm and reassuring. “You don’t have to be. I’m here for you, no matter what.”

For a moment, the two of you sit in silence, the weight of your shared pain filling the room. Then, the dam breaks.

“I don’t know how to do this, Charles,” you confess, your voice trembling. “Every day feels like a battle, and I’m so tired. I’m scared I’ll never race again. Racing is everything to me. It’s my passion, my dream. And now… I feel like it’s slipping away.”

Tears stream down your face, and Charles moves closer, wrapping his arms around you. You bury your face in his shoulder, letting out all the pain and frustration you’ve been holding in. His embrace is warm and strong, a safe haven in your storm of emotions.

“I know,” he whispers, his voice breaking with emotion. “I know how much racing means to you. It’s not fair what’s happened. It’s not fair that you’re hurting like this.”

You pull back slightly, looking into his eyes. You can see the tears there too, the raw pain he’s been holding back. “Charles, I feel like my life is over. If I can’t race… what’s the point? It’s all I’ve ever wanted. Without it, I don’t know who I am.”

He cups your face in his hands, his eyes filled with determination and love. “Y/N, you are so much more than a racer. You’re strong, and brave, and passionate. You’ve touched so many lives, including mine. This injury doesn’t define you. You do.”

You shake your head, the weight of despair still heavy on your heart. “But what if I can’t do it? What if I can never race again?”

Charles’s grip on you tightens, his voice firm but gentle. “Then we’ll find a new dream, together. But I believe in you, Y/N. I’ve seen what you can do. You’ve overcome so much already. Don’t give up now.”

His words pierce through the fog of your despair, lighting a small spark of hope. “But what if I fail? What if I can’t come back from this?”

Charles’s eyes lock onto yours, filled with a fierce resolve. “Then I’ll be there to catch you, every step of the way. We’ll face it together, no matter what. You’re not alone in this, and you never will be.”

The sincerity in his voice, the unwavering support in his eyes, brings fresh tears to your eyes. “Charles, I’m so scared.”

“I know,” he whispers, his own tears falling freely now. “And it’s okay to be scared. But don’t let fear steal your dreams. We’ll fight this, one day at a time.”

You lean into him, your hearts beating in sync as you cry together, the shared pain and love binding you closer than ever. In his arms, you find a flicker of hope, a reason to keep fighting.

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The next day your parents come in, their expressions filled with concern. They sit on either side of your bed, each taking one of your hands.

“Y/N,” your mother says softly, her voice filled with emotion. “We know you’re going through a lot. But we’re here for you, every step of the way.”

Your father nods, his grip on your hand firm and reassuring. “You’re not alone in this. We’re all rooting for you. And so are your friends.”

You nod, but the doubts still linger. The thought of facing another day of pain and struggle is almost too much to bear.

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It’s been five miserable and grueling months in the hospital. You’ve improved a lot, the doctors say but you just feel like you're stuck in limbo, going nowhere. Today you receive a surprise visit from all the drivers at once. Lewis, George, Lando, Oscar, Max, and Charles fill your room, their presence a comforting reminder of the support you have.

“Hey, superstar,” Lando says with a grin. “We’ve got a little surprise for you.”

He hands you a small box, and when you open it, you find a collection of letters and messages from fans all over the world. Each one is filled with words of encouragement and support, reminding you of the impact you’ve had on so many lives.

You feel a lump in your throat as you read through the letters, each one a reminder of why you started racing in the first place. The passion, the thrill, the joy—it’s all still there, buried beneath the pain and fear.

“We’re not going to let you give up,” Max says firmly. “You’re one of the strongest people we know. And we believe in you.”

Lewis nods, his expression serious. “You’ve overcome so much already. This is just another challenge, and we know you can get through it.”

George takes your hand, his eyes filled with determination. “We’re here for you, Y/N/N. Every step of the way.”

The others nod in agreement, their support unwavering. In that moment, you feel a flicker of hope, a small but growing light in the darkness.

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As the days fly by, the recovery process grinds on. The physical and psychiatric therapy sessions remain grueling, one pushing your body to its limits and the other peeling back layers of fear and doubt you didn't even know existed. You're forced to confront not just the physical pain, but the emotional turmoil of possibly losing the one thing that has defined you for so long: racing.

“Tell me about your fears, Y/N,” Dr. Yang, your therapist, prompts gently during one of your sessions.

You take a deep breath, the words sticking in your throat. “I’m terrified that I’ll never be the same again,” you admit. “Racing was everything to me. It was my passion, my identity. What if I can’t do it anymore? What if I’m not...me?”

Dr. Yang nods, her eyes full of understanding. “It’s natural to feel that way. But remember, you’re more than just a driver. You have other strengths, other passions.”

You shake your head, frustration bubbling up. “But I don’t want to be anyone else. I don’t know how to be anyone else. Racing was my life. Without it, I feel...lost.”

Dr. Yang leans forward, her voice soft but firm. “You’ve been through a traumatic experience, Y/N. It’s okay to feel lost right now. But this is also an opportunity to discover new parts of yourself, to grow in ways you never imagined.”

The thought of having to reinvent yourself is daunting. The stress and anxiety of not being able to race again loom large, casting long shadows over your recovery. Each day is a battle against these fears, a struggle to hold onto the hope that you can still find a way back to the track.

Each therapy session, both physical and psychiatric, feels like an uphill battle. The pain, both physical and emotional, is relentless, and the progress often feels painfully slow.

During one particularly tough session, you break down. “I don’t know if I can do this,” you sob, the tears streaming down your face. “I don’t know if I can ever be the Y/N I used to be.”

Dr. Yang sits quietly for a moment, letting your words hang in the air. “You’re right,” she says finally. “You might never be the same Y/N you were before the accident. But that doesn’t mean you can’t find a new version of yourself, one who is just as strong and passionate, even if in different ways.”

Her words strike a chord, the truth of them both painful and liberating.

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One day, after a successful therapy session, you receive another surprise visit from Charles. He enters the room with a bright smile, holding a small box.

“Hey, Y/N/N,” he says, his voice filled with warmth. “I’ve got something for you.”

You open the box to find a small, intricately designed keychain in the shape of a racing car. “It’s beautiful,” you say, touched by the gesture.

“It’s a reminder,” Charles says softly. “Of your passion, your strength, and your determination. No matter what happens, you’re still a racer at heart.”

You feel tears welling up in your eyes, but this time they’re tears of gratitude. “Thank you, Charles,” you say, your voice choked with emotion. “I needed this.”

He smiles, his eyes filled with warmth. “We all believe in you, Y/N. And we’re here to help you every step of the way.”

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The days that follow are still hard, but the nights are a little easier with Charles by your side. One night, as you’re lying in bed, exhausted from another day of therapy, Charles sits beside you, his hand gently stroking your hair. “You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said,” he begins, his voice soft and contemplative.

“About what?” you ask, your curiosity piqued.

“About racing being your life, your dream,” he replies. “I get it. Racing is my dream too. But I’ve realized something important. Dreams can evolve. They can grow. And sometimes, when one dream ends, it makes room for a new one.”

You look at him, your eyes searching his. “What do you mean?”

He smiles, a small, hopeful smile. “I mean that no matter what happens, you’re not defined by this one thing. You have so much passion, so much drive. If racing isn’t in the cards anymore, I know you’ll find something else that lights that fire in you. And I’ll be there to support you, every step of the way.”

His words are like a balm to your soul, soothing the deep wounds of doubt and fear. “Thank you, Charles,” you whisper, your voice filled with gratitude. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” he replies, his voice filled with unwavering conviction. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

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The days continue to blur together, but with each passing week, you begin to see more progress. The pain is still there, but it’s no longer as overwhelming. The therapy sessions remain challenging, but you start to look forward to them, eager to see how far you can push yourself.

Your friends and family continue to visit regularly, their support a constant source of strength. Max, Lewis, George, Lando, Oscar, and Charles all make it a point to check in on you, their encouragement lifting your spirits.

And through it all, Charles is by your side, his presence a comforting reminder that you’re not alone in this fight. His unwavering support, his quiet strength, his deep love—they’re the anchors that keep you grounded, the lights that guide you through the darkest nights.

As the months continue to pass, you begin to see more and more progress. The pain is still there, but it’s no longer as overwhelming. The therapy sessions remain challenging, but you start to look forward to them, eager to see how far you can push yourself.

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It's been six months since the accident. Half a year of relentless therapy, sleepless nights, and countless tears. But today, as you sit in the hospital's discharge room, a sense of cautious optimism fills the air.

Dr. Yang, your psychiatrist, and Dr. Miller, your orthopedic specialist, sit across from you. Dr. Miller adjusts his glasses and smiles warmly. "Y/N, I have to say, your progress has been remarkable. You're officially discharged."

You exhale, a weight lifting off your shoulders. "Thank you, Dr. Miller. Thank you, Dr. Yang."

Dr. Miller nods. "Remember, Y/N, this is just the beginning. You'll need to continue with your physical therapy and workouts to strengthen your body. We also need you to come in for your planned appointments. But if you keep up the good work, we're hopeful you could start racing again by next year."

Dr. Yang chimes in, "In about a month, you can begin to slowly train with your racing trainers to get back to racing. We know how much this means to you."

The relief washes over you. The thought of getting back behind the wheel, even if it's just in training, ignites a flicker of hope.

"Thank you both," you say, your voice trembling with emotion. "I can't wait to get back to it."

As you leave the discharge room, your heart pounds with a mix of excitement and nervousness. The past six months have been a rollercoaster of emotions, but today, you feel a renewed sense of purpose.

When you step out of the hospital doors, a loud cheer erupts. There, standing together, are the boys: Charles, Lewis, George, Lando, Oscar, and Max. They hold up a large banner that reads, "Welcome Back, Y/N!" and they're all grinning from ear to ear.

Charles is the first to reach you, pulling you into a tight hug. "We knew you could do it," he whispers.

Lewis steps forward next, a proud smile on his face. "Told you, didn't I? You're stronger than you think."

George gives you a high five, his excitement palpable. "Y/N’s back in action!"

Lando and Oscar cheer loudly, their enthusiasm infectious. "We missed you!" they say in unison.

Max, usually so stoic, actually looks emotional. "You had us worried for a while, but we never doubted you'd be back."

You laugh, wiping away happy tears. "Thank you, guys. I couldn't have done this without your support."

Charles takes your hand, his eyes shining with pride. "Let's get you home."

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The drive home is filled with laughter and lighthearted banter. The boys recount stories from the past six months, filling you in on all the racing drama you've missed. It's comforting to know that life has continued on the track, even as you've fought your personal battles.

Once home, you step into your apartment, which has been kept in perfect order by your parents. The familiar surroundings bring a sense of peace. Your parents are there, tears of joy in their eyes as they welcome you back.

"You're home, sweetheart," your mom says, hugging you tightly.

Your dad smiles, his pride evident. "We're so proud of you, Y/N."

Over the next few weeks, you settle into a routine. Physical therapy sessions continue, and you push yourself harder than ever, determined to regain your strength. The boys visit often, their presence a constant source of encouragement.

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A month later, you're cleared to start light training with your racing trainers. The anticipation is overwhelming as you step into the familiar surroundings of the training facility. Your trainer, Tyler, greets you with a wide smile.

"Welcome back, Y/N. Ready to get to work?"

You nod, your heart pounding with excitement. "Absolutely."

The training is rigorous, but the thrill of being back in the environment you love so much drives you forward. The first time you sit in a simulator again, your hands tremble slightly, but as you grip the wheel, a sense of calm washes over you. This is where you belong.

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As the months pass by, your progress is nothing short of extraordinary. Your body grows stronger, and your confidence begins to return. You start to believe that racing again is not just a distant dream but a tangible reality.

One evening, after a particularly grueling training session, you go to visit Charles at his apartment, you sit with Charles on the balcony, looking out over the city lights.

"I was so scared," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "Scared that I'd never feel this again. The rush, the passion."

Charles wraps an arm around you, pulling you close. "I know. But look at you now. You're doing it, Y/N/N. You're coming back stronger than ever."

You smile, resting your head on his shoulder. "I couldn't have done it without you, without all of you."

He kisses the top of your head. "We'll always be here for you."

"Charles," you begin, your voice soft but filled with sincerity, "Thank you. Through everything that's happened, you've been my rock. You stayed by my side, through the tears, the pain, the doubt. You've been my anchor, keeping me grounded when I felt like I was drowning."

Charles reaches out, gently taking your hand in his. "Y/N," he says, his eyes searching yours, "you don't have to thank me. I care about you more than anything in this world. When I saw what happened, I was scared. I couldn't bear the thought of losing you. I'm just grateful that you're here with me today."

Tears well up in your eyes as you squeeze his hand, overcome with emotion. "Charles, you mean everything to me. I don't know what I would do without you."

He brushes a tear from your cheek, his touch gentle and comforting. "I love you, Y/N" he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I've loved you from the moment I met you. And now, seeing you here, stronger than ever, I know that my love for you will never waver."

You meet his gaze, your heart bursting with love. "I love you," you say, the words spilling from your lips like a prayer. "With all my heart and soul, now and forever."

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It’s a new year, the new racing season buzzed with anticipation. Rumors swirled like wildfires about Mercedes’ new driver. Speculation ran rampant—some said it could be Sebastian Vettel, making a surprise return, while others thought it might be another seasoned veteran. Few dared to hope that it could be Y/N, the driver whose crash had left a deep scar on the hearts of fans worldwide. Yet, the more optimistic whispered her name with a sense of defiant hope.

As the Australian Grand Prix approached, Mercedes remained tight-lipped, stoking the fires of speculation. The paddock was electric with curiosity, journalists and fans alike desperate for any clue. The suspense reached a fever pitch during the free practices and qualifying rounds, as an anonymous driver in the silver arrow of Mercedes set blazing lap times, ultimately securing third place on the grid.

Race day dawned bright and clear, the air humming with excitement. The stands were packed, and millions of eyes worldwide were glued to their screens, waiting for the moment of revelation. As the clock ticked down to the start of the race, the Mercedes garage was a hive of activity, the tension palpable.

Then, the announcement came over the loudspeakers: “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time to meet Mercedes’ new driver.” The garage doors opened, and out stepped Y/N, her familiar figure met with a moment of stunned silence before the crowd erupted into deafening cheers. The roar of support was overwhelming, a testament to the impact she had made in her career and the resilience she had shown in her recovery.

Sky Sports' David Croft, commonly known as Crofty, was almost speechless as he watched her walk to her car. “What an incredible moment, ladies and gentlemen. Y/N L/N, a name synonymous with tenacity and talent, has made her triumphant return to Formula One. After everything she’s been through, to see her here, ready to race, is nothing short of miraculous. Welcome back, Y/N.”

You waved to the crowd, heart swelling with emotion. You climbed into the car, focus shifting to the task at hand. You were back where you belonged.

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As the lights went out, signaling the start of the race, your heart pounded with adrenaline. You launched off the line, holding your position through the first few corners. The car feeling like an extension of yourself, every movement precise, every decision calculated.

“Alright, Y/N, keep it steady. We’ve got a long race ahead,” Amaria’s voice crackled through your earpiece. Her calm tone was a steady anchor in the chaos of the race.

Lap after lap, you pushed the car to its limits, the memory of your accident a ghost that spurred on rather than holding you back. You were in the zone, overtaking with surgical precision and defending your position fiercely. On lap 15, you made a daring move on Max, slipping past him into second place. The crowd went wild, the roar echoing in your ears even through your helmet.

“Great move, Y/N. You’re doing fantastic,” Amaria cheered, her voice filled with pride.

As the race progressed, you found herself closing in on Lewis. You knew the pit stops would be crucial. On lap 28, you dove into the pits, the crew executing a flawless stop. You rejoined the race in third but quickly reclaimed back second position, setting your sights on first place.

“Pace is looking good, tires are optimal,” Amaria updated. “Keep pushing, you’ve got this.”

Your focus was razor-sharp, every muscle in your body attuned to the car’s movements. You chipped away at the gap, each lap bringing you closer to the leader. By lap 45, you were on Lewis’s tail, and with a brilliant maneuver, you overtook him, claiming the lead.

The final laps were a blur of speed and strategy. Lewis was close behind, pushing hard, but your determination was unyielding. Your hands gripped the steering wheel, eyes scanning the track ahead, your mind calculating every possible outcome.

“Just a few more laps, Y/N. You’re almost there,” Amaria’s voice was a lifeline, keeping you grounded.

Lap 56 came, and the crowd’s anticipation was palpable. You held your ground, defending your position with the skill and tenacity that had earned you a place among the best. As you crossed the line, the checkered flag waving, the realization hit you—you had won. You did it.

The crowd erupted in applause, the noise almost deafening. You parked the car at the P1 sign, the enormity of your achievement washing over you. You climbed out of the car, tears streaming down your face as you celebrated with her team. They lifted you up, their cheers of joy echoing through the paddock.

David Croft’s voice echoed through the stadium, capturing the essence of the moment. “Ladies and gentlemen, today we have witnessed history in the making. From a young girl in her hometown, driven by an insatiable passion for racing, to being the only girl in her karting races, lovingly supported by her parents. She defied the odds to become one of the first women to race in Formula 1. She survived a horrific accident in Suzuka, a nightmare that could have ended her career and dreams. Yet, she faced her darkest fears, battled through unimaginable pain and doubt, and today, she has overcome those scars to win the Australian Grand Prix. Y/N’s journey is nothing short of inspirational, a testament to the resilience of the human spirit. Welcome back, Y/N. We could not be any prouder. You have shown us what true courage and determination look like."

Other drivers came to congratulate you—Lewis, Max, Lando, Oscar, and more. Each hug, a testament to the joy and respect they had for your journey and your victory.

You ran towards Charles, your heart bursting with pride. You found each other in the sea of people, and you jumped into his arms, hugging him tightly. “You did it, baby, you did it! I knew you could do it. I’m so proud of you. You’re a winner! You did it! I’m so proud, baby. I love you so much!”

“I love you too,” you replied, your voice choked with emotion.

You stood on the podium, the weight of your journey settling on your shoulders. You have faced the darkest moments and come out stronger, your love for racing and the support of those around you guiding you back to the pinnacle of the sport. The crowd’s cheers were a testament to your resilience, a reminder that no matter how difficult the road, you had found your way back home.

© 23victoria 2023-24 I all rights reserved. do not republish, steal repost, modify, translate or claim my work as your own

[puck-luck]

new beginnings | may 27 - june 2

note: before i start this, i just want to warn y'all that it's 24.4k. if you want to read this in one sitting, i recommend locking in.

please hit me up in my inbox to give me feedback! or your thoughts! or speculation on what's coming next! i want you guys to talk to me all the time and tell me every thought you have. if i could send each of you the google document and force you to leave comments, i would.

also, i think by the time this fic is finished, it might be long enough to be a novel. should we all work together to get it published?

1:90 – TREVOR

“Do we really think it’s a good idea to spend the summer down here instead of the Michigan house?” Jack asks. “We own that one, after all.”

“Everyone knows about the Michigan house,” Trevor points out.

Cole, who had plotted this with Trevor after last summer’s debacle, sighs. “We can’t keep having the same conversation. We decided that we would train at the Checkers’ rink when we can get down to Charlotte and use the cement slab as our own rink in the yard of the rental house in the meantime. So that’s not your problem. So, what is, Jack? You’re gonna miss the girls?”

Jack fixes Cole with a cutting glare. “Fuck off.”

“You know, there are girls in North Carolina,” Cole says, a grin dimpling his cheeks. “Sweet, southern belles, even.”

Jack rolls his eyes. “I can’t wait for the rest of the goons to get here. We’ll put it to a fucking vote and I’ll get to go home.”

“If you want to go home so bad, why don’t you?” Trevor asks. “We’re not forcing you to be here.”

“You triple-belted me in the backseat,” Jack argues. “You’re taking me away from Michigan and you can’t even let me have shotgun.”

“Talk, talk, talk,” Trevor mocks. “You have hands. And fingers. You’re not helpless.”

Jack huffs from his spot in the back, stubbornly turning his head to the right to watch the trees pass. Cole does the same from the passenger seat, tapping his fingers along the pane of the window.

There are twenty miles, an hour total, still on the GPS. Trevor hasn’t seen a town since they stopped at the gas station at the bottom of the mountain, the closest city being Winston-Salem almost an hour and a half ago, barely more than sparse houses and fields in the time since. They’re driving along a stream now and the latest exit off this small, two lane highway said “Love Valley.” Trevor snickers at the sign and goes to point it out to Jack, but Jack beats him to it.

“Don’t, Z.”

“It’s funny, dude.”

“It’s not, though.”

Cole cranks the volume up, drowning out the continuing argument that floats forward from the backseat. 

They drive on and Trevor thinks about it– everything. They have three unobscured months in Litchton, the only people knowing about their whereabouts are their families and coaches. The goons, as Jack referred to them, would be joining them sometime in the next day or two. Quinn and Luke had to wrap up some loose ends at home (Quinn, closing up his apartment for the summer; Luke, visiting some college friends as their semester comes to an end.

Litchton was the safest bet and Krebs had mentioned North Carolina to Trevor in passing the one time they caught up throughout the year, heaving heard from Leschyshyn that the mountain towns of his home state were notoriously quiet and drama-free and that their inhabitants, although lovers of gossip, kept to themselves. 

After those girls had snuck into the Michigan house at the end of the summer and started showing up wherever the boys went in the evenings, Trevor just wanted a summer off. He wanted time with his friends the way they used to have it, just working out together and drinking until they dropped, swimming and parading around the town like normal guys in their early twenties. 

In Litchton, they could pretend to be guys that were home for the summer, ready to start some corporate finance or everyday-tie job. It was a look into what could’ve been, had they not dedicated their lives to their sport. 

For three months, he gets to be Trevor Zegras, the kid who complained about his name being last on the roster in every class growing up and the kid who worked in his mom’s store after school. But he’s also Trevor Zegras, NHL superstar, ninth overall pick, owner of the best Michigan goal in the United States, so he might toss his name around in Litchton this summer. Just to see if it gets him anything.

If it doesn’t, his good looks certainly will. What’s flirting with a few old ladies on the street? It’ll be the highlight of their year.

Trevor misses the driveway the first time the car passes it. It’s hidden by brush and along a curve. The GPS reroutes them– but they have to drive an extra fifteen minutes along this road before they can turn around. 

They drive into a small town, a strip of eclectic stores littering the main road. There’s a small grocery store with a fruit stand out front that Cole points to.

“We could pick up some food while we’re out here,” Cole suggests. Upon hearing Jack’s mouth open in the backseat, he continues, “Just so we don’t have to come back later.”

Jack slouches against the backseat, huffing about being cut off at the opportunity to express his discomfort. 

“Jacky, will you relax? We’re going to have fun this summer.” Trevor tells him, turning into the parking lot and choosing a spot close to the entrance. 

Cole laughs when Jack unbuckles his three seatbelts in the wrong order and has to untangle them. Trevor flips the mirror down and fudges his hair, fluffing the ends. He had gotten it cut just before they left for this trip, so the edges were still even and sharp. 

Jack is the first to exit the car, practically throwing himself onto the pavement with his excitement to leave the vehicle behind, if only briefly. They’d been driving for hours. Cole flew into New York from Montréal, so Trevor had to pick him up from the airport. They picked Jack up in Jersey in the early morning and started driving south. 

Trevor can’t blame Jack for his annoyance. They’ve been in the car with him for ten long hours and they forced the first stretch of driving on him, having spent about two hours in the car before getting him. He had just woken up and had to drive four hours through the traffic of Philly and into Baltimore. He napped while Cole drove down through most of Virginia, and then woke up grumpy anyway when Trevor took over to take on North Carolina. 

It’s been a long fucking day.

They shop together, but they bicker quietly. After years of friendship, their arguments seem more like brotherly spats. The knowing smiles from the women in the grocery store prove that they’ve heard encounters like this before, likely in their own homes. 

Eventually, Trevor rolls his eyes and goes to sit in the car. He leaves Cole and Jack to pay for the groceries. Upon leaving the store, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and pulls up Instagram, hoping to catch up on the posts that he had missed on the long drive.

Walking past the fruit stand out front, Trevor bumps into someone and he stumbles back.

“I’m sorry,” Trevor apologizes, reaching out and steadying the girl with a touch to her elbow. “I didn’t see you.”

“Hard to see me when you’re on your phone,” she replies with a tilted smile. 

Trevor lets out a little laugh at her reply, barely a breath. “I’ll be more careful next time.”

She nods with an approving hum and turns back to the stand, picking up a peach and turning it over in her hand. 

Trevor turns and walks to the car, climbing into the vehicle and settling behind the wheel. He watches the sliding door for his friends, but his eyes drift back to the girl.

She’s tied a red bandana in her hair and she slips peaches into her mesh bag. She talks to the vendor, using her hands to speak. She’s pretty, he realizes, far prettier than the girls he knows from California. The vendor hands her a basket of strawberries, which she takes carefully, inspecting the red berries by twisting the basket’s handle from side to side, spinning it. Trevor can see her profile this way– the slope of her nose, smooth. Her eyelashes, long. Her lips, pink and pursed into a little smile. Her stance is tilted, one hand on her hips.

Trevor is back outside the car before he can think. He approaches her as she pays for her fruit, standing behind her when she turns around.

She jumps when she sees him. “You’re still here?” She asks.

“No, but I’m back,” Trevor replies, realizing just how lame he sounds. “My friends and I are staying here for the summer and I just wanted to introduce myself.”

When he falls silent after explaining himself, she looks at him expectantly. He can see the bottoms of her teeth as her lips part. “So introduce yourself.” She gestures for him to go on.

“I’m Trevor,” he says, sticking his hand out. “My friends call me Z.”

Her eyes drop to his hand briefly. She considers it before reaching up and taking his hand, shaking it. “Why?” She asks.

“My last name starts with a Z,” Trevor supplies. “Zegras.” The smile he gives her is strained, expecting her eyes to light up in recognition. They do, but it’s not in the way he expects.

“You’re Greek?” She asks, her interest piqued. 

“Yeah,” Trevor replies. “But not, like… Greek. I’m from New York, but I live in California now.”

At the mention of California, her face stiffens. She hums disapprovingly. “Got sick of the West Coast, I take it? Is that why you’re back east this summer?”

Trevor flounders for a moment. “I love California, but the guys and I always spend our summers together. Usually we’re in Michigan.”

“So y’all travel all around, huh?” She asks. She doesn’t sound impressed, which makes Trevor nervous. In fact, she sounds almost disdainful, but the look on her face appears as though she’s holding back a laugh. Whether that is at his expense, he doesn’t know.

“We’re very lucky,” Trevor confirms, nodding tightly. “Most of our travel is for work, though. We all work in the same industry and it involves a lot of, um, business trips.”

“Business trips?” She asks, letting the laugh overtake her this time as she looks him up and down. “You?”

Trevor looks down at his own outfit, the basketball shorts and loose t-shirt. They’re two of the few clothes he owns that are not branded with the Ducks logo. He scratches the back of his head sheepishly. “We’ve been driving a while and I wanted to be comfortable.”

“You certainly look comfortable,” She agrees with a nod, her grin knowing and wide.

“I didn’t catch your name,” Trevor says with a similar grin, shuffling forward just a step now that he’s got her smiling and laughing.

It’s then that Cole and Jack exit the grocery store, each with a hefty load of grocery bags on their arms. They’re laughing, so it appears Cole has managed to cheer up the sullen Jack in Trevor’s absence. Trevor watches the girl’s eyes leave his, drawn to the movement and volume of his two friends. He curses them in his mind, watching as they find him and decide to approach.

“I thought you were warming up the car, Z,” Jack accuses, his eyes flickering between Trevor and the girl. “D’you get distracted?”

Trevor bites his tongue before forcing a smile on his face. He turns back to the girl. “These are the some of the friends I mentioned, Jack and Cole. The other ones, Jack’s brothers, aren’t here yet.” Trevor knows he’s overexplaining, but he can’t help it. Something about this girl has him awkward and tongue-tied, yet his tongue can’t stop forming words and pushing them out.

“Yeah, your business partners.” She rubs a hand over her face, smoothing out the half-smile that was clearly keeping a laugh at bay. “Are they also from California?”

Cole snorts. “Business partners?” He repeats. “From California? No way. You’d never catch me dead in Anaheim, unless we’re playing there. Believe me, I’d be on the quickest flight back.”

“I just said we all worked in the same industry,” Trevor corrects, throwing on his most charming smile to try and salvage the situation. He wasn’t lying, but this girl might think he is, and that would be disastrous. He doesn’t know why, but it would be. He wants her to think highly of him and now he’s made two bad first impressions.

The second one is his friends’ fault, of course.

And she does think he’s lying– Trevor can tell by the way she looks him up and down, then Cole, then Jack. Her eyes squint imperceptibly at Cole’s mention of “playing” in Anaheim, rather than working. It was a statement that could have extended the conversation, but this girl seems to decide that she is uninterested.

She nods sarcastically, then scoffs quietly. “I have to go,” she says. “It was nice to meet you, Trevor. Have fun in Litchton this summer, boys.”

“Oh, we will,” Jack assures her. Trevor hates how his eyes rake over her, combing through each detail of her skin, her clothes, and her hair.

“Nice meeting you!” Cole calls after her as she walks away.

Both boys turn to Trevor, equally annoying smiles on their faces. 

“Shut up,” he hisses before they can say anything. 

“Who was that?” Cole asks.

“I didn’t get her name,” Trevor growls through gritted teeth. “She was just about to tell me and then the two of you showed up.”

“Boo-hoo,” Jack teases. “So you won’t be the first to bed a girl this summer, for… how many summers in a row is it now, Coley?”

Cole’s laughter breaks his face, but Trevor interrupts before he can speak.

“It’s not even a real competition, Jack. You only act like it is because you fuck the same girl every summer as soon as we get to the lake house. It’s trashy.”

“Being a winner isn’t trashy, Trev. In fact, maybe I should go follow after the girl you were just chatting up. I’ll show her how a real man flirts.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Trevor feels a flare of anger well up inside of him when Jack insinuates taking this girl for himself. It should be anger about questioning Trevor’s manhood, but it is not. “Get in the car.”

He stalks off, starting the car this time and situating himself behind the wheel. Jack vies for the passenger seat unsuccessfully, souring his mood yet again. Despite Cole’s smaller stature, Jack is the one left in the backseat with the bags of groceries around him. Soon, Trevor’s shirt joins him after a misguided throw to the trunk of the car where their luggage resides.

When they arrive at the house, Jack only carries the groceries inside. He claims he’s been stilted all day and Trevor can’t really do much to prove otherwise. Cole carries in his and Jack’s luggage into the home– a rental that Trevor paid good money to book for the entire summer. 

“I get the best room!” Trevor yells after them. “I paid for it! I want the ensuite bathroom!”

“Go fuck yourself,” Jack replies. He’ll leave the room for Trevor to take anyway. 

The three boys had planned this ahead of time. They would be in Litchton the whole summer, so they will take the three bedrooms that have king beds. Quinn and Luke will take the queen beds in the other bedroom, and the various guests throughout the summer will take the bunk beds in the basement. From the pictures alone, Trevor realizes that the house could sleep more than ten people. If they can find ten people, maybe they could throw a party. 

and invite that girl, Trevor thinks.

He’s taken aback by the thought and its suddenness. He doesn’t even know her name or if he’ll see her again– so why is he thinking of her?

Trevor shakes the thought and grabs his bags from the back of the car. He used an extra practice bag from the bottom of his closet in Anaheim to pack his clothes for the summer, so he has a free hand to open the door that Cole closed behind him. 

He finds the big bedroom easily and drops his bag in the closet, not bothering to unpack. He looks out the sliding door onto his porch, the wrap-around that encircles the entire back of the house. His porch holds two rocking chairs and a wooden bench. The house is built out of wood– almost overwhelmingly so– and the decorations match. His bedframe, his dresser, his bedside table, his small desk, the fan, even the blinds on the window… all of them are made of wood. 

His bathroom has double sinks and a granite countertop. The handles are gold in color, but likely not in material. The spout of the sink is more like a water spigot that one might find outdoors, but it’s classy. When Trevor enters his bathroom, he’s in awe of the jacuzzi tub and shower on the other side of the room. 

The tub and shower are both built from dark marble, bespeckled with lines of darker ore. The tub has wooden cabinets beneath the feet of marble on either side of the tub, which holds towels and toiletries on the right and left respectively. The tub has jets and a handheld spout that’s detachable. Trevor considers them. He can think of a use for both.

The shower is spacious with an overhead spout, wide and fancy. It has ledges for toiletries, as well as a seat in the corner. The door is glass and there is a hook for towels next to the opening. The shower stands from ceiling to floor, completely confined. Despite the windows to the side of it, the occupant of the shower would be completely hidden from sight, once the glass door steams up. 

Trevor explores the house further, but doesn’t take up residence anywhere. Cole and Jack seem to have put the groceries away while he found his room and looked around. Now, they’re nowhere to be found. They’ve likely taken up residence in their bedrooms for the night, tired from their eleven hour drive.

Lord knows Jack needs sleep before he braves this vacation. He always gets grumpy when he’s tired, part of the reason why he naps prior to every game. 

Trevor is glad that all of the boys can make it up for the summer. He can’t wait to get things started.

2:90 – HONEY

She wakes with the sunrise, as she does every Tuesday. It’s her first day of the week at the bookstore and she has to open. The Reading Nook is always closed on Mondays and she is one of three workers– the owner, Ada and her best friend since childhood, Bea. Ada opens the store on Thursday, whereas Bea opens it on Friday. Every other day of the week, the responsibility falls on her.

She makes her coffee and drinks it on her couch, looking out the window towards the mountains in the distance. It’s clear today and she can see the rows of mountains clearly– ten rows back. Once, her father had told her that if you could count ten rows back, you were looking at the mountains across state lines. If you could count ten mountains, then you could count all the way to Tennessee. 

She believed him, until she realized that the sun always rises behind those mountains. She faces east. Tennessee is to the west.

Still, the memory comes with fondness. It was before she moved away from home to pursue a life of quietness in the mountains, her favorite place in the world. Those days are long in the past. She has no interest in returning to them, given how far she’s come. The only person from her hometown that was welcomed into this new life was Bea and she has proven time and time again that she is deserving of that role.

Not only did they grow up together, but she got her nickname because of her friendship with Bea. As children, a long-forgotten teacher had made a comment about the two being attached at the hip, stuck together like glue. She had corrected herself with a laugh, evidently feeling clever when she said: “No, more like a bee to honey, right, girls?” From that day on, she had only gone by Honey and Bea had shortened her name from Beatrice to keep the analogy. 

She drives to The Reading Nook and unlocks the store, wiping the counter and sweeping the main room while she waits for her regular patrons to enter the store.

On Tuesdays, the “founding” women of Litchton convene in the bookstore and knit. Some days, Honey joins them. Others, she just wishes to sit and read at their table, listening in on the gossip of the week. The women are not so much founders as the grandmothers who lived in Litchton since their birth, having married and worked and raised families here. They are true Appalachian women– driven by superstition and fantastical solutions, lovers of a good story, and wonderful bakers who only crave to share their gift. They are churchgoers, often multiple times a week, and headstrong believers in their chosen politician. These are the attributes that Honey does not share with the women– she was an outsider, although she has been welcomed into the Litchton society since moving here. She attended church when the ladies asked her to, usually for the rare wedding or baptism. Rarer for a funeral, luckily. Honey does not feel any particular way about politics, at least not out loud, and she’s lucky that the ladies try to reserve that topic for the debates of their husbands over dinner parties, not the knitting circle on early Tuesday mornings.

Sacha is the first to arrive to the bookstore that morning, armed with blueberry muffins in a tupperware that Honey will have to wash in the little sink in the back while the women are knitting. Sacha has left one too many tupperwares and bowls in The Reading Nook and Honey won’t allow her to leave another behind. 

Honey plates the muffins for Sacha while the elderly woman secures the long table in the store for her friends. It does not take long for Scarlett, Gillian, Vera, and Rosalind to join. The women each knit their own project, waking up over coffee and muffins before the gossip starts.

It begins with Vera’s son’s divorce, something she had been dreading since he proposed to his soon-to-be ex-wife while they were still students at NC State. They had moved to Raleigh permanently, an action that Vera believes started this whole thing. When her son left home, and his wife finally revealed that she didn’t want children, Vera knew it was over. Or so she said. Honey thinks that she’s just butthurt about her son fleeing the nest… ten years ago. She wonders, briefly, if her own mother feels this way about her.

Honey shakes herself out of her thoughts as soon as Scarlett introduces the next topic, the topic that Honey knew was coming since the night before.

“Did you see those young men at the store yesterday? I know you always do your shopping on Monday evenings, Rosalind.” Scarlett tilts her head like she’s conspiring with Rosalind, like Rosalind has been holding information from the group.

Rosalind nods, eyes glinting behind her wired glasses. “They were such handsome boys. Lord, I tell you, if I were a young lady nowadays…”

She trails off and Honey stifles a laugh, looking down at the counter. She can feel the ladies’ eyes on her, no doubt hoping that the mention of boys piques her interest. Honey knows how these ladies were in their day– boy crazy but also efficient, looking for the perfect match and settling for no less. All of them prevailed, although from their complaints, you would never know their husbands were the loves of their lives.

“Ladies, you know this conversation would be better suited for Bea,” Honey teases. 

“Bea is too forthcoming, you are still somewhat of a mystery.” Gillian lifts an eyebrow. 

“Where is Miss Bea?” Vera asks. “Wasn’t she supposed to be here half an hour ago?”

Honey doesn’t stifle her laugh this time. “Miss Vera!” She exclaims. “It is a Tuesday morning. You know Bea has no interest in showing up to work for at least another hour.”

Vera shakes her head. “You and Ada have got to stop allowing her to show up so late.”

Sacha laughs. “As if they could stop her if they tried!”

All of the women, and Honey, laugh at the joke. It’s well established in Litchton that Bea is the tardy sort, whereas everyone else prefers to be early or on time. Bea has the attitude of a city girl, to quote the old ladies, but the work ethic and priorities of a Litchton woman. She likes her men, she likes her job, but she loves a nice lay-in.

“Besides,” Honey tells the women, hesitating with a coy smile before dropping the bomb of information: “I’ve already met those men.”

The effect is instantaneous. All of them drop their knitting onto their laps and gasp. Gillian clutches at her chest, always the most dramatic of the quintet. 

“My darling,” Rosalind marvels.

“Well?” Scarlett questions. “How? When? Tell us everything.”

Honey moves from behind the counter to an empty seat at their table. She sits next to Sacha, the woman taking her hand and holding it tightly. 

“You ladies seem to forget that I go to the fruit stand outside the store on Monday evenings,” Honey begins. “Which is where I ran into them. Literally, too– one of them had his nose buried in his phone and bumped into me. He could’ve knocked me over!”

“You should have fallen so that he could have helped you up,” Rosalind suggests. The women murmur in agreement.

Honey rolls her eyes. “I did not. He apologized, I told him that he only bumped into me because he was caught up in his phone, and he said he would be more careful next time.”

“Next time,” Gillian repeats, nodding. “So he wishes to see you again?”

“Turns out, ‘next time’ was about five minutes later, when I went to leave the stand and he was right behind me!” Honey reveals, purposefully lacing incredulity into her voice. She places a finger on her lips and widens her eyes, playing into the dramatics of the ladies as if to say “What do you think of that?”

The women gasp in time. 

“Which one was it?” Scarlett asks.

“I only saw the other two for a moment, so I don’t think I could describe them well enough to you,” Honey says. “The one I spoke to is named Trevor.” She pauses to roll her eyes before adding sarcastically, “But his friends call him Z.”

Scarlett and Rosalind nod and look to each other. 

“It must have been the one who left earlier than the other two,” Scarlett says. “With those awful tattoos.”

Honey bites back a giggle. Once a southern mother, always a southern mother. “He did have tattoos,” she confirms.

“You two would get along,” Vera suggests, not so subtly casting a glance at the leafy vines that crawl up Honey’s arm.

Honey goes quiet, glaring at Vera. She has worked to try and get the ladies to stop commenting on her body and habits over the past few years, but the ladies are stubborn and traditional in most senses.

“How long will they be here? Or were they just stopping through?” Gillian asks.

“They’ll be here all summer, so I’m sure we’ll get our fill of them.” With that, Honey effectively ends her role in the conversation. She returns to the counter and opens her book, pretending to read it.

She knew the ladies would have caught wind of the men’s arrival by now and would want to discuss it. She knew that the ladies would be interested in setting her up with one of these new arrivals. They were cute, she’d give them that. At a glance, any of the three could have been nice company at a brewery, but Honey wasn’t looking. She was perfectly content with finding herself and making her own life, even if it meant that she wasn’t finding a husband like most women in Litchton wanted her to do.

The other thing was this: Trevor hadn’t made the best first impression. He bumped into her, then startled her, then told her some story about business partners or colleagues that definitely was not true, and he was from California. He’s a yuppie, a hipster who probably enjoys the bustle of Los Angeles and can’t handle the slow, satisfying life of a small town. To her estimate, Trevor has got a week before he leaves Litchton for something more glamorous and fast-paced.

The ladies relay the news to Bea when she finally shows up for her shift, a travel mug of coffee in hand from which she sips throughout each tantalizing detail of Scarlett’s retelling. Upon Honey’s information, Bea’s eyes flicker knowingly toward the counter and Honey just shrugs. Bea’s eyes then narrow, accompanying a questioning tilt of her head. Honey shakes her head at that, and Bea lets it go.

“Well, I heard the reason that Mr. Mayes wasn’t at church last week wasn’t his hip acting up,” Bea says to the ladies when it’s her turn. That starts a whole new tangent for the knitting club, one that will keep them occupied and in their seats for a number of minutes. It gives Honey the time to slip into the back and cut up one of the peaches that she brought from home to snack on during work. 

The ladies leave The Reading Nook about an hour after Bea’s arrival, leaving the store empty except for the two girls and floaters looking for their next novel.

Bea leans against the counter with a smug smile, blinking innocently at Honey. 

“What do you really think about them?” She asks.

“I think they’re trouble,” Honey says. “They didn’t seem on the same page about their jobs, they don’t know anything about living in a small town, they travel a lot, and I think I saw one of them carrying a 48-pack of beer.”

“Are they cute?”

Honey fixes Bea with a stare that could put a stop to anyone else’s questions. Unfortunately, Bea is immune to Honey’s intimidation tactics and her sarcastic jabs. She sees right through them. Honey’s silence is another thing she sees through.

“Interesting.” She draws herself up to her full height. 

“I think you would find them cute,” Honey says.

Bea hums. “You can’t backtrack now. You said enough without saying anything at all.” She crosses her arms over her chest then leans back down onto the counter. “So, tell me, Honeybear,” she muses. Fortunately, she changes the topic. “Did you get my strawberries from the stand, or were you too enthralled by the pretty boy in front of you?”

“He wasn’t pretty.”

“Sure he wasn’t.”

Honey scoffs, then leaves to the back to grab the basket of strawberries. She does so carefully, not touching the strawberries in case she breaks out in hives like she did last time. Bea swears that more exposure to the fruit would “cure” her allergy, but Honey only picks up the baskets to humor her. Honey doesn’t think she’s missing out on much, being allergic to strawberries. It’s her peaches that she would miss, and the blackberry pie that Ada makes when her vines turn ripe. That’s something to look forward to– blackberry season is starting and Ada could show up with a pie any day now.

The day continues slowly, with Ada making an appearance to close down the shop with the girls and help unpack a new shipment of books. After they’re done, Honey and Bea head to their respective homes.

Honey curls up with her book in her bed and listens to some music before the soft noise of the background and the comfort of her blanket draws her to her sleep.

3:90 – TREVOR

They have to go to the hardware store today. 

Yesterday, the boys wasted the day, sleeping later than they have in weeks. They ate a late breakfast, which turned into their lunch. They played pool on the pool table, ping and beer pong on the foldable table, and sunbathed out on the porch. Cole watched lazily as Trevor and Jack tried to outline half of a rink in chalk on the cement slab. They never finished the other half of the rink.

Today, they have to go get some wood and tools to make the rink into a 3D structure so the pucks don’t go flying into the woods when they shoot them. Trevor and Cole are the ones who are supposed to go to the store– Jack has decided to stay behind and wait for Quinn and Luke if they show up while the other boys are at the store. 

A convenient excuse, even though the goons are planning to show up today. Trevor expects the brothers to try and weasel their way out of working on the rink, claiming that they’re too tired from travel or they need more time to unpack. The thing is, the boys are flying into Charlotte and renting a car for the summer so that there will be two at the house, so they’re only driving for like an hour compared to Trevor’s eleven. They have no right to be complaining, but they will likely enact a vote and outweigh Cole and Trevor because if the Hughes are anything, it’s lazy and loyal to each others’ laziness.

They’re very driven, but only when they choose to work. When it comes to hockey, they’ll work all day. When it comes to creating the hockey rink or putting together equipment, they would much rather watch. Jim spoiled them that way– he was always the builder of the family and the boys were left to go do whatever they wanted as long as they weren’t annoying their father.

Trevor and Cole put off the trip as long as they can, hoping that maybe the Hughes brothers will show up early and they can force them to go to the store before they can even get out of the car. 

When the clock hits two, Trevor decides that the waiting is useless. They could’ve done so much during the day instead of sitting around waiting, but no. He was lucky enough to sit around and do nothing all day and watch stupid daytime TV with Cole while Jack read his texts with his brothers out loud.

The hardware store would be heaven compared to this.

He leaves without Cole at first, driving slowly down the driveway until he sees Cole’s figure run out of the house and after the car. Trevor can imagine what he’s saying as he yells after the vehicle– something about not being left with Jack in case the other Hugheses show up, something about how Trevor is a dick. 

They follow the one road on the mountain up to the strip where all the stores are. The hardware store is just a few doors down from the grocery store, so they park in the same parking lot.

Cole and Trevor walk side by side, Cole’s eyes on his phone as they walk while Trevor takes in the brick walkway beneath them. Names are etched on some of the bricks– Jude Doyle, Frederick Lawson, Ansley Hood… Grandma. Trevor has seen stuff like this before, but there’s something different about these names being etched on the bricks of this small town. Everyone probably knew these people, or knew someone who knew them, when they died. It’s so personal.

When they reach the hardware store, Trevor holds the door open for a man leaving. They give each other a curt nod, just a passing glance. Trevor sees absolutely no recognition in his eyes and comments on it. Cole doesn’t care, and says so. Trevor punches his shoulder.

“Welcome in,” the elderly woman at the counter greets. “What are you boys looking for?”

“Hi,” Cole replies, a charming smile on his face. “Could you point me towards the power tools? I can find my way from there.”

The woman smiles and points toward the back of the store. “They’re on the left, sweetie.” She turns to Trevor. “And what about you?”

“We’ll be needing some plywood,” Trevor says. “We’re building a little roller rink.”

“Oh, how fun!” The lady, named Vera if her nametag has any truth to it, claps her hands. “How much do you need, dear?”

“How much have you got?” Trevor asks. 

Vera waves her hand. “I don’t know. I’ll call Earl, he’ll send you off with what you need.” She turns and takes a breath before shouting the man’s name. Trevor’s heard that shout before– his grandmother used to do the same thing with his grandfather. 

The balding, age-spotted man appears at the door to the back of the shop. “I done told ya I have my hearing aids in, woman,” Earl grumbles to his wife, fond and mean and familiar in the way that only a couple who has been married for fifty years can be. 

Vera smacks Earl’s arm as he ambles by her. Earl pulls his arm away and puts another foot between them. 

“What do you need, young man?” Earl asks.

“Lots of wood,” Trevor says. “A couple of sheets of plywood and some 2x4s, maybe?”

“Boy, you do not think I have all’a that laying around.” Earl fixes Trevor with a stink-eye. 

“Don’t you tell him that!” Vera chimes in. “I know you’ve got plenty of wood out back because you bought all of it and never finished our damn basement.”

“I’m going to finish it!”

“Earl, you’ve been saying that for thirty years, you ain’t never finishing the basement.”

Trevor wants to laugh at the absurdity of this conversation. He wants to laugh at this domestic argument and how unreal it is that it’s unfolding in front of him. Instead, he clears his throat. “Excuse me,” he interrupts gently. “I don’t know if I want thirty year old wood for this. We’ll be hitting pucks off the boards all day and I’d like to keep the pucks inside the rink, please.”

“You’re a hockey boy?” Earl questions with a raised brow. When Trevor nods, he lets out a grunt. Trevor can’t tell what that means. Nonetheless, he waves Trevor to follow him into the back.

Trevor squeezes past Vera– she pinches his butt, he thinks– and catches a glimpse of her knitting under the counter when he walks by. She’s knitting something green. It’s too bundled up for him to tell what it is, though. Maybe he’ll ask later.

When he enters the back room, Earl gestures around. “Take your pick of the wood and make a pile over there–” he points to the corner– “and you can drive around back and we can put the wood in your truck there.”

“Oh, I didn’t drive a truck down,” Trevor says before he can help it. Earl makes a face. “But my friend and I can carry the piles ourselves to the car, don’t worry about that.”

“I wasn’t worried,” Earl gripes, shuffling away to sit at a bench with a circular saw and a half finished product on the table. 

Trevor sifts through the wood, all neatly arranged into piles of similar sizes– but labeled completely wrong. Trevor thinks that Earl might’ve refused to follow Vera’s labels when she first put them up in the shop, but realized that they’re more helpful than harmful. He’s just petty enough of an old man to ignore the labels, but follow the categorization.

Trevor ends up with a pile of ten sheets of plywood– four that are as long as lunch tables, and six that are just squares. Those will go behind the goals, while the long ones will go around the sides of the slab. He picks up a couple of 2x4s, just in case he needs them, and throws them on the pile with a clatter.

“I’m going to go grab my buddy,” Trevor says to Earl.

Earl grunts, but doesn’t budge. He also doesn’t look up from his station.

Cole is chatting up Vera when Trevor rejoins them. He’s leaning over the edge of the counter, asking about Vera’s knitting and her grandchildren. He’s got a bag of goodies next to him– powertools and nails, Trevor assumes. 

“Coley, come help me,” Trevor interrupts.

“No manners, this guy,” Cole says to Vera, scoffing and pointing his thumb at Trevor with a shake of his head. 

“Well, don’t keep the bear waiting,” Vera replies. Trevor watches her pinch Cole’s ass as he passes, but Cole just laughs and bats her hand away.

Fucking annoying. Always so good with the grandparents.

“The bear?” Trevor asks once Vera is out of earshot. “Is that me?”

Cole smirks. “We’ve got nicknames.”

Earl looks up when they reenter the back. He lets out a laugh, just a short bark. “This is your friend who’s going to help you carry all that wood?”

As the smirk falls off Cole’s face, Trevor picks it up.

“I can carry some wood,” Cole insists. “Probably all of it. I’m stronger than Z is, anyway.”

Earl’s gaze slides over to Trevor. “Z,” he repeats. “I hope you don’t stick with that one.”

Trevor laughs. “You sound like–” he cuts himself off. He never did learn her name, anyway. What’s it to this old man, who he sounds like?

Cole picks up on it though. “Like who, Z?” He asks with a tilt of his head.

Trevor glares at him. 

“I don’t give a rat’s ass who I sound like and I don’t want to hear your smug little bickering,” Earl admonishes. “Get your wood and get outta my shop.”

Trevor laughs in Cole’s face, then pushes him over towards the pile of wood. “Go on, strong man.”

Cole makes like he’s going to throw a punch at Trevor– Trevor doesn’t flinch, because he hasn’t fallen for that since their first stint on the US team– and puffs up his chest before deciding to pick up the long pieces of wood.

“Compensating for something?” Trevor asks.

“Go fuck yourself,” Cole replies cheerfully, turning on his heel and swinging the wood around with him, hoping to hit Trevor in the stomach. Trevor jumps away.

He picks up the rest of the wood and follows Cole out of the shop, bidding Earl a quiet farewell.

Earl grunts.

Trevor nods to himself, not surprised by the response. Vera is much more sad to see them go, gushing over how strong they are and telling them to come back soon. 

“What’s your nickname?” Trevor asks suddenly, as they load the wood into the back of the car.

Cole grins, crooked and smug. “Sweetie.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

“Oh, I assure you, I’m not. I’m a real hit with the ladies.”

“Yeah, you’re a real fucking hit with the married seventy year olds,” Trevor scoffs. “Don’t fucking talk to me, dude.”

Cole laughs, tossing his head back. He looks over Trevor’s shoulder. “Hey, isn’t that your girl?”

Trevor spins around. “Where?” He asks, looking to his left and right. 

When Cole starts cackling behind him, Trevor takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “I’m gonna fucking kill you, dude.”

“Bear, you wouldn’t know what to do without me.” Cole pats Trevor on the chest before rounding the car, settling in the passenger seat.

“Fucking passenger princess,” Trevor seethes. 

“You wish you were me.”

“I fucking don’t.”

“The more fucks you say, the more fucks you give.”

“Fuck off.”

They drive back to the house in silence, Trevor’s knuckles white as he deliberates driving off the mountain and taking Cole with him. There are pros, certainly, the top one being that Cole would no longer be part of this vacation. The cons, unfortunately, outweigh the pros: without Cole, Trevor would be alone with the Hughes brothers all summer, except for the occasional visiting savior.

Quinn and Luke have arrived by the time the duo returns to the mountain house. They brought with them another SUV, this one only slightly bigger than Trevor’s vehicle. It’s got a third row of seats, but it’s cramped– they’ll definitely have to take both cars down to Charlotte when they go to practice. Because of the limited trunk space in Quinn’s rental car, Trevor’s car will likely end up being the gear car. 

Which is lucky, because who wouldn’t want to spend three hours total in the car with smelly gear while the other car gets to have fun and smell nice?

On second thought, the time alone might be good for Trevor. He loves his friends, he really does, but it’s hard to be around them for so long. He’s lucky that they’re all on different teams, that they keep up when they can, and that it’s not constant. Jack can’t escape his brothers, especially not Luke, but Trevor can escape all three of them.

He spends the evening building the outdoor rink, mostly alone. Quinn helps a little bit, mostly chalking up the lines on the remaining half of the slab. He holds the wood for Trevor while he screws some nails into the pieces to keep them in place. They work mostly in silence, as they often do. Trevor is itching to talk with Quinn, see how he is, but he knows that Quinn is a man of few words. He also knows that Quinn is quick to say that Trevor talks too much. They’re at the point in their relationship where Trevor lets Quinn dictate how much they speak.

Luke tries to cook dinner, he does. Trevor can’t fault him for trying. Jack had to jump in to save them from burnt steaks and soggy vegetables, and even if he can’t salvage everything, he does a pretty good job. Luke apologizes and does the dishes. He’s quiet for the rest of the night, falling asleep on the couch during the movie they picked out, and Quinn wakes Luke like a good big brother and shoos him to bed. 

It’s more calm than the lake house, Trevor thinks. They’re not really doing anything differently, are they? And yet, here they are, sitting together in calm silence. They’re drinking bottled beer and laughing over the same jokes they’ve heard a million times, reminiscing about summers past and what they’ll do this summer. Quinn wishes for a lake. Jack tells him they’ll find one.

Trevor goes to bed when the movie ends, frogs croaking past his bedroom window in the depths of the night.

4:90 – HONEY

It’s a Thursday, so Honey gets to sleep in until nine. Sleeping in until nine means that she really wakes up at eight, because she just can’t sleep in late after working at the bookstore for five years now. She sits on her couch on Thursday mornings and reads. She does the crossword in the Litchton Local, the newspaper that comes out weekly on Wednesdays. 

There’s an immeasurable stillness in the mountains.

Honey noticed it the first time she came up to this house as a child. Everything moves, like the bugs outside and the leaves on the trees, but everything is so still. Like it’s being held in place by something bigger. She knows the feeling well, but it’s comforting here. 

At home, it was uniforms and piano lessons after school. She loves piano, even still, but there was something so crushing about the weight of her perfect posture on that bench when there was all the pressure of beauty breathing down her neck.

Home, Honey thinks again, and laughs. 

In the mountains, all of the beauty of the world is there and present and taking up space– but it’s not forced. It’s not the idealized version of everything. It just is.

And everything is so green, especially on a rainy day like this. Honey thinks there’s something sacred about the greenness of the mountains, but it’s the melancholic side of divine that leaves you waiting for another whisper or breath in the wind that never comes.

She used to have a piano that she could play in the mornings. She toted it to the antique store down the road when she made the mountain home hers. Sometimes, she wonders why she did that and regrets it, staring at the dents on the floor where its legs used to stand.

But then she remembers that she’s thinking about the past again and she shakes herself out of it. Five years later, but it’s hard to forget all of the things you grew up knowing.

Honey picks Bea up on the way to work, relishing in the girl’s consistent lateness because it allows her the chance to catch up with her friend. They see each other every day, yes, but the bookstore isn’t suited for some topics.

Such as Bea’s current woes:

“I’ve run out of dating app men,” she complains.

Honey bites back a smile. “Did you run out, or did you just swipe left on all of them?” She asks knowingly.

Bea cuts her eyes at Honey. “All the ones I swiped left on are ugly,” she says. “I can promise you that.”

“Is anyone good-looking in Litchton, Bea?”

Bea’s silence speaks for itself.

Honey laughs, her hair whipping around her face in the breeze from the rolled-down windows of her car.

“If I had known you were dragging me to the Ugly Capital of the World, I wouldn’t have come with you,” Bea announces, like it matters. She’s a liar. She wouldn’t have let Honey leave their hometown without her, no matter where she was going.

“You couldn’t turn it down, you had to come,” Honey replies. “Especially since they asked you to be Mayor.”

Bea gasps, affronted. She stares at Honey, her jaw hanging open. “Are you mad at me? Be honest.” She pouts, her voice whiny.

“Oh my God,” Honey groans, rolling her eyes. “No, I’m not mad at you.”

“Okay, well, stop being a cunt, please,” Bea sasses. If Honey were more annoyed, she’d reach out and slap Bea’s arm for the attitude. “We have to go to work and I need to put all my focus into pretending to like you.”

“Yeah, because it’s so hard to like me,” Honey says. Her voice is dripping with sarcasm, monotone and grating. 

“Yeah, it is, you suck.” Bea flips her hair over her shoulder, digging through her bag to find her Walmart lip gloss. She smears the cherry flavored gloss over her lips and puckers up, batting her eyelashes at Honey exaggeratedly. “Gimme a kiss.”

“No.” Honey pulls up to The Reading Nook and parks on the street in front of the building, parallel parking with the practiced ease of someone who’s been dealing with nothing but parallel parking (except in the grocery store and church parking lots) for the last five years.

“Ugh, one day you’ll kiss me,” Bea mutters, staring forlornly out the window. 

Honey rolls her eyes. “Bea, we’ve already kissed. You weren’t that good and I didn’t like your lip gloss then, either.”

Bea cringes. “That was like ten years ago, Hon. Things have changed since then. Number one, I’m not in middle school. Number two, I’ve had boyfriends and I’ve had sex since then. Number three, you know it wouldn’t mean anything. I want you to try my lip gloss so bad, come on.”

Honey stares. Bea’s got a stupid smile on her face, teasing and annoying. They hold each other’s eyes for too long before Honey speaks. 

“You’re insufferable, did you know that?”

Bea nods. “You are so easy to work up.”

Bea and Honey exit the car at the same time and enter the store through the front, the bell jingling behind them. Ada greets them from behind the counter, teasing Bea for being late again and threatening to cut her pay. She never will, never. Bea is too good with the kids, too happy to talk to mothers, and just dry enough to understand the miserly old man that walks through the door looking for a new World War I book. 

In the back, Ada has a bowl of biscuits and jam that Honey reheats and eats over the counter before she starts her day. 

She’s supposed to reshelve some books from their Borrow Before You Buy section, the part of the store that acts as the town’s public library. It’s a small task. The pile of books that were returned yesterday is less than a hundred. A good portion of the books are little kid chapter books, the kind you could finish in an hour as an adult because the font is so big and there are full-page pictures twice a chapter. 

Bea has to read to the kids at noon– some of the mothers bring snacks, like the end of a youth soccer game. It’s like a potluck lunch and the kids love Bea. Most weeks, it’s just her, but since it’s summer, she’s starting to bring in guest readers. Honey refuses to do it every time. Well, that’s not true– she acts as guest reader once a summer, right before school starts. It’s her one moment of the year. 

As she’s restocking the books, Honey hears the bell twinkle with each new customer that walks in. She’s grown used to the noise over the years, so it doesn’t draw her eye anymore.

What does draw her eye, however, is the blunt tap on her shoulder. When she turns around, Bea is blinking innocently at her– no doubt the offending hand in this scenario– with Trevor by her side.

“I was just talking to Trevor here, Honey,” Bea says. “And he was wondering if we had any books that a man his age might like. I thought maybe you should talk to him.”

Honey glares at Bea, purposefully obvious about it so that Trevor sees. What does she know about book recommendations for a man in his twenties? He probably wants some shit sports biography, or worse– he’s embracing his inner old man and he’s ready to venture into the world of World War I non-fiction. Either way, book recommendations are Bea’s thing, not Honey’s. She just stocks the books, builds the shelves, and bonds with the old ladies who come in on Tuesdays.

Bea shrugs with a coy little smile– Honey wishes she could slap it off of her face– and disappears behind the stacks. Honey can tell that she’s still listening from a few feet away, always nosy and overly interested in Honey’s exploits. If she can’t indulge in her own, she’s happy to butt in on Honey’s.

“Trevor,” Honey says, crossing her arms over her chest. She didn’t wear a bra today. She doesn’t trust him not to look. She also doesn’t trust her nipples not to peak in the cold air. 

“Is Honey your real name?” Trevor asks. 

She balks at him. “What is it with you and my name?”

Honey expects Trevor to back down, to act timid and normal and earnest like he did at the fruit stand on Monday. She expects him to apologize, yet again, for another inadvertent mistake that Trevor seemed unable to avoid. It’s because he doesn’t think– he just says the words as they come to mind, hoping that the sentence comes out fully formed and making sense.

And yet, he doesn’t.

“Just wanted to know what name I’ll be saying when I’m telling you to come,” is what Trevor answers. 

Honey gathers her wit quickly, scrambling to find a response to Trevor’s bold statement. She wants something clever, something to turn him down, something to tell him that he’s a cocky prick for saying such a thing while she’s at work, but she comes up with none of the above. Instead, she settles for: “It’s a nickname.”

A smirk tugs at Trevor’s lips and Honey wants to reach out and strangle him. He’s smirking because he thinks he bested her– bested her– and that he’s got the upper hand.

“What kind of book are you looking for, Trevor?” Honey changes the subject, trying to get back on task. She turns, continues restocking the Borrow Before You Buy shelves. 

“I’m not sure, Honey,” he replies, really milking his use of her name. “What kind of books do you think I’d like?”

She glances at him, looks him up and down. She tamps down a smile and says in a curt, monotone voice. “Guides on how to make the best of your business trip.”

Trevor laughs at that, more of a shake of his shoulders than a real laugh. “You’re funny, Honey.”

Honey raises her eyebrows and waits for him to continue.

“Hey, that rhymed. Maybe a book of poetry? I need to study my craft if I’m going to be waxing poems about you.”

He’s bold, she thinks. He’s really bold, much more sure of himself than he was on Monday. He’s much more confident, a sharp 180º from where he was the other day.

“Why don’t you keep your waxes to yourself?” Honey asks.

“How can I?”

She turns to him, planting a hand on her hip. “Don’t you have something to do today other than bother me at my bookstore? You don’t even know me. Why are you here?”

“I’m here to get a book. I’m not trying to bother you, I’m just trying to make conversation.” Trevor shoves his hands in his pockets and has the decency to look ashamed, even if it’s just for a split second and just to see if Honey will crumble. She knows his type. She’s seen them before.

“You’re flirting with me,” Honey accuses. “Not making conversation.” She puts air quotes around the last two words.

Trevor smiles. “You caught me,” he says simply, no shame evident in his voice. The smile stays on his lips as he and Honey look at each other. He raises his eyebrows and she takes it as a challenge.

“I’m not interested, Trevor.”

“I could show you a good time, Honey.”

“In Litchton?”

“Don’t you hear how good it sounds when I say your name? It’s like we’ve been hooking up for ages and I’ve got a special little name for you.”

“A name that everyone else uses.”

“It’s special to me.”

“How about a self-help book?”

Trevor clutches at his chest, jaw dropping in fake-misery. “You think I need help?”

“If you’re not going to buy a book, then you need to leave me alone.” Honey places the last book in her stack on the shelf and looks at Trevor expectantly. The silence sits between them, suspended for a moment.

“Do you have any books about space?” He asks. 

Honey notices that his voice is softer, a little more genuine. She examines his features, waiting for the other shoe to drop. She waits for the joke about not wanting space from her, needing her in his orbit, or whatever. It doesn’t come. She scans his figure one last time, realizing that her brow is furrowed and she’s chewing on the inside of her bottom lip as she does so. She smoothens her expression, hoping Trevor didn’t pick up on her calculating stare.

“How do you feel about creative nonfiction?” Honey asks.

Trevor scrunches his nose.

“Memoirs, personal histories, stuff like that,” Honey supplies. She softens her voice to match his tone. She almost feels a little shy. “We only have one book about space that I’ve read and it’s creative nonfiction, but it’s really good.” Quieter, then: “I liked it.”

Trevor nods, a little hesitant. This is the Trevor she met on Monday. “Okay.”

“Follow me.” Honey leads him to the nonfiction section, to the rows of books whose authors bear a last name that starts with ‘D.’ She runs her fingers along the titles of the books at the height of her chest while scanning the upper shelves. “It’s there,” she says, pointing to the row just out of her reach. “It’s by ‘Dean.’” She looks down, around her on the floor. “Where’s my step ladder…?”

“I can reach it,” Trevor says, stepping forward. He places a hand on the small of Honey’s back and reaches up, fingers hesitating as he searches for the right book. When he finds the spine bearing Dean’s name, he bounces up on his tiptoes for just a second to slide the book from its position on the shelf. 

Honey has never been more aware of a hand in her life. His touch is light, just a passing glance really, but it weighs on her. It’s like she’s standing in quicksand and she waited too long to try and get out.

He’s so close to her when he stands flat on his feet again. He’s got the book in one hand and his other still rests on Honey’s back.

She steps away.

His eyes follow her, but instead of saying anything, he just flips the book over in his hand. He reads the back cover and as he does so, Honey puts more space between them. She takes a breath, trying to stay quiet, and grounds herself.

“Is it really any good?” Trevor asks. “Do I have to buy it?”

“Yes, and, um.” Honey throws a look over her shoulder. She lost track of Bea while she and Trevor went to find this book. Fuck, her nosey best friend could be anywhere. “You can borrow it. We just usually give people a week or so to bring it back, and if you don’t, we track you down.”

“Track me down?” Trevor asks, chuckling. 

“Yeah.” Honey nods. “Small town. Everybody knows everybody, or knows somebody who knows everybody.”

“Stalking me, Honey?” Trevor teases.

“We’ve met twice, and both times it was because you came up to me. If anyone is the stalker here, it’s you.”

Trevor turns the book over in his hand again, looking down to avoid Honey’s gaze. “Leaving Orbit, huh?” He bites his lip and takes in the sight of Honey in front of him. He taps the book with his other hand. “I’ll let you know if it’s any good.”

“I know it’s good. I read it.”

“Baby, if you knew good, you’d be all over me.”

Honey scoffs. “Alright, fun’s over. Get out of here, Trevor.” She shoos him away, practically pushing him out of the shop. She sticks her tongue out at him through the glass after closing the door behind him. She watches him laugh, run his hands through his hair, and turn away.

‘Zegras’ is written in bold letters across his back, the number 11 in the center of his t-shirt. The detail catches Honey’s eye as she watches him walk away, down the street towards a car with a New York license plate that looks far too perfect and expensive to belong in Litchton. She bites the inside of her lip again, pondering. If anyone asks, she doesn’t care, but Trevor’s different than anyone she’s ever met. She wonders why.

But no, she doesn’t care.

Bea does.

“He plays hockey,” Bea announces, revealing herself. “He’s good, too. NHL. He was a top ten pick when he was drafted.”

Honey just nods. Twice. That’s all she needs. They’re small movements and she’s still chewing on her lip.

“What did he get?”

Honey clears her throat. “Just the, uh, Dean book about space.”

Honey can practically hear the face Bea makes behind her back. “You think he’ll enjoy that?” Bea asks. “It’s really personal.”

“It was the only book I could think of,” Honey replies with a shrug. She finally turns around to face Bea. “You’ve got to stop spying on me. I know you listened to our whole conversation.”

Bea pouts and stomps her foot, the sound echoing along the stacks around them. “How could I not?” She demands. “‘Just wanted to know what name I’ll be saying when I’m telling you to come?’ Honey, girl. Be serious.”

“Bea, you know I’m not looking for that right now.”

“You’re never fucking looking for that,” Bea hisses, pinching Honey’s wrist until she flinches away. “It’s falling into your lap and you’re pushing it out the door! What’s wrong with you?”

Honey glares at her with a tilted head. 

Bea relents. “One of these days, I’m going to kick your ass,” she threatens. “You can’t be a spinstery old maid forever, Honeybear. They’re only here for the summer. Maybe you should embrace it.”

“He’ll be gone within the week.”

Bea sighs. “Whatever you say.”

5:90 – TREVOR

“We need to throw a party,” Trevor says over breakfast.

“Why?” Luke asks, voice scratchy from lack of use. He yawns and runs his fingers through his hair, further messing up his already messy curls. He’s not wearing a shirt– none of them are– and Trevor is astounded by how pale Luke is. 

“We need to get you outside more,” Trevor mumbles, then clears his throat and continues speaking. “It’s like a housewarming thing.”

Unimpressed, Cole rolls his eyes. “Who do you want to invite?” He asks.

Trevor pauses, side-eying his friend. “Nobody,” he deflects. 

Quinn snorts, the spoon he’s using for his cereal clinking against the side of his bowl. “Not much of a party.”

“He wants to invite the girl that he met the other day,” Jack says, butting into the conversation. 

Luke frowns. “What girl?”

“Some townie that he met at the fruit stand when we went to the grocery store,” Jack explains. “He doesn’t know her name.”

“Her name is Honey, actually,” Trevor interrupts. 

The table stills. Each of the boys’ eyes turn towards Trevor and he suddenly feels like an ant under a child’s magnifying glass, boiling under the glare.

Cole pushes up an invisible pair of glasses and raises a finger, pursing his lips. “Actually,” he mocks, then drops the tone. “How do you know her name, Z?”

Trevor shrugs noncommittally. “I ran into her when I went into town yesterday.”

“Oh, when you were supposed to pick up laundry detergent and you came back with a book instead?” Cole asks. “That makes sense, much more sense than what Luke said.”

Trevor blanches. “What did Luke say?”

Jack snickers.

Trevor turns to Luke. “What did you say?”

Quinn smiles and hides his face, taking a large mouthful of his cereal to leave Luke hanging if he asked for help.

Luke flushes. “I mean, you know… that maybe you confused the two.”

“How the fuck would I confuse laundry detergent with a book?” Trevor snaps. “They’re two completely different things, fuckface.”

Luke throws his hands up in surrender. “We were just thinking of reasons why you might’ve come back without the one thing we needed.”

Trevor looks around the table. “You guys are such assholes.”

“Bro, you’re the one that forgot laundry detergent because you were too busy chatting up some chick,” Jack defends the group. “Now we can’t even do our laundry.”

“If it’s so fucking important to you, go get the detergent yourself!”

A smile breaks out on Jack’s face. “Maybe I will,” he says, his voice shit-eating. “I might need to grab a book for myself, too.”

Trevor’s anger increases tenfold, for no fucking reason. “The fuck you do,” he snaps. “You don’t even know how to read.”

Jack’s face twists, his emotions finally aligning with Trevor’s own. “Fuck you, dude. You know I can read, I just don’t like to.”

Trevor scoffs and rolls his eyes. “I just want to have a party,” he mutters, stabbing at his eggs with his fork. 

The boys fall into silence, finishing their breakfasts. Trevor pouts, frustrated that the boys weren’t immediately on board with his idea for a party. 

If they were in Michigan, the Hughes brothers would have the front door of the house unlocked past 10pm. The people they know from the golf course, from the lake, from the pickleball courts would all be pouring through the doorway and into the party. Everyone knows that on Saturday nights, the Hughes brothers invite people over and they have a big bonfire. Apparently, that only applies in Michigan.

Trevor leaves the breakfast table first, to jeers from the other boys about being pouty and bitchy for not getting his way. Trevor knows that he’s going to invite Honey and her friend– Bee? Bea? B?– over tomorrow night no matter what the goons say. There’s not much to do in Litchton, he knows that, so he doesn’t want to leave the girls out. Otherwise, they might just sit at home all night. Trevor can’t have that.

Obviously, that’s his only motive. He would never have any other reason to invite Honey and Bea over to the house at night. Never.

Maybe one other reason.

But that’s irrelevant. 

He spends the morning outside, using the extra wood from Earl to build a fire pit in the half-circle clearing near the edge of the forest. When they were younger, Trevor’s sister might’ve thought this area was where the fairies lived, and maybe she would have built them a house. He wonders briefly if Honey was the same way when she was a child, when she was growing up in rural Litchton with nothing else to do but imagine.

Come to think of it, he doesn’t know if Honey grew up here. She seems so intimately integrated into the town that she has to be from here, has to have grown up here. She must know all the town secrets and all the town gossip and fuck, Trevor wants to know all of that and more. 

He can’t explain the feeling he has about Honey. He’s just… drawn to her. It doesn’t make sense– he doesn’t know her. He’s barely met her. She did not exist in his life a week ago and yet, she’s popping up in his thoughts like they’ve known each other for years. Like they’ve been inseparable for years. When he thinks about it, he decides that Honey is like one of the girls he would have met in elementary school in Bedford. Honey is one of the girls that he would have grown up with, one of the neighbor girls from down the street with whom he rode his bike on hot summer days. 

She’s got a hometown charm feel to her. Trevor has to see her again.

He finishes building the wooden part of the fire pit before realizing how stupid it was to build the pit out of wood. A lightbulb seems to go off in his head, though, because it’s an excuse to go see her, to invite her to his party. He can go to the hardware store on the way, pick up some stone and gravel to line the wood, protect it from catching flame. He can pick up some firewood from the grocery store for their first fire and pick up the laundry detergent he forgot yesterday. Jack won’t be so annoying then.

Trevor doesn’t bother telling the boys where he’s going– he just gets in the car and drives away. 

It takes all of fifteen minutes to make his way to the bookstore. It’s still early, so he doesn’t even know if it’s open yet. Trevor and the boys are so used to waking up early for hockey that they’ve been up for about two hours and the whole day is still ahead of them.

When Trevor pulls at the front door of The Reading Nook, it doesn’t swing open the way it did yesterday. He knows the doors are easy on their hinges, considering how easily Honey slammed the door behind him yesterday, but today, the wood is barely budging. He knocks on the door, loud. 

Honey’s friend’s head peeks out from behind a stack, confusion written all over her expression. Trevor waves at her, gesturing at the door. She laughs, then approaches the door. She points down at the ‘Closed’ sign hanging near the handle.

Trevor tilts his head, unimpressed. “I have to talk to you,” he says through the glass.

Bea unlocks the door and opens it with a snorted laugh. “What’s up, Trevor? Honey’s not here yet.”

“I have a proposition for you.”

Bea steps aside and lets him into the store. “You want her.”

Trevor sputters at her honesty. “I don’t know her.”

“You want her,” Bea repeats with a nod and a knowing smile. “And you want to know how to get her.”

“Well, yes,” Trevor says. “But also, no. I wanted to invite you– both, you both– to a party tomorrow night.”

Bea smiles. She crosses her arms over her chest. “You want my best friend and all I get is some measly party? Come on, Trevor. What’s in it for me?”

Trevor thinks for a minute. “What do you want?”

Bea laughs. She pokes her tongue into her cheek and looks expectantly at Trevor.

“Whoa,” Trevor says, taking a step back. “That’s really… forward, but–”

“I don’t want you, Trevor,” Bea scoffs. She shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “So self-centered, Honey was right about that. But, I’ll help you get her and I’ll make sure we make it to your party if you give me what I do want.”

Trevor hums, narrowing his eyes. “What do you want?”

Bea smiles, devilish and conniving. “The dating pool up here is pretty dry, and I hear you’ve got a few friends.”

Trevor nods.

Bea blinks at him. “Do you have any pictures of these friends? I would’ve looked you up, but Honey and I swore off Instagram years ago.”

That makes sense. That’s why he couldn’t find Honey when he looked her up last night– not that he had much to go off of. Still, “Honey Litchton NC” didn’t reveal many results.

Trevor fumbles with his phone, showing her a picture of the group from last summer. He watches her fingers pinch and zoom in on the picture, on each individual. She keeps her expression neutral, a poker face that impresses Trevor. She hums, thoughts racing behind her eyes too quick for Trevor to understand them. 

“We’ll come to your party,” Bea says simply, handing the phone back to Trevor. She snatches it back at the last second. “Wait,” she says, and clicks around for a second. 

Trevor waits, then she hands the phone back. On the screen is a contact page for ‘Bea McLean.’ 

“It’s pronounced like McLane,” Bea tells Trevor. “Since you’re so obsessed with names.”

“Okay,” Trevor cuts her off with a sarcastic nod. 

Bea laughs. “Don’t get sassy with me, I have all the power here.”

“Yeah, but I have your number,” Trevor flaunts.

“I could just block you, easily,” Bea points out. “Then where would you be?”

Wisely, Trevor bites his tongue. After a deep breath, he asks, “So, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Wouldn’t miss it. Now get out, Honey’s supposed to get here soon and I don’t want her seeing you. She’s annoyingly on time. She’ll know we’re in cahoots.” Bea, much like her best friend did yesterday, pushes Trevor to the door and shoves him through it. She slams it behind him, flipping the sign so it says ‘Open’ instead, and waving Trevor off with a blown kiss.

she’s a flirt, Trevor thinks. those guys will not survive her for a second.

He doesn’t know which boy she has her eye on, but it doesn’t matter. Quinn’s too quiet for her, Luke is too awkward, Jack is too cocky, and Cole is too… short. 

Trevor snorts at the insult, laughing to himself. He heads to the grocery store, where he parked, and purchases two gallon bottles of laundry detergent and a Sharpie. He writes “JACK” on one and puts them both in the trunk of the car. Then, he walks to the hardware store. 

“Bear!” Vera greets from behind the counter, joints creaking as she moves from her chair behind the counter to give Trevor a hug. 

“Oh, Vera, you don’t have to come all the way over here,” Trevor says awkwardly, but hugs the woman back nonetheless.

“Of course I did!” Vera exclaims. “You look so handsome, young man.”

Trevor blushes, shying away from Vera’s examining fingers. She squints at the logo on his chest, one of his shirts from Anaheim. 

“I live in Anaheim,” Trevor explains to the woman, catching her hands in his and holding them securely in front of her body before letting go. “Do you have any stone that I could secure a fire pit with?”

“Yes, baby!” Vera claps and leads him to a section of the store that’s, somehow, even more peculiar than Earl’s workshop. There’s bags of gravel, sure, but it looks like fish food compared to some of the other bags and miscellaneous stones on the shelves. “Pick whatever you’d like. I’ll give you a discount for being so darn cute.”

Trevor chuckles. “I bet you give that to all your customers,” he teases.

“I had a local girl put it in the computer for me after we met you and Sweetie on Wednesday,” Vera teases back, batting her eyelashes. Her cheeks are red with blush, too much blush. “His discount is a little more because I see you’ve changed the body God gave you.”

Trevor follows her eyes to his tattoos. He rubs his opposite hand over them sheepishly. “Yes, ma’am.” He tries to smile charmingly. “Maybe I should’ve sent him to do the shopping today, since you like Sweetie so much.” He throws a wink into the mix to punctuate his sentence.

Vera laughs, a twinkling sound.

“Plus, it’d be cheaper for me,” Trevor says, like it’s a scandalous secret.

“I know that’s right!” Vera claps again, waves a hand at Trevor like she’s slapping her knee. She walks off, back to the counter, leaving Trevor to shop for his stones. 

He shops through the stones for about half an hour, choosing his favorites. He settles on a midsize gray stone, one that he can stack and seal with cement. He buys the quick drying cement as well, and carries it all to his car. Vera carries the quick dry cement and giggles when Trevor easily shifts the stones in his grasp when she complains about the bucket being too heavy for an old lady. He picks up the bucket and shifts the stones again, knowing he can carry more than this if he needed to. He swears he hears Vera sigh dreamily behind him as he packs the car up.

Like he said, what’s flirting with a few old ladies?

When he bids her goodbye with a kiss on the cheek, Trevor makes eye contact with Honey in the bookstore window. He grins at her and winks to her for good measure. He thanks Vera for her help while he escorts her back to the store, just for the sake of Honey seeing how selfless he can be. He’s not self-centered, no matter what she told Bea. 

Vera insists that Trevor and “his band of boys” join her and Earl at church that Sunday morning, pledging to introduce them to the other members of the community. Trevor agrees, thinking that being on Vera’s good side might get him even closer to Honey.

Trevor drives back to his home for the summer to find that the boys are playing in the rink he built.

Come to think of it, he’s making a lot of improvements to this property, and the only one who has actually helped is Quinn.

Not self-centered at all.

He deserves a party.

“We’re having a party,” Trevor calls out, carrying his stones toward the fire pit. He dumps his supplies on the ground. “And I invited two girls.” He wipes the dirt and dust from his fingers. “Someone else needs to finish this fire pit because I’m tired of building your shit. C’mon, Quinn.”

He leads the way inside, to grab a beer from the fridge, and Quinn follows after kicking off his skates, eager to avoid the work. The other brothers and Cole are left dumbfounded on the concrete. Jack makes eye contact with the cement mix first, and he smiles. 

They always did love a little project, and maybe they can hide a drawing of a dick in the cement for the owners to find at the end of the summer.

6:90 – HONEY

“Where are we going?” Honey asks. 

Bea has barely crossed over the threshold of Honey’s home before the question falls from her lips. Bea’s been cagey about it all day– just explaining that “we have plans” and that “you’ll enjoy them.” Honey loves her, sure, but this is absurd. She feels like she’s being kidnapped. 

“More like when are we going,” Bea corrects. “Let’s get you an outfit.”

Honey stumbles back, Bea pushing her out of the way. She closes the door behind her friend, following Bea as she stomps up the stairs to Honey’s bedroom. Bea knows Honey’s place as well as she knows her own, a little townhouse off of the main street in town. Honey’s lucky to live a little farther from city center, closer to the magic of the mountains. 

“What kind of plans do we have, at least?” Honey presses. She looks at Bea’s outfit– a jean skirt that falls like an old Poodle skirt and a white bandeau top. It’s sort of see-through– Honey can see the shadow and outline of Bea’s nipples through the skimpy top. “I don’t want to dress like you,” Honey says.

Bea scoffs and turns to Honey. “My plan tonight is to get laid, your plan tonight is to accompany me while I evaluate my prey.” 

Honey pretends to gag. “I hate when you say that.”

“Maybe you’ll find someone to flirt with,” Bea says. 

“So, where are we going tonight? Statesville? Winston?” Honey asks again, hoping Bea will relent since she now knows the purpose of their adventure. 

“Dude, I’m not telling you,” Bea laughs. 

She reaches Honey’s closet and throws the curtain open. She strolls into the closet, looking through Honey’s clothes. 

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Honey asks, looking down at her athletic shorts and little tank top.

Bea turns around and surveys Honey. “The shirt is fine.” She returns to her task. “Nice tits.”

Honey looks down. It’s a revealing top and she’s not wearing a bra, because it’s a Saturday and she didn’t know they had plans until Bea told her this afternoon. “Maybe not, then.”

Bea glares at Honey out of her peripheral. “But that’s your favorite tank.”

“I have a feeling I’m going to get hit on if I wear this shirt.”

“You’re going to get hit on anyway. Keep the shirt.”

“No, I won’t, because my bitch face will keep most of the guys away.”

“Most of the guys. Which is the whole thing. Those ones will come to me.”

“Ew, you’re going to have a threesome tonight?”

“A threesome?” Bea spins around. “God, no! One at a time for me, thanks. I’m just going to fuck the other ones.”

“Other than who?” Honey asks. “I’m not fucking anyone tonight.”

Bea rolls her eyes. “You don’t know that.”

“Trust me, I do.”

“Whatever.” She digs through the closet, finding a long-buried white tennis skirt, the back pleats of the skirt puffy. Honey would never wear something like that, but Bea would– it’s probably Bea’s skirt in the first place. 

“I’m not wearing that,” Honey states.

Bea wrestles her into it– seriously. She tackles Honey onto the bed and literally redresses her, the absurdity of the situation so bizarre that it completely bypasses both girls’ minds. Honey fights Bea the whole time, but Bea comes out on top. She gets her way, Honey wears the skirt, but she’s not happy about it.

“Do I, at least, get to drive?” Honey asks.

“Oh, I was going to force you,” Bea laughs. “You don’t expect me to drive you home, do you? I’ll be… indisposed.”

Honey scowls the rest of the time they spend getting ready– Bea does Honey’s hair and forces Honey to put on some light makeup, just a bit of mascara, eyeliner, and some lipgloss. 

The only problem with Bea and Honey’s relationship is that Bea likes to go out, likes to meet people, likes to have a wild time, whereas Honey prefers to stay in. She’d rather watch a documentary or read a book or be present in nature than packed into a club dancefloor like a sardine in a larger can. Not that that matters to Bea.

By the time they get in the car, Bea is jumping off the walls trying to keep her secret destination to herself. Honey keeps trying to push, hoping for the right moment, but Bea won’t reveal her plans. All she does is direct Honey to the main road and type away at her phone, sending text after text to an unknown recipient, an unknown recipient that Honey is sure they’ll be meeting up with later.

They drive further into the mountains, to Honey’s surprise. They don’t head towards Winston or Statesville. They drive up, farther from town, farther from their neighbors. Near the top of the mountain, the houses are miles apart.

Perfect for a party.

Perfect for a party… thrown by boys in their twenties.

It clicks in Honey’s mind as Bea tells her to turn into the hidden driveway along the curve. “You’re not,” Honey says.

Bea laughs. “I was wondering how long it would take for you to catch on. I thought for sure you would’ve clocked me when we turned left instead of right.”

“Bea,” Honey scolds, her voice sharp. They’re on the driveway now, safe from the curves of the road, and Honey stops the car. She turns to her best friend. “You can’t be serious.”

For all of her audacity, Bea manages to understand the gravity of the situation at hand. It finally clicks in her head, why Honey isn’t happy with her plans, and why she’s even unhappier that she was dragged out here without knowing what she was walking into. She can’t just drop Bea off and leave– she would be abandoning her best friend in a house of strange boys all evening. Bea might be outgoing, but she hasn’t been hurt like Honey.

“It’s not going to be like that,” Bea reassures Honey gently, grabbing Honey’s hand with both of hers. “I promise, they’re not like that.”

“You don’t know them, Bea,” Honey explains. 

“You don’t either,” Bea points out. “And this time, we’re together. The second they do something– I mean it, the second– we’ll leave. I’ll go with you. Fuckery be damned.”

Honey grimaces, rolling her shoulders to try and relieve some of the tension. She takes a deep breath, then squints at Bea. “Are you really going to fuck all of them?” She asks.

Bea grins, knowing that she’s convinced Honey to at least try and hang out with the boys. She’s smug, getting her way once again. She winks at Honey, coy. “Just the ones you don’t want,” she simpers, giggling. “You get your pick of the litter.”

“I don’t want to fuck any of them. I don’t know how many times we have to go over this.”

“So, you don’t want Trevor? ‘Cuz I was thinking–”

“Don’t fuck Trevor,” Honey groans. 

“Why not?” Bea teases.

“You’re better than that, Buzzy,” Honey scoffs with a shake of her head. “He’s weird and a flirt and annoying.”

“I’m weird,” Bea says. “And a flirt. And annoying.” She puckers her lips and blows kisses at Honey as she shifts the car into drive and begins to creep down the driveway again. “Maybe it’s a match made in heaven, me and Trevor.”

“You don’t want him,” Honey growls, her voice short. 

Bea shrugs and faces forward in her seat, her hands tapping her thighs. Whether it’s from nerves or excitement, Honey can’t tell. If she had to guess, though, it would be excitement. Bea is the least anxious person that Honey knows, the kind of person who can talk to anyone or anything no matter the situation.

While they might be athletes, they’ve never met anyone like Bea. Honey never has, not since she met her best friend all those years ago. They’re fucked– and she’s irresistible.

Honey and Bea pull up to the house and park under the cover, right next to the front door. This house was a point of contention when it was being built the first year Honey moved to Litchton. It was her first introduction to the gossip of the founding ladies. Scarlett and Gillian had felt particularly perturbed by the building– a five bed, four bathroom house complete with a hot tub and a game room and two stories of wraparound porches. 

And it’s all made of the same wood, the same stain, the same ugly pattern. Honey cringes when she thinks about the number of trees that were cut down to make this house match. She’d think the same thing if it was made entirely out of the same stone. 

Bea knocks on the door as Honey wipes her sweat from her palms. It takes a minute, but then Honey hears the scrambling of feet and the shouting between one man and his group of buddies, who are just giggling as they do what they can to cut him off from the door. Honey can see it through the thin windows bordering the door, how they rush up the stairs and down the hall. She can also see how they’re holding Trevor back as much as they can.

The brunet from the first day opens the door with a charming smile. “Hi,” he greets. “Can I help you?”

“Jack, you motherfucker–”

Honey bites back a laugh as Trevor curses and struggles, still in the grasp of the shorter boy from the first day and one of the newcomers– another brunet, a taller one. She looks at him carefully– the curl of his hair at the nape of his neck, partially hidden under a baseball cap, the curve of his eyebrows, and the slope of his lips give him away. He must be one of Jack’s brothers. 

“We were invited to come over tonight,” Bea replies.

No matter how many times she hears it, Honey is always impressed by the way Bea turns on her charm and makes the people around her melt. It worked on her, too, when they first became friends all those years ago, and then less and less when Bea moved into Honey’s place when they first came to Litchton together and shared a bed for almost a year before Bea found her own townhouse. Then, her charm just got annoying, like a younger sibling who tags along with you everywhere because Mom said they had to.

It’s better for them when Bea and Honey have their time apart. Honey, especially, needs her time alone.

Jack’s eyes finally find Honey behind Bea and he grins. “That’s right,” he says, tapping his forehead like he just remembered. Honey can tell that all he’s doing is messing with Trevor, though. “The party! You must be the girls that Z invited. Hi, Honey.”

“Hi, Jack,” Honey replies, short and sweet. She turns on her customer service voice just for this. She finds Cole next to Trevor and smiles when her eyes slide over the imprisoned boy, as passive as she can be. “Hi, Cole.”

“Hey, Honey,” Cole says with an easy smile. Honey wants to snort and laugh– he’s got a smile that could get him into or out of anything. She wonders briefly if he’s childish and impish, still, even in their adult age, just because he’s got the smile to match.

Jack steps aside and lets the girls enter the house. He closes the door behind them and Honey has a sneaking suspicion that if she turned to glance at him, he’d be staring at one of their backsides. She doesn’t look. It’s not worth the joke that she could make if she caught him.

Bea nudges Honey and points up.

Honey tilts her head, and– “A chandelier made of moose antlers. Wow,” she marvels. She makes a face at Bea, then continues. “That’s really… something.”

“Isn’t it sick?” Cole asks, finally dropping Trevor’s arm and joining the girls where they stand. He spreads his arms out from his sides and spins in a slow circle. When he makes a full turn, he looks at both girls and wiggles his eyebrows. “Want a tour?”

The girls agree and Cole takes them throughout the house, leaving the other boys behind. From their pounding feet, Honey figures they’re headed downstairs, while Cole takes them upstairs. He shows them the bedrooms, the bathrooms, the common areas, the hallways, the outlet in his room that doesn’t work, and much more. They go back downstairs and get the same treatment– Cole even opens the fridge and helps himself to a beverage before offering anything to the girls. They see the kitchen, the living room, the den, the dining room and patio. Cole shows them the wraparound porch and its chairs. Honey takes in the view– it’s just as good as the one from her living room. 

Finally, finally, they make their way down to the basement. It’s a smaller room, minimized by a covered porch and larger patio with a hot tub. The basement is clearly the man cave, the game room, or whatever you want to call it. There’s a pool table, a large TV, a ping pong table, a foosball table… everything a boy could want. 

As evidenced by the two boys sitting on the couches near the pool table, while the other two wield sticks and study the position of the balls on the table.

Honey finds Trevor on the couch with Jack. His eyes found her first as she walked down the stairs and he hasn’t stopped staring. Neither has she, to be fair.

“Pool,” Bea notices. She looks at Honey and Honey shakes her head. Bea nods. “Honey and I are next,” she announces anyway.

“Oh, yeah?” Jack asks with a little laugh. “Are you any good?”

“I’m okay,” Bea says. She pauses, lets a smirk on her face grow as she looks over to Honey. “Honey’s worse.”

The boys turn to Honey. “Are you?” Trevor asks. 

“I wager she could still beat you, Z,” says the only boy that Honey had not seen when they arrived at the house earlier. He’s got dark hair, but it’s also hidden under a backwards cap. The only difference between him and his brothers, assuming he is one of the brothers that Trevor mentioned on Monday, is that he’s smaller, more sullen. The telltale sign is that his comment is offhanded, delivered with the calm venom of an older brother who knows exactly where to bite. He doesn’t even look at Trevor as he lines up his shot and sinks the ball.

Honey likes him immediately.

When she looks over, she notices that Bea likes him too. Her lips are pursed in thought, only the minutest pout on her mouth. There’s a tiny smile pulling at her cheek and her eyes are twinkling under the bright lights, but they would be hazardous in a club.

It’s a game they’ve played before. Bea sucks at pool– she always has, but… when you suck at pool, either the person you’re playing with will laugh at you or they’ll try to give you tips. The night usually ends with Bea sinking the 8 ball with a little bit of help from her gentleman caller and a celebratory, “thank you” kiss. 

Honey, however, loves pool. She wasn’t always great at pool, but found that, like almost everything, the more she practiced, the better she became. When Bea’s celebratory kisses turned into rushed hookups in the Winston-Salem dive bar bathrooms, Honey got her fair share of tips and tricks from the other men around. Usually, she would try to shack up with the alcoholic middle aged men who had nothing better to do than sip on their beer and play pool after dinner with their wives. It was rare that they flirted with Honey and she liked it that way.

The game goes like this: Bea finds a group of men that puff up their chest at the idea of beating a woman at pool, she “lets them win” against her (as if she would’ve won in the first place), and then it’s Honey’s turn. Honey, of course, feints a few shots and lets the men get comfortable before coming from behind and beating them. Usually, her win results in two drinks for her and her friend.

Today, the drinks won’t be her bargaining chip.

“What would you wager?” Honey asks the boy who last spoke. “If it were a real bet.”

His stormy eyes look her up and down while Jack’s brother, the tall one, paces around the table to find his best shot. “Money, normally,” he drawls. “But I’d rather not lose my money betting on you if you’re worse than her.” He nods to Bea, who takes the chance to blatantly look him up and down.

“How about this,” Bea proposes, twirling a strand of hair between her fingers. “I’ll play the winner of this game and then we’ll see if Honey can beat Trevor. If I win, I get whatever I want, obviously. If Honey wins…”

Honey meets Bea’s eyes. She nods, knowing that Bea is thinking back to the night when they visited ECU their junior year of high school and witnessed a rugby party in the flesh. It’s their usual punishment when their outings feature a house party and a pool table.

“...Trevor has to do a Zulu Run,” Bea finishes. 

Honey finds Trevor again and smiles, overexaggerated and sickly sweet. 

“What’s a Zulu Run?” Trevor asks, looking to the other boys and finding nothing but confusion. On the girls’ faces, he just sees plotted mayhem. 

“It’s fun, don’t worry,” Honey reassures him. “You only have to do it if you lose. Which, I mean, if I’m worse than Bea, then you should be fine.”

Honey sits on the loveseat across from Trevor and Jack, while Bea sits down next to Jack. Her knee presses against his, subtly, just enough that you can’t tell if it’s deliberate or just a lack of room on the couch and Honey presses her hand to her lips to hide a smile.

“So you’re Jack,” Bea says, interrupting the conversation that he and Trevor had been in when the girls walked down the stairs. 

Honey watches as Bea makes her eyes look wide and soft, very flirtatious and fairy-like. She’s got the perfect complexion for it– the light dusting of freckles over her skin, the ounce of baby fat still left in her cheeks and all the right places along her body, her expression just the right amount of interested but not desperate.

For a brief moment, Honey wishes she was more like Bea.

“You’ve heard of me?” Jack asks with a little smirk.

Bea scoffs and waves him off. “Don’t flatter yourself. Honey didn’t even tell me your name.”

Jack’s bright eyes turn to Honey. “Oh, yeah?” He tilts his chin up in challenge. “What is it with you and names? You wouldn’t tell Trevor yours, you haven’t properly introduced me to…”

“Bea,” Bea supplies.

Honey shakes her head fondly at her best friend’s eagerness. Honey bites her tongue to keep her comments at bay, and instead plasters a tight smile on her face. “I didn’t realize I would be seeing you all again,” Honey says, forcing politeness into her voice. “And I’m not the one who’s weird about names.”

Jack and Trevor share a look. Jack hides a snort poorly.

“What?” Honey asks, her eyebrows raised and her mouth in a straight, unimpressed line. 

Jack smirks and Trevor shakes his head. Jack speaks anyway. “I don’t know how you would have avoided us,” Jack says. “Considering.”

“Considering…?” Bea asks, leaning around Jack to look at Trevor. Honey catches Trevor’s panicked glance and can guess what Jack’s alluding to. She jumps in, hoping to switch the subject.

“Nothing to consider,” Honey and Trevor say at the same time. Trevor sounds rushed, Honey sounds indifferent. Both of their jaws drop and they stare at each other, Honey affronted and Trevor surprised. 

Cole, who had been sitting on the stool-saddles near the pool table, steps over the back of the couch and weasels his way between Trevor and Jack. “Creepy,” he says. “You’re like the twins from the Shining.”

Trevor cringes. “You know, I don’t think we are.”

Honey just hums, picking up her drink and taking a sip. She clears her throat and turns back to Jack. “So those are your brothers?” She nods over to the pool table, where the shorter boy is lining up the 8-ball with the corner pocket. “Trevor said you had family coming.” 

Honey doesn’t miss the smirk and blush on Trevor’s face when she says his name, even as he dips his head and takes a gulp of his beer to cover it up.

Jack smiles, a genuine smile. It’s easy to tell the difference with him, when he’s really smiling or if he’s smiling because he thinks he’s supposed to. 

“Yeah, the goons.” Jack looks over his shoulder and grins as his taller brother loses his game of pool. “C’mon, Rusty, you brought that pool stick all this way and your game still sucks?”

The taller boy glares at Jack and sulks, re-racking his stick. He walks over and stands awkwardly behind the couch, but flicks Jack on the back of the head and Honey giggles before she can help it.

She looks down at her lap after letting out the little laugh and misses the way Trevor’s eyes light up and train on her. 

“Luke, you fucker,” Jack swears, flinching at the impact of Luke’s flick. Jack frowns, his eyebrows furrowed as he rubs the back of his head. “He’s my little brother.”

“Little brother,” Honey repeats. “And you’re just going to let him flick you like that?”

Jack rolls his eyes. “Very funny, Honey. Obviously I’m not going to let him get away with it.” He reaches around and half-asses a punch to Luke’s dick, just hard enough that it expels an “oof” from the younger boy and he doubles over a little bit.

The other boy interrupts. “Quit it,” he says. He glares at his brothers, then his eyes fix on Bea. “Your turn.”

Bea stands and smiles, a smug little smirk reserved for her conspiratory looks with Honey that signifies that she’s getting what she wanted. She joins the man by the rack of sticks and clasps her hands behind her back, looking up at him through her eyelashes. “Which stick should I use?”

Jack looks a little put out by the loss of Bea at his side, and casts a glare toward his other brother. “And that’s Quinn,” he says curtly. “Pool master, or whatever.”

“So he’s the best in the house?” Honey asks.

“We’ll tally scores at the end of the summer,” Luke jumps in as Quinn says, “Absolutely.”

Jack scowls. “You just think that because you’re older. Remember, Quinn: first is the worst. Second is the best.”

Trevor snorts and takes another sip of his beer. 

He’s unnaturally quiet, Honey thinks. Trying to be cool in front of his friends, maybe.

“I take it you’re the second child,” Honey says. “That makes sense.”

“That makes sense?” Jack asks, repeating her statement like he can’t believe she dared to say that. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Honey looks over at Bea, who presses her lips together and raises her eyebrows. Daring Honey.

Honey rolls her head back, stretching the muscles of her neck. “You…” She starts, trailing off because she’s not sure how to finish the sentence without sounding mean. She scratches her eyebrow and scrunches her nose. “You like attention,” she decides, trying to keep her voice as free of judgment as possible. 

“Do I?” Jack asks, sounding unimpressed.

Honey shrugs. “You– I mean. Jack, you asked. You opened the door for us because you knew it would annoy Trevor, probably because you knew it would bother him that you were opening the door for m– us, instead of him. You flirt and smile when Bea sits next to you but you lean back and manspread when she gets up like you don’t want us to notice that you’re sitting without a girl at your side. You call your little brother a “fucker” and retaliate because you can, honestly escalating the situation from a flick to a punch to the dick. You act annoyed because your older brother is beating you at pool already this summer and it only just started, plus he took the girl from your side. It’s, uh… yeah. You like attention.”

Everyone but Jack starts to laugh.

“Stand up,” Cole says to Honey.

She does, her arms resting by her side awkwardly, her fingers twitching as she waits for him to do something.

Cole looks around the room and swears under his breath. “I didn’t think this through, one second,” he mutters, and disappears upstairs. 

Honey continues to stand there. She pats her hands against her thighs and looks around the room, trying not to make eye contact with anyone, but especially not Bea. If she makes eye contact with Bea, she’s going to burst out laughing. 

Trevor is still snickering, hiding his face in his shirt. Honey can still see the little crinkles by his eyes.

“She clocked you, man,” Quinn says with a shrug before pulling out a pool stick and standing it next to Bea. It comes up to the tip of her shoulder, Quinn’s chest. He nods in satisfaction and hands the stick over. Honey lets out a relieved breath of air at his approval, and then stifles a second when she watches Bea’s fingers brush over Quinn’s on the stick, her eyes lingering on his for just a second too long.

It’s too easy for her. 

Cole comes bounding down the stairs with a plastic soccer trophy in his hand. “Found this when I was snooping,” he says, approaching Honey and holding it out. He stands directly in front of her, makes eye contact with her, and stares into her eyes. “Thank you,” he says with a sincere nod. “For taking Jack down a peg. He needed that. We all needed that.”

And he hands the trophy off to Honey with a handshake, like she’s graduating from high school and he’s the principal handing her a diploma. He takes the handshake and pulls her into a hug, the trophy crushed awkwardly between them. 

When he pulls away, Cole puts both hands on Honey’s arms and stares into her eyes again. “If you’re going to do that again, please don’t do it to me.”

Quinn breaks the rack with a crack of his stick, standing at a slight angle, and Honey sits back down, cradling her trophy in her hands.

Cole engages Honey in conversation for a few minutes, with Luke jumping in here and there. Jack turns on the TV and pouts. As much as she tries not to notice it, Trevor just stays quiet and sips his beer and sneaks glances at Honey out of the corner of his eye. 

Eventually, the conversation dies out and the group turns their attention to the television, which is streaming some hockey game that Honey doesn’t have an interest in. The boys are chitchatting away, throwing out names and positions and yelling at the TV when a call doesn’t go their way– Honey can’t tell who’s cheering for what team, but she can also tell that Jack and Luke don’t like the team in white… at all. Trevor seems to prefer them over the team in red. Cole doesn’t seem to care. He’s just laughing, still, at Jack. Jack just sulks, but he seems to cheer up once the team in red scores, late in the first period.

“You all really like hockey, huh?” Bea asks between turns. Quinn has sunken a ball almost every turn, but Bea has only sunken one. Honey grins at her, then glances at the pool table and back to Bea. Bea sticks her tongue out at Honey, playful and easy. If Quinn’s the kind of guy that Honey thinks he is, it’s only a matter of time before he starts teaching Bea some tricks to tighten up the game. 

Cole laughs. “Yeah, I mean, I’d hope so.”

“What do you mean?” Bea asks, batting her eyelashes innocently, like she didn’t read all of Trevor’s Wikipedia page before coming here. 

“We play,” Luke says with a shrug.

Honey and Bea lock eyes and Honey plays along with her game. She tilts her head and blinks, as if this is the first time she’s hearing it. “Are you any good?”

Quinn snorts and shakes his head as Bea leans over to line up a shot and Honey notices his hand on her waist when he points at a different ball, explaining that that would be the better shot for her. Bea sinks the recommended ball and jumps up with a cheer, smiling brightly at Quinn and standing just a little closer than she would if she wanted to be just friends.

“We’re alright,” Trevor says, the first words he’s said to Honey since she walked through the door. He stands. “Does anyone want another beer?”

The boys’ voices ring out in a chorus of yesses, whereas Honey stays mostly quiet. Bea agrees to another drink as well, which is when Trevor turns to Honey. “You’re sure you don’t want another drink? I’m already getting them for everyone.”

“I’m sure, but thank you,” Honey says. 

“Why don’t you go and help him carry the drinks,” Bea suggests from her post next to Quinn. 

Honey glares at her, but stands. She leaves her trophy on her seat, saving it. “Fine,” she replies, hoping the edge in her voice is only detectable to her best friend. She follows Trevor up the stairs to the kitchen, like an antisocial cat who has FOMO, but only when it comes to their owner. She crinkles her nose in disgust when she realizes that that’s how she looks, not that Trevor would notice or care. Actually, he would probably be elated if she compared herself to a cat following him around.

Trevor opens the fridge and sifts around, the bottles of beer clinking. The beer takes up most of the bottom shelf, unsurprisingly.

“Do you think you have enough?” Honey asks, unable to help herself when Trevor passes her a third bottle, each a different brand of beer, to carry. 

“Q and J like Michelob, Luke is a Miller guy, Coley likes Budweiser, and I’m more of a Modelo drinker.” Trevor’s head is buried in the back of the fridge, rifling through a pack of Millers that seem to be running low. “We’ve had to go to the store three times since that first day because we keep running out of the one beer that someone wants.”

He retreats from the refrigerator and turns to Honey. He’s got two beers in his hand. He holds them up and asks, “Which one do you think Bea wants?”

Honey weighs her choices, but ultimately chooses the Michelob. Bea will use it as a jumping point for her conversation with Quinn– it’s a no-brainer. As annoying as Bea’s boy-craziness is, Honey is always going to be her wingwoman and helper when she can.

“Cool,” Trevor says and returns the other beer to the shelf. He turns back to Honey and takes two of the beers she was carrying, leaving her with just two, the Budweiser and the Modelo.

“I thought you were a Modelo drinker,” Honey says.

“I am,” Trevor replies, heading towards the stairs. 

Honey follows. “Then why am I holding your beer?”

“Because I want you to hand it to me.”

Honey snorts out a laugh. “Okay.”

When they return downstairs, they distribute the beer. Honey hands Cole his Budweiser and waits for Trevor to finish handing out the beers to the Hughes brothers and her friend. Bea has finally managed to get Quinn to do the work for her, with him leaning behind her and guiding her arms over the cue, pointing out where she should be looking and where to hit the ball. There are no other balls on the table except the 8 ball, which makes Honey chuckle. There’s no way Bea sunk all of hers– Quinn had to have “mistakenly” knocked a few in for her.

Trevor returns to the sitting area and Honey stands, offering him the Modelo in her hand. On purpose, she realizes, Trevor closes his hand over her own to take the beer from her and thanks her with a smile, his eyes far too kind to be harmless and friendly. 

Honey shakes her head with a look, then frowns when Trevor plops his happy ass right down on the other side of her loveseat. She shakes her head again and chooses to watch the end of the pool game, sitting on one of the stool-saddles near the table. She claps when Bea finally sinks the 8 ball after her third whiff. The ball only sinks because Quinn leaned over Bea again and did it for her, working together to finish the game.

“I win!” Bea squeals in delight, jumping in celebration in front of Quinn.

He lets out a little chuckle, the most awkwardly and quietly endearing laugh that Honey has ever heard. “You won,” he agrees. “With my help.”

Bea tilts her chin up and smiles at Quinn, proud of herself. “So we both win,” she says. “That means we both get whatever we want.”

Honey bites her tongue and ducks her head, waiting for what’s coming next. She wants to turn around and look out the window, even though you can’t see anything in the dark mountainside now that the sun has set. The thing is, she also wants to see the boys’ reactions to what Bea is going to say next.

Quinn smiles, a little tiny smile. His focus is only on Bea, who has inched her way closer to him somehow. There’s not much more room between them. “Whatever you want,” he repeats. “What do you want, Bea?”

Honey watches Quinn’s face, but she’s torn. She also wants to watch Jack.

“You know that tour Cole took us on when Honey and I first got here?” Bea asks, reaching out and smoothing out the turned-up fabric of Quinn’s sleeve.

“Yeah,” Quinn replies, a little confused.

Bea rests her hand on his arm, slowly making her way down so she can wrap her hand around his fingers. She watches herself do it, then looks up at Quinn through her lashes. “I don’t think I saw your bedroom,” she says. “Would you care to show me?”

Quinn’s lips part in surprise and Honey watches his eyes search Bea’s own for… insincerity, maybe? 

At the same time, Jack chokes on a sip of his beer. Honey’s eyes fly to him and Cole pats his back as Jack coughs it out. 

“Jesus Christ,” Jack says, clapping his hand against his chest and coughing one last time.

Bea smiles at him, oozing confidence and a little showmanship, as Quinn leads her to the stairs. He lets her climb them first and Honey giggles when Quinn sneaks a glance at Bea’s ass and visibly relaxes before hurrying to catch up with her and get his hands on her hips. Bea’s twinkling laughter grows softer and softer as she bounds up the stairs, her footfalls growing heavier as Quinn closes in on her.

“Well shit, Jack,” Cole says. “I guess you’re not the first to fall into bed with a girl this summer. The streak is finally over.”

“You don’t know that,” Jack says, pushing Cole’s hand off of his shoulder. He turns to face Honey, looking hopeful and a little desperate. “Wanna help me keep my streak up?”

A loud honking laugh escapes Honey. “Absolutely fucking not,” she replies, still laughing. She shakes her head at Jack, then notices the small, but mightily proud smile on Trevor’s lips. 

Choosing not to focus on that smile, a smile that she’s inadvertently becoming very fond of because she’s never seen him smile at his friends the way Trevor is smiling at her, Honey hops up from her stool and starts to gather the balls from the pockets of the table. She racks them, then grabs her cue and waves Trevor over. “I believe we had a game to play.”

“You had a game to lose,” Trevor corrects, standing and approaching Honey. He grabs his own stick, the one Quinn abandoned on the edge of the table when Bea proposed her bedroom shenanigans. 

“Hmm,” Honey voices, raising her eyebrows and exaggerating a grimace. “Consider me scared. Your break, Trevor.”

“When I win,” Trevor says. “I want to buy you dinner.” He lines up the cue ball and shoots, the colorful triangle of balls destroyed in a single swoop. One of the solids finds its way into a pocket and Trevor smirks.

“What a boring prize,” Honey muses. “But if you insist on those terms, then I agree.” She sticks out her hand to shake his. “And when I win…”

She leans down and eyes a line of three balls. The striped nine is farthest from the hole, but Honey wants to prove a point, so she angles her stick down at a steep slope and pushes– noticing Trevor’s mouth flattening into a line when her ball jumps over the other two and tips into the hole. She stands back up to her full height, tilting her head to the side. She cocks her hip and positions her hand against it, holding the cue up on her other side.

“I’m really going to enjoy your Zulu Run, Trevor.”

Cole whistles lowly from the couch. “I need to find you another trophy, girl.”

Honey shoots him a wink.

They play on. Trevor takes it easy– plays the safe route. With each easy fall into the pocket, he fistpumps to celebrate. Honey can only imagine how insufferable he is at the bowling alley. 

She shows him up, not even daring to let him pull ahead in their race and convince himself that he has a chance. She sinks the final black ball into the right-center pocket, bending herself all the way over the table to give him a good view of the girl who’s beating him. Her hips are high on the other side of the table, balancing up on her tip toes, facing the seating area. She doesn’t even look at the ball when she hits it, no, she’s looking up at Trevor with a tilted smile and mocking, bragging eyes. 

His eyes evaluate her– eyes, to lips, to chest, to ass. To the boys, making sure they aren’t looking, aren’t gawking at the round globes of Honey’s ass that are presented before them. Back to her ass. Her ass.

Honey stands, slowly, making sure Trevor memorizes the curve of her waist when she does. Her eyes drop to his pants, a smirk growing in time with his bulge, and she rests her hands on the edge of the table. She pulls her shoulders back, broadening her chest. 

It’s just a dominant stance. All Honey enjoys about this is the fact that his resolve and dignity crumble at the mere sight of a pretty girl bent before him. She likes knowing that he’s weak for her, but that she’ll never do anything about it.

She’s not looking for that.

“A Zulu Run,” Honey explains, clearing her throat to rid her voice of its sultry tinges. She shakes her hair back, over her shoulders. Trevor’s eyes darken at the sight of her throat. She smiles, but continues. “Is when you have to strip, sing a song, and streak around the house until the song is over.” She throws a glance over her shoulder at the other boys. “Usually your friends get to pick your song.”

Jack perks up at that. Honey turns and hops up on the ledge of the pool table, knowing that Trevor’s eyes have fallen to her behind. Jack looks at Honey with delight in his eyes, seeming to forgive her in an instant for psychoanalyzing him earlier in the night. His eyes slide to Trevor and the look in them seems more akin to yearning for vengeance.

“So, boys,” Honey drawls. “What’ll it be?”

They scramble over each other to reach her, shouting song suggestions as they fly into their head. Honey can’t hear anything they’re saying, so she laughs until they fall silent. Cole’s hand presses into the side of her thigh, she looks down at it in disgust, then back up at him. It falls to the edge of the table, noticeable space between her and the appendage. 

“How about this,” Honey decides. She sneaks a glance at Trevor, gloating as she lets her eyes roam all over his body. She takes in his arms, his thighs under his shorts, the way his shirt falls over his shoulders. “Trevor looks pretty fit. Why don’t we all pick a song?” She winks at him. “Make him run for, oh, eleven minutes or so?”

A flicker of recognition passes through Trevor’s gaze, but it’s quickly replaced by disbelief. He doesn’t know how she would know– weren’t they subtle about it? She lets out a breath of a laugh at the look– no, Trevor, you weren’t subtle, she thinks. but it’s cute that you think you are.

She realizes what she was thinking in a split second and shakes herself out of it, snapping her face forward and crossing her legs knee-over-knee. 

“But only his friends get to pick, so I guess I’m out.” Honey hops down from her perch and breaks through the boys, settling herself on the loveseat with her trophy, laying out to take up as much space as she could. She picks up the remote from the table and places her other hand behind her head, navigating to the Roku menu screen. “Do we have Spotify on this thing?”

Luke, Jack, and Cole each pick a song and Cole helps Honey connect to the outdoor speakers. He re-presents her with her trophy with a flourish and a bow, playful and lame. The boys push Trevor out to the patio with a whoop, pulling at his clothes even as Trevor fights them. 

Honey follows at a distance and watches through the glass door. She looks away when Trevor sheds his underwear and waits for Luke’s countdown to end before looking back up. She doesn’t want to see it. That’s just too far. She gets an eyeful of his ass as he rounds the corner of the house, though. 

As Trevor starts his third song, Cole’s cheesy Taylor Swift pick (“You can’t outrun my music now, bitch!”), Jack joins Honey at the door. 

“I think I’m going to head home,” Honey tells him, rubbing over the skin on her arms. 

Jack nods at her, shrugging easily. “I’ll walk you out.” 

Honey leads him up the stairs, hearing Trevor’s whoops grow louder as he finishes the second verse of the song. She knows he catches them walking up the stairs because his singing falters for a moment. His steps speed up. So do Honey’s. 

She walks briskly to the front door, bordering on a speedwalk, with Jack behind her. She swings her keys over her finger and wrenches the front door open. Jack catches it before it hits the wall. 

“What about Bea?” He asks, calling after Honey and making her pause. 

“She’ll find her way home,” Honey replies and steps off again. She has to get out of here before Trevor races up the stairs to stop her from being alone with Jack and she gets an eyeful of his– junk.

“Honey!” Jack calls again. 

She lurches to a stop and cringes, turning to face the boy. 

"Honey, I don't think I'm going to flirt with you anymore."

Honey takes a breath, walking back and reaching up to pat Jack's cheek, just forceful enough that it'll sting for a moment after she walks away. It's not quite a hit, but it's definitely not a love tap. "That doesn't hold the power that you think it does," she tells him with a nod and a close-lipped smile. She goes to leave, but Jack stops her by grabbing her hand.

"Trevor likes you, you know. He was quiet tonight, but he likes you. He's reading that book you gave him and everything," Jack says in earnest, his blues boring into Honey's own eyes. 

Honey picks up on the unsaid words. He's trying, take it easy on him, he might be annoying but he's good, and he likes you. You should like him too, and all of that.

The edges of Honey's smile soften and she gently pulls her hand from Jack's. "It's nice to know he can read," she replies, deflecting. Whatever Trevor feels for her, not that he can really feel anything because he doesn't know her like that, doesn't matter. She's not looking for that right now. "Thanks for hosting us, Jack. I'm sorry for what I... said."

"It's okay." Jack shrugs. "Thanks for coming."

"Goodnight," Honey bids him, and starts to walk away.

"Come back," Jack says, and Honey whips around and finds him looking like the words surprised him when he heard himself speak. He clears his throat. "Friday. Um, it's— it's National Chocolate Ice Cream Day and National Donut Day." He scuffs the tip of his shoe against the ground. "Really... important holiday."

Honey can't do anything but laugh. "I'll bring the donuts."

She walks to her car and ignores the chirping of bullfrogs echoing in her ears as she drives down the mountain to her home, alone.

7:90 – TREVOR

Jack glares at Trevor when he walks down to the kitchen early the next morning. As Trevor rubs the sleep out of his eyes with a yawn, Jack shifts under the frozen pack of peas that rests precariously on his shoulderblades. Trevor had barely touched him last night, he was just being dramatic. So he had a bit of soreness on his back from where Trevor pushed him against the wall and asked him what the hell he was doing, who cares? He went upstairs with Trevor’s girl. Alone. 

“Bea’s taking you to church with her this morning for laying a finger on me,” Jack growls out when Trevor looks at him and laughs.

“No shit,” Trevor replies, snorting.

“It’s true,” comes the female voice from the couch. Bea leans forward, her tube top skewed and tilted enough to draw a wandering eye. Trevor rolls his. “You shouldn’t get violent, not on my watch.”

“You weren’t even with me last night, Bea,” Trevor says sweetly, tilting his head down to dismiss her. “You didn’t see me do shit. How can you prove it was me and not Luke?”

“Luke put a video of it on his private story, then showed me,” Bea snickers in the same tone. “So you’re taking me home and helping me choose my best church outfit to hide these hickeys, and then you’ll join me at the service. It’ll be good for your reputation in town.”

“I don’t really care about my reputation in town,” Trevor laughs.

“Honey cares about your reputation in town,” Bea clarifies, a tight, ‘there’s no room for discussion here’ smile on her face. She pointedly looks him up and down. “Little Bear.”

Trevor scowls at her condescending tone and use of the nickname. How dare she flaunt her inner circle-ness to Trevor. 

“I was going to go to church anyway,” Trevor boasts. “Vera told me to bring all of the boys.”

“Well, you’re the only one resorting to violence–” Jack begins, seething, before Bea cuts him off.

“No, this is a good idea,” she says, waving her hand to quiet him. “We should all go to church.”

Jack scoffs. “I don’t think we need to go,” he says. “Sounds like you’ve got an ulterior motive.”

“I don’t want the town to think y’all are reclusive party folk who have no interest in the happenings of Litchton,” Bea snaps. “You’d be surprised how quickly the old grannies will turn on you.”

“And you get to walk into church with five guys on your arm,” Jack says, still scowling. This time, his attention is focused on Bea, not the man who physically hurt him the night before. 

“Said she wanted five guys, she ain’t talking ‘bout burgers,” Trevor deadpans, a disgusted look thrown Bea’s way.

She’s unperturbed by it, probably from many years of Honey– Honey.– throwing her similar looks. All Bea does is smile and reply, “My pussy already got murdered, Trev. I didn’t need five guys.”

“No way Quinn ‘murdered’ your pussy, Bea,” Jack jumps in, air quotes around the word. “The dude doesn’t fuck.”

Bea laughs. “I assure you, he fucks.”

“Yeah, I fuck,” Quinn agrees, descending the stairs. He veers to the couch first and drops a kiss on Bea’s head in greeting.

“Well, fuck your way to church,” Jack says. “Bea’s making everyone go with her.” Jack looks at Quinn expectantly, maybe waiting for pushback.

Quinn shrugs. “Okay,” he says. “It’s not like there’s anything else for us to do on a Sunday morning in this place. Everything is probably closed.”

“It’s true, everything is closed on Sundays except the grocery store and the gas station,” Bea says with a nod. “And the church, of course.”

Jack scowls and removes his pack of peas from his back. Trevor takes his opportunity to approach the fridge, conveniently behind Jack. “Why can’t we just stay here?”

“Because it’ll be fun,” Trevor replies, trying to exude optimism now that he’s not the only boy being forced to attend church and wash themselves of their sins. He turns and purposefully claps his hand down on Jack’s shoulder, hard. Jack howls in pain. Trevor squeezes just to watch him tense up. “It’s our chance to become one with the community, Jacky.”

Bea smiles, voice dripping with cheerfulness. “Yeah, Jacky, it’ll be good for you. Why don’t you two head upstairs and change?” Her eyes fix on Quinn, whose shirt rides up as he grabs a glass from the upper shelves of the cabinets. “I want to chit-chat with Quinn for a second.”

Trevor and Jack make a face, but scramble towards the stairs. They push and shove each other all the way up– Trevor is particularly satisfied when Jack bumps into the wall and groans– then split off into their respective rooms. Trevor treats it like a race– whoever finishes changing first wins.

Jack is already back downstairs by the time Trevor returns. Cole is there, and Luke, and both of them seem to be dressed for the service too. None of the boys have the best church clothes, but it’s a small town with farmers. Surely not everyone will be in their Sunday best every Sunday. Quinn is noticeably missing, but Bea is standing by the door with a smile on her face. Her lips look a little more red than they did before Trevor went upstairs. He narrows his eyes at her.

“You, and you,” Bea says, pointing at Jack and Trevor. “Come with me. Trevor, grab your car keys. You’re driving.”

“What about Luke and Cole?” Trevor asks, picking up his keys from their spot on the hook next to the door and trailing behind Bea. Jack trails behind Trevor, still grumbling and pretending like his shoulders hurt for dramatic effect. Trevor ought to show him some real pain next time.

The three people climb into the car, Trevor behind the wheel and Bea in the passenger seat. Jack, once again, finds himself relegated to the backseat. He straps himself in and Trevor catches his murderous glare in the rearview mirror.

“Quinn’s going to drive them,” Bea explains. “They’ll meet us at the church.”

“Whipped,” Jack coughs out. He does a terrible job of masking the word. 

Trevor rolls his eyes, just like Bea. She opens her mouth to say something, sass him, but thinks better of it.

They drive on in silence, the occasional sigh or grunt from Jack as he shifts in his seat. Trevor glares at him again in the mirror and Jack hits him with a fake smile before looking out the window to watch the trees whip by.

Bea directs them to the main strip of shops, then tells them to take a left onto one of the sidestreets near The Reading Nook. They pull up to a big brick house, separated down the middle by a massive staircase. Bea climbs the stairs and turns to the left again, unlocking and pushing her front door open.

She leads the boys into her living room, which is decorated exactly how Trevor expected it to be. The couch is white with pink pillows and a white shag rug beneath it. Her furniture is odd, thrifted and worn in. None of it matches, although Trevor suspects that her theme was “Barbie girl aesthetic.” It’s messy, and comfortable, and Trevor almost envies how she lives. His apartment in Anaheim is sparse– when you’re on the road so much and as busy with your job as Trevor is, you really only need a place to eat and sleep. His decorations reflect that.

Trevor sprawls out on the couch, leaving Jack standing awkwardly next to the coffee table. Bea disappears down the hall and enters her bedroom, her closet door creaking open.

“Jack, come here, will you?” Bea asks. 

Jack’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, but he starts down the hallway nonetheless. 

Trevor snoops in his absence, Jack’s presence no longer a threat to his comfort. He drags himself off of the couch and stands, advancing towards the shelves of knickknacks on the wall near the television.

Bea has got a number of books on her shelves, overtaking two of the four rows. The other rows are sparse and far more interesting– there are picture frames spread along the rows, six frames that depict Bea’s life and what she loves.

Four of the pictures feature Honey. The other two are groups of people that Trevor assumes are Bea’s family, her extended family on each of her parents’ sides. He can ignore those easily, not caring about about Bea to scan each of her cousins’ faces. The pictures with Honey are a different story.

There’s a picture of the two when they were ten, or eleven, riding their bikes down an asphalt street lined with suburban houses. Bea’s bike is pink with streamers and flowers and a little basket. Honey’s is dark green and sporty, similar to Trevor’s own bicycle from childhood. Honey’s smile is wry, whereas Bea’s is glowing.

The second, from a birthday party. It’s Honey’s birthday and they’re four, from the looks of the lit candle on her cake. Honey’s smile is wide, much wider than the previous image. Her hair is messy and her tongue is stained green, probably from a lollipop or a Jolly Rancher. Her arms are wrapped around Bea’s neck and she’s pulled her friend close, their cheeks pressing together. Bea’s expression is a little different. Only one of her eyes is squeezed shut, the one closer to Honey. Her lips are pursed like a duck and her little fingers are raised in a peace sign.

Trevor chuckles. If his mom had been the one taking the picture, she would’ve said “What a ham” about the girls’ goofiness.

In the next picture, they’re older. They’re sixteen, probably. Bea’s wearing these short jean shorts and a bikini top and Honey wears a matching top under some long, gray sweatpants. She rolled the waistband up and her back is mostly to the camera, Bea lifted off the ground in a swooping hug. Bea’s legs are kicked up behind her like she’s experiencing a really good, Princess Diaries kind of kiss and her face is frozen in laughter. Honey’s is the same. Trevor’s heart clenches at the smile on her face and the way her hair blows out behind her.

Finally, there’s a selfie of the two of them in a handmade frame. It’s from a high angle and Trevor can’t tell if it’s a .5 picture or a regular one. Honey’s eyebrow is raised and she wears an exaggeratedly thoughtful expression, goofy enough to tug at Trevor’s smile. Bea’s mouth is open and she has a hand pinching Honey’s chin, while the other is raised to take the picture. Behind them is the Welcome to Litchton sign that Trevor passes each time he goes into town. 

Trevor’s eyes glide down to the handmade frame, the written message along the top and bottom borders.

“New Beginnings!” and smaller, in the corner, a more personalized message. Trevor thinks that she wrote the message in a thin Sharpie– it’s too pristine still, after years. “There’s no one I would rather have join me in Litchton than you. Thank you for always being the Bea to my Honey! Honeybea 4ever <3”.

Trevor reaches out and takes the frame in his hand, inspecting it. He turns it over. More script, also in a Sharpie: “2019”, it reads. He replaces the item, making sure it’s back in the exact right spot. 

“Bea, hurry up!” Trevor calls, returning to the couch.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” she replies, leading Jack out of her bedroom. She’s clasping a necklace as she walks, then holds out her wrist and a bracelet for Jack to clasp. “We can go now.”

They leave the apartment and climb back into the car, Jack beating Bea out for the passenger seat this time. He’s smug about it too, grinning to himself while he buckles up. Trevor opens the back door for Bea and helps her into the car with a guiding hand in hers. When Jack realizes that he fumbled the chance to look like a gentleman, his face returns to its scowl. 

“If you’re not careful, your face will get stuck like that,” Trevor warns when he finally sits behind the wheel again. He shifts the car into drive and pulls out of the parking space.

Bea directs them to the church and Trevor pulls into the parking lot next to Quinn’s car, which is still running. They’ve got about five minutes before the service begins and Bea chastises the three boys for not going inside and reserving seats early. 

“There’s only a few instances where the whole town goes out to do something,” Bea complains as they walk inside. “Church is one of them. We’re never going to find a spot for all six of us.”

“No Honey?” Trevor asks, taken aback. He expected her to join them, especially since the ‘whole town’ is here.

Bea casts Trevor a look and snickers into her palm. “You’re sweet, Trevor,” she says and Trevor rolls his eyes at her saccharine tone. “But Honey decided a long time ago that she had enough religion in her life growing up. She and God know where they stand.”

Trevor reaches the door to the church first and holds it open for the group, letting them file in. He’s grateful that they’re in the church now, because all of the other boys are either too respectful of the space and what it represents or too awkward in a silent building to make fun of Trevor for seeking out Honey. Or they don’t want to get on Bea’s bad side and act a fool in church and suffer her wrath.

They file into one of the back pews, Bea sandwiched between Quinn and Luke. Trevor sits on the other side, right at the aisle. 

For an hour, he stays quiet and moves and speaks with the congregation. He counts the number of times that Cole tases Jack’s side, sticking his fingers between his ribs to cause him to flinch and make noise in the reverent area. He does this five times throughout the mass before Bea leans forward and threatens to cut his hands off herself. 

For an hour, Trevor stares forward and lets his mind wander to Honey, and all the thoughts he has about her. She’s a mystery and she’s quiet like Quinn, but confident in a way that Quinn never achieved. She knows exactly who she is and won’t budge for anyone, won’t change herself or act in any special ways around certain people. 

Trevor admires it– he’s spent his whole life performing for people, in a way. Hockey is his life and always has been, but sometimes it’s tiring to realize that all of his friends are people he met on ice. To think that he can be surrounded by his teammates and the fans in any arena and still feel lonely– it’s the kind of thing that leaves Trevor wondering if this career was a good idea. 

In another world, he’s playing in a beer league in a town like this, with a girl like Honey on his arm. 

The thought leaves him feeling heavy, weighed down. It ruminates in his mind, even after the service is over. It sours his mood completely and Trevor wishes he was back at the house so he could take a shower or something and stop the prickling feelings from taking over his skin.

In the parking lot, the group chats about nothing. Trevor doesn’t listen. Bea introduces the boys to come of the townsfolk and Trevor smiles and shakes the men’s hands, hugs the ladies or send a special look their way. Vera and Earl honk as they drive past the group, Vera blowing a kiss towards Trevor and Cole through the passenger window. Cole catches it and sticks it to his cheek, then sends one back. It makes Vera laugh.

Trevor tunes back into the conversation as the boys discuss plans for the upcoming week– Jack edges away from Trevor before he mentions that he invited Honey over that coming Friday and that Bea should come too. 

“Well, you’ll rarely find a Honey without its Bea,” Bea teases. She claps. “Okay. I’ll see you guys then. Quinn, take me home?”

Quinn nods and puts his hand on the small of her back to direct her to the car. Bea pauses and waves Trevor over, shooing the other boys away. Quinn stays, his hand still on Bea’s body.

“There’s a fruit stand outside the grocery store on Mondays,” Bea says.

“I know, I’ve been,” Trevor interrupts.

Bea quiets him with a click of her tongue. She chooses her words carefully, her eyes hard. “Go tomorrow at, like, six,” she suggests, a faux-nonchalant shrug lifting her shoulders. “You might find something that you like there. I recommend buying the strawberries. They make a lovely gift, Trevor.”

Trevor frowns, confused. “I don’t like strawberries,” he replies.

Bea closes her eyes and processes his words for a moment, a tight smile on her lips. “They make a lovely gift, Trevor,” she repeats.

“Sick,” Trevor says, his voice hard. He doesn’t understand what she’s saying. “I’m not buying strawberries for you, Bea. I don’t know you enough to give you gifts.”

Bea stomps her foot. “Good fucking God, Trevor. Quinn, can you explain this shit to him?” She asks, then walks off to the car. She takes Quinn’s keys from his hand and gets behind the driver’s seat herself. 

Quinn watches her walk away, then turns to Trevor. “She’s telling you that you’ll run into Honey, you fucking idiot, and that you should buy her strawberries.” 

He leaves Trevor standing there, eyes wide.

Yeah, he’s definitely heading to the fruit stand tomorrow and buying strawberries.

He concocts his plan on the drive home, silent compared to the other three boys, that are laughing and flopping around the backseat with every turn in a game of Jell-O. They’re not wearing their seatbelts. When they get too loud, Trevor envisions ejecting them from the backseat, leaving them sailing down the mountain, falling through the air.

He holes himself up in his room to nap when they get home, too excited to see Honey to let the time pass organically. It’s like time travel, this way. Trevor will wake up and be two hours closer to seeing her, to getting another chance to win her over. This time, with a gift.

In the afternoon, he laces up his blades and skates with the boys. Quinn has come back by now, not spending much time at Bea’s apartment after church, according to Luke. They all skate and shoot for a couple of hours, playing a game of pickup with an extra player to sub in and out. When that ends, they run some drills. Luke and Quinn play defense, like always, with Trevor, Cole, and Jack recreating their legendary line from USNTDP. It works out perfectly, and each boy pushes himself like they’re playing a real game. It’s the brotherly competition that fuels them– and when the drills start to fall into disarray from hits and other penalties that would certainly be called out in a game, they head off to shower.

The night ends slowly, fizzling out compared to the way it ended the night before. The boys lounge in the game room, sprawling out on the couches and snacking and sipping their beer. Trevor isn’t made to perform another Zulu Run, no one picks up a pool cue, and they watch shitty TV movies on the Spanish channel instead of English. They make up the dialogue as they go and Trevor is the first to go to sleep. He makes it to midnight, but then he forces himself to go to bed. 

He’s got a big day ahead of him… after 5 p.m., anyway.

–end–of–chapter–one–

[luckykiwiii101]

Clarification #!

Hey Upper East Siders.

Clarification #1

Unfortunately there is drama going on my blog right now. I do NOT want to be portrayed as a bad person. And I also do not want any other bloggers to be portrayed as a bad person. And I do not want @noddingofcat to be portrayed as a bad person. Because believe it or not, I actually think the opposite.

Clarification #2

I know, I know, my blog is sassy and “mean”. People may get offended by the wording on my posts. Yes my “wake up call” type posts are harsh but that’s how I intend them to be. But what I do not intend is for people to get offended by my posts. The sole purpose of my posts are to help you all. As i’ve mentioned previously in many of my posts, babying people and letting them victimise themselves is something i’m strongly against!

Clarification #3

Behind “- gossip girl” I’m a kind and caring person. I don’t want people to feel like they can’t talk to me. If I didn’t care about you guys I wouldn’t make posts and share them with you and answer your asks. But know that if you want my respect you have to reciprocate the respect you give to others.

Clarification #4

I want everyone to acknowledge that I spend on average over 2 hours on my posts, gathering information and drafting it so that I can turn it into the beautiful posts that reside in my master list, on my home page that can be accessed very very easily. So it is frustrating when you guys don’t read them and proceed to send me an anonymous ask asking me the same question when there’s a whole entire long ass hell detailed post in my master list titled in big bold letters. 💀

Clarification #5

Please do not send me an ask if there is clearly a post in my master list that addresses it. I do NOT mind if you made a simple mistake and could not find it but please let me know.

Clarification #6

I do not allow private messages as it’s unfair for me to basically “privately coach” people selectively whilst rejecting others. I also simply just do not have time during the day for that.

Clarification #7

If somebody genuinely needs help and is going through something terrible, I understand if you would want to speak to me since i am a blogger who is educated on the law. I’m still learning new things aswell, and whenever I do I share it with you guys. But I want to let you know in the nicest way that I am not a therapist and I CANNOT guide you about things outside the law of assumption.

Clarification #8

I’ve received many asks in the past of people wishing death on me, calling me a psychopath, insulting me etc. Please understand that if you send me a passive aggressive ask like that I will not be nice and sweet about it. I’m not talking about @noddingofcat btw i’m just clarifying because this isn’t the first time and I DON’T want it to happen again.

Clarification #9

This is personal to @noddingofcat

I genuinely think you are a nice person. You tried to defend me thinking that @queenofuniverses was harassing me. I cannot express how much I respect that. Then you defended @queenofuniverses when I falsely accused her of sending me an anonymous ask. Honestly I really respect that. I’m not trying to get on your good side i’m seriously just saying what I truly feel. And I think everyone knows by now, I speak my thoughts.

Clarification #10

Thanking everyone who follows me for supporting me and my blog. I don’t think you guys actually understand that I care about you guys. I want you to all manifest your dream lives. And i’m DYING to hear your success stories. I completely freak out when l see a success story in my inbox because of how happy it makes me. So keep them coming!!! Not for me but for yourselves ❤️

P.S. I might stop my gossip girl theme and soon my blog as a whole because I don’t want to get caught up into any more miscommunications. This was honestly stressful because I know a lot of you look up to my blog and trust me when I KNOW it hurts to see someone you look up to, turn out to not be someone you expected. I’m far from being that person

Love you, XoXo

- gossip girl

[imabeautifulbutterfly]

Heeey it's me again , I have a new idea for a request 💚

Would you please make one with Sweater Weather by The Neighbourhood with TechxFreader ? 😊

Thanks a lot 💕

Hello love @griffedeloup,

Thank you for sending another request.

I hope you enjoy this interpretation on 'Sweater Weather'.

Love oo

Sweater Weather

Warnings: Implied coitus, discussion of nakedness, kisses, chance meeting, romance, fluff, snow, helping get dressed, kissing, I'd say about one dot of spiciness. I think that's it, if I miss anything please let me know.

Main Master List   | Star Wars Jukebox Roulette |   AO3 Link

You stood by the window looking at the snow that kept piling up, you shivered as you pulled the blanket tighter around your body. In fairness, you probably wouldn’t be so cold, if you had bothered to dress. But… let’s face it you probably wouldn’t have stayed dressed for very long once Tech woke up. 

Yet, it was too cold. You headed to the bathroom, taking a quick shower and getting dressed, putting on the matching thermals Tech had bought the both of you. It wasn’t the most romantic gift, but considering it was Tech, it meant more to you than he possibly realized. 

As you prattled over to the kitchen, you couldn’t help smiling as you saw Tech still lying on the bed passed out. His bare chest and bare legs the only thing visible, as the bed sheet was rumbled around his waist. 

You rested your head against the doorframe, smiling. You were completely head over heels for this man. It had been a random meeting. He’d been focused on his data-pad and not paying attention to his surroundings, you were busy on your comm arranging your next photography client, when you both bumped into each other. 

It was kismet. 

Neither of you could stop looking at each other or smiling. Tech felt so bad, he took you out for dinner, which turned into dessert, then drinks, and dancing, and the rest - - well the rest is history as far as you’re concerned.

You let out a contented sigh as you finished your trip to the kitchen, making yourself some tea. You pulled out some eggs, toast and cream cheese. You decided to make your famous French toast. Wanting to surprise Tech with breakfast either in bed or for when he did wake up. 

Tech started to stir when the most divine heavenly smell filled the room. His stomach growled, reminding him of the calories and energy he expended most of the night. He slowly stood putting on the pyjama pants you had bought him. They were silly, but because you bought them he couldn’t help himself smile as he looked down at the glasses wearing tookas that seemed to be enjoying a variety of activities, from reading to knitting, from sewing to relaxing by a fire. He put his goggles back on after running his hand over his face, and slowly made his way into the kitchen. The coldness hit him, like icy fingers crawling over his skin. He quietly headed over to the fireplace, adding more logs on the fire that had slowly begun to dwindle.

Once the fire was roaring again, he moved slowly over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist, as he rested his head on your shoulder. 

“Morning, mesh’la”

The smile that had been on your lips all morning, widened as you felt his warmth encompass your back. 

“Hey, you’re finally up.”

He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, “Well someone decided to keep me up most of the night.”

“Really? That’s so rude. We should definitely talk to that person.”

“Mmmhmm, we really should.” He placed a gentle kiss on your neck, “Why were you up so early?”

You hummed as you rested your head against his, “It’s the mountain air. Always makes me want to wake up bright and early.”

“That’s disappointing, I was missing your warmth.”

“Well, we could always cuddle after breakfast.”

“Speaking of, what are you making? It smells very tempting.”

“My own special French toast, it has cream cheese in the middle.”

“That seems an odd combination.”

“Don’t knock it, till you try it.” You turned in his arms, pressing a kiss to his lips, “Tech aren’t you cold?”

“Slightly.”

“Why not put on a shirt or a sweater?”

“Because that would mean I have to leave your side.”

You lovingly rolled your eyes as you reached over, and grabbed your holey sweater, it was practically a dress on you so it should fit him fine. 

“Arms in”

Tech smirked as he threaded his arms inside, while you helped him put the sweater on. You slid your fingers into the holes decorating the hem of your shirt, worn through with years of use pulling him closer, “Better?”

“Almost”

He pressed his lips to yours, seeking the only kind of warmth he truly wanted all morning. 

Main Master List   | Star Wars Jukebox Roulette |   AO3 Link

Tag list:

@liadamerondjarin @badbatch-simp24@spicymcnuggies@lady-ren @firstofficerwiggles @darkangel4121 @discofern @kavecika @monako-jinn-stories @ladykatakuri @avathebestx @theroguesully @furyhellfire66 @carodealmeida @ciramaris @sprout-fics @twinkofthedink @dindjarin-mandalorian @ulchabhangorm @littlemisspascal @tortor-mcgee @vodika-vibes @clonethirstingisreal @crosshair-is-the-superior-clone @totallyunidentified @griffedeloup @leotatombs @leotawrites

[bleedingcoffee42]

Part 4- Replacements

Wishlist for things that should have made the show.

Speirs did a radio interview in England as he was recovering from shrapnel wounds from Carentan and it was broadcasted during Victory Parade of Spotlight bands. His parents, sister were hosted by Coca Cola and Toll House back home to listen to it. I'd love to hear this. He comes back from the hospital and is assigned to S-2 and then ends up swimming across the river in Holland by himself a few times and gets shot in the ass. Please, let this man fulfill the prophecy of being a Easy Company man, by showing him washed up on shore wounded in "The best place to get shot."

In Carentan, Clancy Lyall runs straight into a German's bayonet and got stuck on it as bayonets tend to do when skewering. Lyall shoots first and the German fell backwards pulling the bayonet out. After getting morphined by himself and at least three other people, he's sent back to England and in the hospital and hears "loud Scottish brogue" and it ends up being his frickin Dad! Merchant marine that got torpedoed and was being treated for hypothermia. Gave him a Luger Luz gave him, Dad was thrilled.

Okay, I admit I just want more Spiers, but come on. In Eindhoven his guys were laughing at him because a hot lady kissed him so hard and long he turned red with embarrassment. We need this.

This when Buck and Nix have their "I hate Jocks!" Conversation. And Buck has do PT in O.D.s because Nix is a petty bitch. Please.

Lieutenant Brewer. He's the guy who walked out and got shot by a sniper. Well, he survives but everyone was like "Oh this dude is a goner" and said it out loud. Give us that. Give us Buck Taylor who sees Brewer face down in the grass and says "Let's get moving, Brewer's finished." and Brewer hears him. And Al Mampre is even worse, he takes one look at the guy who is pale as hell and is like "Lieutenant, are you still alive? Because if you're not, I'm leaving." He ends up being one of Buck's friends who he's been told is dead TWICE only to walk in and see the guy just chillin. Got hit between the eyes in Carentan, they said he was dead and Buck sees him in Aldbourne. Then in Holland he's told he's dead and sees him reading a book in the hospital in Oxford! Flesh this guy out. He's been 'killed' twice and ends up going to work for the CIA, dude could be more.

Clancy Lyall ended up in a Heineken beer factory. He also watches the Brits get out of the tanks and have tea. Every damned day. Winters gets pissed about it. Let us see him pissed.

Shifty debating if he wants to take out Germans who are escorting American prisoners.

Guth has a parachute malfunction , hits hard and ends up paralyzed. Medics take him to a barn and he wakes up to see his hometown doctor! Goes to the hospital but they don't operate and eventually he rejoins Easy even though he could have been discharged but wants to be back with the guys.

Nix and Dick climbing the church tower in Uden. Dick runs down grabs a squad and intercepts a German squad, runs them off, then he goes back to the tower. He and Nix just casually watch the Luftwaffe and tanks hammer Vachel. He comments that he can't believe nobody is trying to take them out. Cue smirks, smiles....the Germans finally sending a shot at them and hitting the bell above their damned heads. They fly down the tower then laugh about it. GOD do I want this scene.

Dick looking for a new CP and coming across a tank and no guards on duty. Pissed he goes inside and sees a British guy eating eggs with a local girl and the guy asks if his tank is still outside? Dick is PISSED, go off buddy. Then he goes to the tavern across the street and Welsh is ON the bar. Dick is chill though, "We had different priorities" but the check point was set up.

[sluttylittlewaistenthusiast]

╰┈➤ 18+ none of these stories belong to me! this is a masterlist of all the fanfics i’ve read and reblogged! just thought it would be nice to have them all in one spot! (if your fic is on here and you wish not to be, please let me know!) some will have summaries if provided <3

ᡣ𐭩 how you can help palestine . fic recs m.list

☾ @grippingbeskar

☼ A Welcomed Distraction

⭒ meeting an old friend, who also happens to now be a member of the jedi council stirs up old feelings, but will you be able to deny them any longer?

☼ An Unsurprising Development (pt. 2)

⭒ after a whirlwind of events, you finally catch the jedi master alone again.

☼ Had You Said the Words

⭒You made one mistake. One. During the heat of battle, you lost sight of your focus, lost control, all because of one particular member of the council who sits in front of you now, saying nothing.

☾ @deakyjoe

☼ Absolution

⭒ Obi-Wan really should have let his curiosity go and avoided that flower.

☾ @murdockussy

☼ More Than A Mission

⭒ The Jedi council sends Obi-Wan and his two Padawans - Anakin and yourself - on a mission to capture an underground Bounty Hunter. If Anakin's false business deal fails, then you as the backup plan will be sent in to seduce the target - dressed as an escort, bound to send your Master into a jealous rage - while the council capture the wanted man. Will Anakin succeed? Or will you be left to your own distracting devices? And overall, will Obi-Wan be able to contain his deep temptation for you?

☼ Hearts Finally Mending

⭒ Three years had passed since the fall of the Order, and with each day that went by, your heart did anything but heal. It was as if it was doing the complete opposite, an ever-growing ache expanding in depth, you unable to shake the grief you felt for all that remained lost – your home, your friends, and the man you’d thought you’d have by your side forever. 

☼ Alone

⭒ A woman from Obi-Wan’s past - Duchess Satine Kryze - is expected to say at the Jedi temple for two weeks, yourself and Obi-Wan assigned to be her assistants/escorts for the duration of her visit. Will all go smoothly? Or will your secret relationship with Obi-Wan be put to the test?

☼ Room 24

⭒ If you could gather every emotion you felt towards Obi Wan Kenobi, you were almost certain you’d be left with a burning heap of seething hot hatred – almost. 

☾ @moonyswritinq

☼ Losing You

⭒ You could never resist saying no to Obi-Wan Kenobi when he needed your help. It led to a capture by the Sith, and a near death. A daring escape, a battle of hearts and good and evil, and a climax of feelings could hopefully reveal the truth within your hearts.

☾ @kxnobi on ao3

☼ Volveré

⭒ Master Kenobi is assigned to your protection. He tries to ignore the way his flesh yearns for you, trying to remind himself of the Jedi Code whenever you look his way. He can only deny himself for so long.

☾ @RosalindBeatrice on ao3

☼ Broken Drought

⭒A once-in-a-century storm blows up and you take shelter in your family's abode with your friend, Ben Kenobi.

☾ @wickedscribbles

☼ When the World Stopped Making Sense

⭒ Nothing can prepare Ziva Courtee for the devastating change that Order 66 invokes in her clone trooper comrades

☼ Tipsy on the Taste of You

⭒ Eager to be more forthcoming in your relationship with Obi-Wan, you turn to longtime confidante Padmé for help. The answer she provides opens up more doors than you would’ve dared to imagine.

☼ Under My Wing

⭒ When you’re assigned a new Master at the age of twenty, you’re not sure how the pair of you will get along. However, you soon learn that there are many perks to being Master Kenobi’s Padawan.

☼ You Make My Dreams

⭒ It’s not every day a Jedi walks -- or falls -- into your library. This one introduces himself as Obi-Wan Kenobi, and in the span of one book recommendation he’s charmed his way into your every thought. You never would’ve thought the feeling would be mutual, but then again, he’s full of surprises.

☾ @hellotherekenobi

☼ Temptation's Kiss

⭒ The three times Obi-Wan almost kissed you and the one time he did.

☾ @saradika

☼ You Make Me Feel Like Dancing

⭒ On paper, it sounds perfect. You’ll be his date, as long as he’ll be yours. Never having to be alone, no awkward moments with a stranger. It’s just too bad that you are hopelessly, head-over-heels in love with him.

☾ @221bsherlock

☼ Empty Me Out

☼ Where It Wasn't

☾ @lovelybucky1

☼ sneaking into your room

⭒Attachment isn’t the Jedi way. Obi-Wan knows he shouldn’t be sneaking to your quarters in the middle of the night, desperate to hold you. He should be in his own room, sleeping or meditating the desires away.

☾ @mischiefling on ao3

☼ Bad Idea, Right?

⭒ Your friendship with Lord Kenobi, the unofficial heartthrob of Coruscant, isn't a bad idea, right?

☾ @kagvne

☼ Like Turning On the Light

⭒ After Obi-Wan gets you and Leia back from the Fortress Inquisitorius, the feelings you have been stifling finally come to surface on your way to Jabiim.

[salemshotspot]

HOW DOLLS SHOULD BE TREATED

Shawn Michaels x Reader

Kind of a song fic if you squint?

WORD COUNT: 2.6k

DESC: Shawn helps the reader out when she can’t record to moans for his song as well as he knows she can

Female reader [she/her]

WARNINGS: smut//slight choking//implied possessive behaviour//age gap//not proof read

RED >> Song lyrics

A/N >> NOT GREAT BUT I HOPE YOU ENJOY

TAGS: @dilfs-4life

Enjoy!

——————————————————————————

Y/n couldn’t believe her luck, she had grown up both watching and loving wrestling. Y/n was a semi-successful vocalist who was mostly well known for her work with the wwe; remastering a great deal of wrestler's theme songs with a contemporary twist

Y/n was having an uneventful day, it was her first day off work in a while, although it was uneventful she appreciated being able to rest after a busy few weeks. However this rest did not last long, y/n’s phone mockingly lit up with an email notification causing y/n to sigh as she realised it was from no other than the head of the creative team at the wwe; y/n's boss.

‘Hey y/n,

I’m writing to inform you we are remastering a song for a wrestler’s return [who cannot be revealed as of yet as his return has not been released to the public] and he has requested you by name to work on the song. Your vocals will only be backing vocals compared to your usual main track vocals so please come to my office before the end of the day in order to discuss if you’d want the role and what it would entail both job and pay wise.

-the wwe creative team.’

Y/n stares at her phone in disbelief, not only was a big time wrestler returning, causing her to become excited as a long time fan of the sport, but they paid enough attention to her work that they wanted her out of everyone to work on their song? Although she was determined to enjoy her day off, y/n practically jumped out of her seat and began getting ready to go into work, even if she didn’t want the job there was no harm in turning up and hearing them out right? Worst case scenario she doesn’t take the job but finds out which wrestler is returning to the sport.

Once y/n makes her way into work her boss spotted her and pulled her into their office and invited her to sit down and began explaining what they had already said in the email but they began sensing the idea of disinterest towards the job from y/n which is confirmed when she began speaking.

‘I’ll be straight with you boss' she begins ‘in not sure this job is right for me, I’ve only just gotten time off and I want to take advantage of tha-‘ but her boss cuts her off with a devilish smile.

'Before you say no to the job’ they say picking up the phone and telling somebody on the line to ‘send him in’ ‘at least hear the man out who so desperately wanted you for the job.’

Y/n’s mind began to race theorising who could be coming in, could it be a beloved wrestler from the attitude era like Steve Austin, wanting to have a final run, wanting to add vocals to his song to appeal to fans or could it be a more modern wrestler who had been out due to injury for a while like CM Punk, finally ready for his return?

It was while she was theorising as to which wrestler it could possibly be that none other than Shawn Michaels, The Heartbreak Kid, entered the room and sat down in the chair opposite y/n. Once y/n locked eyes with Shawn her eyes widened as she was flooded with emotions; starstruck didn’t even begin to cover it.

Shawn cleared his throat, pulling y/n out of her trance; ‘it’s great to finally meet you y/n’ he says smiling warmly, ‘I was really looking forward working with you, I was thinking we could go into the recording room and have a practice run.’ Y/n began to protest as a wave of unexpected anxiety washed over her being face to face with a wrestler she grew up watching, she grew up fantasising about- ‘y/n?’ Shawn questioned, causing y/n to blush softly.

Y/n took a deep breath to compose herself and smiled at the man across from her, ‘ok, sure, we can have a test run but I’m not promising anything’ she says in an anxious yet teasing manner as both herself and Shawn made their way to the recording room after promising the creative director they will both be back in the office within the hour with y/n's answer about whether or not she is going to take the job.

Shawn closed the soundproof door of the recording room gently behind the two of them and motioned for the younger woman to sit down in one of the many chairs in the room. As y/n took her seat Shawn began pacing a small area of the room as he spoke; not before apologising to y/n for his pacing, claiming 'moving around helps me get my words out properly' he pauses for a second, 'I'm not too good with articulation you see' he says with a chuckle to mask his insecurity. Y/n assured him that he didn't need to apologise, causing a sense of relief to wash over Shawn as he continued speaking.

As he continued speaking y/n's mind began to wander as Shawn spoke; her heart began to race as the realisation set in, as she realised exactly what parts of the song she would be running through for Shawn to judge if she's the 'right fit' for the job. As Shawn noticed the woman growing increasingly more nervous he placed his large, rugged hand on the woman's lap, gently grazing his thumb over her leg, bringing y/n's focus back to the conversation before he continued vocalising his idea.

'The lovely creative director back in there has informed me that you're familiar with my song, so I was thinking we run through it as it is then if the stars align for me and you want to work on the rewrite we can go from there' he says almost excitedly.

'Sounds good' y/n replied sheepishly with as she went onto one of the computers in the recording room to prepare a backing track as the computers had all of the wrestling backing tracks saved onto them for the creative team when necessary. While she was preparing the track Shawn also requested that y/n also recorded the process of them practicing the vocals so they could listen back to it and see if either of the two have any improvements or changes in min; Y/n hums in agreement and pulls up a recording software.

Once each piece of software was in place and the recording had begun Shawn gave y/n a nod to begin, the young woman took a deep breath and closed her eyes thinking if she couldn't see Shawn she'd be less embarrassed and in turn be able to perform better.

'Oh.. Oh.. Shawn' Y/n attempted to moan out like the original version of the man's song but she was barely able to mutter the words, let alone confidently moan them how she needed to. 'Great' y/n thought to herself, not only was she completely ruining her chance at the job but more so she was embarrassing herself in front of Shawn Michaels of all people, she was expecting to open her eyes to find Shawn laughing at her pathetic attempt to mimic his iconic song. However to y/n's surprise when she opened her eyes she was greeted by the older man's eyes filled with patience, there wasn't an ounce of mockery in the man's eyes.

'I'm sorry' y/n began, but before she could continue Shawn cut her off, almost parroting back the words she said to him before 'you don't need to apologise sweetheart' he reassured her in a low register 'why don't you give it another go, imagine you're going at it with your dream man' he teased making y/n flustered. Y/n jokingly nodded and agreed to try again with Shawn's 'expert advice' in mind.

Y/n closed her eyes once again and despite her best efforts to not imagine Shawn, trying her hardest to fantasise about anything other than the older man making her a quivering shaking mess using nothing but his fingers- y/n gulped at the idea, feeling herself grow increasingly wet merely at the thought.

Biting her lip, y/n completely missed her cue, only realising once Shawn asked her through a smirk 'is there something on your mind doll?' causing y/n to to immediately begin apologising and attempting to explain away her making a complete fool of herself before Shawn stood up and stepped closer to the seated woman, towering over her.

'I think my suggestion worked a little too well sweetheart' he jokes 'who are you thinking of in that mind of yours? A little boyfriend?' He questions, emphasising the 'boy', seemingly mocking the age of anybody y/n could possibly be dating.

'I don't have 'a little boyfriend' actually' y/n replies, causing one of Shawn's eyebrow to raise in a curious manner at the woman; without missing a beat, Shawn questions back in a curious tone 'who was making your mind wander so much you missed your cue then?' Seeing the woman's doe-like eyes widen as if starving for light as she assures Shawn it was 'no one in particular' was all the conformation Shawn needed, he's been around enough women to know when one was enamoured with him.

Craning his neck downwards so his face was inches from the woman's, Shawn asks in a seductive whisper 'do you trust me doll?' To which y/n responded with a simple nod. With that, Shawn moved over to the woman's ear and instructed her to press record on the computer as he nipped as the skin on her neck teasingly, causing y/n to let out a desperate whine.

Shawn swiftly moved from the woman's neck, not wanting to leave any visible marks on the woman, Shawn liked to see himself as a gentleman and didn't want people seeing the young woman leaving the room covered in markings, people can be cruel and Shawn has the rest of his life to mark the woman's pretty little neck, this what he was doing now was simply business.

Shawn made sure he let his hands graze down y/n's body as he gracefully falls to his knees, once on his knees he effortless pulled the woman's loose fitting jeans down to her ankles exposing her panties, already soaked from the way Shawn had been lightly touching her. Shawn's eyes grew lustful with hunger at the sight. With an uncharacteristically demanding tone Shawn began speaking to the woman; 'be a good doll and make sure you’re practicing your vocals’ he demanded as he softly pulled the woman’s cotton panties aside, the softness of the fabric had nothing on the softness of y/n’s skin as Shawn firmly gripped onto the woman’s thighs, spreading them to the side to gain better access to the heat between the woman’s legs.

With a cockiness to him Shawn dramatically allowed his tongue to fall out of his mouth, practically gasping for y/n like a dehydrated dog, Shawn took his tongue and painfully slowly glided it over the heat between y/n’s legs until he found himself at her clit. He hovered over the aching ball of nerves, his hit breathe being the only sensation pulsing through y/n causing her to desperately push her hips upwards in an attempt to bring her clit and Shawn’s mouth into contact.

‘Tut-Tut-Tut’ Shawn mocks ‘you’re so desperate for Shawn to make you feel good aren’t you darling' he continues as he uses his fingers to open y/n's folds, revealing her wet hole, desperately pulsating at the thought of being filled. With his free hand Shawn gently pries the young woman's plump untouched lips open and slid two fingers into her mouth and just like it was second nature y/n began to coyly suck on his long, thick digits.

Shawn’s eyes glaze over at the sight of the young woman enveloping his fingers in her mouth so easily; ‘now how about we see if you’re this good at swallowing my fingers elsewhere hmm?’ Shawn states as he pulls his fingers from y/n’s mouth still connected by a string of saliva. With ease Shawn slides his fingers coated in y/n’s spit into the gasping hole between her legs, walls immediately clamping down on him in fear of the empty feeling it’ll be left with if Shawn dares removes his fingers from y/n. Once y/n had adjusted to the feeling of Shawn’s fingers beautifully stretching her in a delicate way which she had never experienced before Shawn began slowly pumping his fingers in and out of y/n, in his mind claiming her as his own.

As y/n let out a soft moan Shawn snakes his hand around her throat and applied soft pressure, not enough to hurt her but enough to get her attention, in a smug and condescending tone Shawn utters ‘I don’t hear you practicing those vocals darlin’ I bet you can do so good for ol’ Shawn if you try.’ This praise was enough to have y/n melting into his touch, eager to please the man who had her falling apart in his hands.

Once again y/n attempts the dreaded vocals, but as she opens her mouth Shawn’s fingers pick up their pace, causing unimaginable waves of pleasure to course through the woman; 'Oh.. Oh.. Shawn' she practically screams as Shawn praises her efforts ‘good girl, you’re doing so well for me.’

Although Shawn had all the vocal samples he needed he continued pumping his fingers in and out of the woman until he felt her walls clamp down on him, until the woman’s delicate hands gripped at his forearm; with a smirk Shawn removed his fingers become y/n reached her climax, completely playing into the persona which his song encompasses he stands up and almost cockily says ‘hands off the merchandise’ expecting a laugh or at least a smile from his y/n, however upon seeing her pouting at him for denying her of her first real orgasm; that being an orgasm from a man who knew exactly how to send a woman over the edge, Shawn grinned and whispered into her ear; ‘don’t get short with me darlin' if we get through this meeting with the creative director then I want to take you back to my place and show you what all the fuss about the heartbreak kid really is’ he teasingly nibbled on her ear and continued ‘what kind of a gentleman would I be if I let a doll like you climax in an office hmm? Let me show you how dolls should be treated.’

Y/n blushed, unaccustomed to this kind of treatment, in response Shawn grabbed her hand, helped her back into her pants and led her back to the creative director to tell them that y/n had agreed to take the job after all.

Shawn wouldn’t admit this to anybody but his heart welled with excitement through the entire meeting fantasising about showing y/n what a real man can do, he was excited to have her desperately pleading for him because he’s the only man that can make her feel good, but more than anything he was excited to make her his, after all, who better to look after such a sweet little doll than the wrestler whose gimmick was love?

——————————————————————————

A/N >> Would anyone want a part 2 to this fic? Drop suggestions/requests if you have any

[sotwk]

My Ko-Fi page is now open for tipping! Shall we crowdfund some Tolkien fanart?

Since starting this blog, I've used my Ko-fi account only to pay for commissioned artwork and to tip/donate to fellow creatives.

Over the past year, I've also had a few very kind friends (most of them anonymous) send me gifts from the Tumblr marketplace, as a show of appreciation for my fan writing (or whatever you want to call the mish-mash of stuff I do around here). I am so humbled and grateful!

I debated with myself for a long time about this, and have decided to try something new. I've enabled my Ko-Fi page to accept tips in case anyone feels like sending love/appreciation in the form of a gift, but any money I receive through Ko-Fi will be used exclusively and entirely to buy commissioned Tolkien artwork. It will be like crowdfunding to support Tumblr artists and get more new Tolkien artwork created.

Some samples of art I have commissioned: Eomer by @beelzeebub, Sam by @baek-art, and Fili by @estethell

I am adamant that I will continue to purchase commissioned artwork for as long as I have the spare cash to do so. Getting a little help from tips will just enable me to do it with more frequency!

Here's my crowdfunding rule, though: since I would be the one selecting the subject and artist for the commissioned art and will own the title, I would always pay for at least 50% of the cost of each art piece with my own money, and any tip money received will be used to supplement. Every new "goal" will start at 50% like so:

I would like to stress that this is SUPER extremely voluntary, and that I am not selling fics, writing, or anything. Everything I continue to do will be free. This tipping feature is just to give friends an avenue to show kindness/appreciation, while also contributing to the creation of some new art.

Times are hard right now and money is tight for everyone. Please do not tip/give unless you have the spare change to do so. But if you choose to share your blessings with me, please know that it will 100% be paid forward to a Tumblr artist.

Thank you for reading this far and for ALL the love and support you give to me and my work and the Tolkien fandom, in all its forms. <3

[softquietsteadylove]

heyyy 🫶🏼🫶🏼

can we have some more spicy ten things I hate abt you AU?? I really loved the last one!!! And can we also have Thena being vulnerable to Gil? I love your writing so so sooooo much 🫶🏼🫶🏼

—- Eternalfanatic (I forgot my account password lmao) 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

"Hey."

Thena furrowed her brows, determined to keep on kissing him as their hips moved together. She tangled her tongue with his, trying to dissuade him from interrupting things.

"Thena?"

She huffed, pulling away and bracing herself on his shoulders to glare at him. "You keep saying how much you enjoy our intimacy, yet you insist on interrupting it!"

Gil wore a sheepish expression, despite literally being buried inside of her. His fingers tapped on her bare back. "I do!"

"Then why," she growled, leaning forward and forcing him completely under her again. Not that she enjoyed the thought of his eyes having a full on feast of her naked body. But she enjoyed being on top--it gave her the control she so desperately needed, especially at times like this. She dug her nails into his shoulder, "are you?"

He sighed, glancing away as if they were having a light, normal conversation, and not in the middle of having sex. "Well...is something on your mind?"

"Now?!" she barked at him. Neither were close to the point of no return, obviously, but she wasn't exactly ready to call things off and have a little heart to heart, either. "You're asking this now!"

"Sorry," he whined faintly, holding her hips still as she tried to resume their pleasure. He gave her a distinctly concerned look. "I'm happy you came over and all. But I dunno--you seem kind of...angry."

She was.

"If you wanna angry fuck, then fine," Gil amended, holding her hips more firmly. "But I'm not some exercise bike you can use to blow off steam and then ignore."

Her brows raised. It was the first time he had expressed his qualms about their relationship so clearly. He had a right to, of course, and she knew he was right, too. She was using all the benefits of their closeness without offering any return on his emotional investment.

Gil made room for her as she lifted herself off of his completely erect hardness and flopped onto the bed beside him. "Y'know how they say 'don't go to bed angry'? Well, I'm pretty sure they would say don't have spite-sex, either."

She shook her head, staring up at his ceiling with her arms wrapped around herself futilely. "Sorry."

He shook his head as well, also staring up instead of at her. It did make things feel a little easier. "I'm sorry--I should have asked before we got into things."

In all fairness to Gil, she had positively pounced on him as soon as they were in his room. He wouldn't have had much time to voice his concerns before she was undoing his belt and asking if that box of condoms still had anything in it.

"So?" he prompted, slipping his hands under the covers and over the tent in his sheets. "What pissed you off?"

At the moment, he was at the very top of that list. But that also wasn't fair, and she knew what he was asking and how he meant it.

They had met at the party, as promised. And things had been fine. Sersi had found Dane immediately and Thena had happily left the young lovebirds to flirt and giggle through the evening. She and Gil were talking, relaxing a little out of the thick of the crowd. It had been fine.

"Ikaris," she began. Part of her almost wished the solitary statement would have been enough, but she knew it wasn't. She tugged his sheets up more firmly around her. "When I went to find the recycling."

Which there wasn't one, much to her frustration.

Gil nodded, both of them still flat on their backs. "What did he say?"

Thena gulped. Looking up at the white painted ceiling of Gil's room was easier. The spots hastily plastering over something exposed, the edge where ceiling met the brick walls. "He asked me what we were."

"Oh."

She sighed through her nose. She hadn't had much intention of telling him this. Truly, the desire to tell anyone at all any of this was completely absent. But she owed Gil this much. "I told him to fuck off and mind his own business."

Gil snorted.

But the story wasn't nearly so simple. "But he guessed we were together in at least some capacity. He asked...he asked if I was finally ready to get off my high horse and just fuck--in his own words."

Gil sat up partially, his face drawing in and suddenly radiating a righteous indignity on her behalf.

She reached over, pressing on his chest and making him resume looking up at the ceiling with her. It was the only way she was going to get through this.

"His pursuit of me...he did earnestly try to date me. At least, I thought it had been earnest," she dragged out of herself. It was her least favourite thing to remember of all her life, it wasn't coming out easy. "He had wanted to advance rather quickly. I told him I hadn't done anything with anyone and I doubted I was ready for it with him."

Gil waited through her heavy pause.

She sighed, "he laughed, and laughed, and laughed."

"I'll kill him."

She shrugged, "even that would be more attention than he deserves to be paid. I sent him away and he's thought derisively of me ever since. That's why my contempt for him runs deeper than simply him being a prick, and him thinking he has some right to my sister."

"Wow," Gil scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain, "I thought he was a creep but I didn't know he was a disgusting bastard."

Thena inhaled slowly, running her hands over the sheets. "Sersi doesn't even know. I've only told her that she is not to even so much as speak to him."

Gil had the wisdom not to offer his opinion on things, as least just yet. But he reached over under the sheets until he could grasp her hand.

She let him. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

She shook her head again, her hair a hopeless mess on Gil's pillow (and he only had one, so of course he saved it for her). "It's not fair to you."

He sat up, apparently - unfortunately - done with the anonymity of avoiding eye contact. He leaned on his knees, "I guess not."

She had been the one to state it, but his quick and firm agreement still made her stomach clench. "I-"

"But it's not fair to you either."

"Hm?" she blinked up at him. She expected some lecture but he leaned down again, stretching his body out against hers and scooping her waist into the grasp of his strong arm. She sighed as he kissed her.

"I hope I don't have to tell you I'm not like that asshole."

No, he didn't.

He pulled away, looking at her so tenderly that she wondered how she could ever muster the effort to be cold with him. "But I shouldn't have to tell you. You should just...feel it, or something."

He had his own eloquence, and she found it unwittingly charming.

"Thena," Gil frowned, holding her against him, both of them on their sides. "Were you ready--when you first came over, I mean? 'Cause if you weren't, I can't-"

She leaned in, kissing him again to divert the trajectory of that thought. "I came over, I initiated the kiss, I told you I was ready. Is that not enough?"

But he didn't rise to her bait. He stared at her like he would never see her again if he blinked. "I...I...I really like you, Thena."

It certainly wasn't what he had initially started saying, but it still made her freeze like a deer in headlights. Excitement and dread flooded through her in equal amounts.

"I'm not asking you to feel the same," he whispered, and she had to admire that he was strong enough to say that, while she was too afraid to even tell him she liked him in the first place. "But I'd rather you know. And it has nothing to do with, uh, this. I liked you before. I liked you as soon as I saw you glaring at me at the theatre beside Sersi."

She rolled her eyes, because there was no way that was true.

"So, even if you don't wanna hang out anymore, or come over like this," Gil trailed off into a mumble, his eyes drifting downward. "Then, that's okay. But I'll still like you--unless you tell me not to, I guess."

She smiled--even laughed. There was just something so earnest and sweet and charming about this delinquent. She kissed him again, just for the enjoyment of it. It was actually rather dangerous, how much she liked kissing him.

Gil laid his head down again. She really needed to get him another pillow (such a boy thing, to have only one). "Sorry, but I guess I'm glad I interrupted."

She supposed it was out of concern for her. Although there was still a faint ache within her, and the insides of her thighs were quite sticky. "Was angry sex so bad?"

He grinned, satisfied that she seemed in better spirits. He ran his hands over her back again, "not that it's bad. But I prefer making love."

Thena let him lure her into making out again. It was a great excuse not to look at him as he expounded such romantic nonsense. "I've never met a boy who called it that."

"Well, I'd call myself a young man, at best," he protested with a faint pout (before kissing her again). "And I think it's only fitting, if I'm gonna worship you like the princess you are."

She didn't have a clever comeback for that, gasping as he latched onto her neck. "Do you still have that condom on?"

"Yeah, but let me do something."

She half expected him to pick up the firm and nearly frenzied pace she'd had before. To roll them over and start absolutely ravaging her. But all he did was move her onto her back and lie himself over her. He stayed close, his head always hovering within kissing distance.

"This okay?" he whispered as he pushed into her again, much more slowly and gently this time. "If I wanna get romantic with the girl I like?"

It was so juvenile, so trivial sounding. And yet when he said it, her heart and her brain screamed in joy. She never felt so elated, despite her fighting against this very thing.

"Gil," she gasped, her hands on his chest as he thrusted slowly but steadily. They had actually never been in this specific position before. It felt intimate, even fore the act of physical relations. Her legs splayed out on either side of him, but her foot was pressed to his calf muscle, as if scared he would slither away from her. Her hands were on his warm skin, she could feel his rapid heartbeat.

"Thena," he moaned as he picked up speed.

Looking into his eyes was too much. She didn't know where he ended and she began. She was being too vocal and the longer she looked into his eyes the more red spread through her cheeks and down her neck. She clung to him. "Fuck, Gil."

"Thena," he groaned again, panting and grunting and meeting her lips in hasty, open kisses.

"Gil, please," she whimpered, her voice thin and high like the last note on a violin. She didn't want to, but she slung to him desperately. "Please, please come with me."

"I'm there, I'm so there," he confirmed. Neither of them had the stamina of seasoned experts, but she felt so much more acutely than usual every movement and breath he took.

Making unfathomable sounds while rutting her naked body together with a boy she liked: she was no princess. She was just Thena, and she was unfortunately quite in love with the boy in bed with her.

And the boy was quite a fine man, she purred as she felt him come first, within the condom, his muscles twitching as he held himself over her. He stayed close but made an effort not to put his full weight on her.

She accepted it eagerly, lifting her hips as she came around him. Her thighs gripped either sides of him, soft flesh to soft flesh. She had no control over her body, or her voice, although he helped absorb some of the sounds of her ecstasy directly against his waiting lips.

They laid like that, both catching their breath. Gil moved first, but her legs tightened around him, unwilling to part with him just yet, even in his softened state.

"You feel good?" he asked aloud (needlessly). He kissed her cheek.

"Hm," she purred, still languishing in the feeling of his skin against hers. She ran her hands over the sheen on his skin and the hair there, fine as it was. "Don't make me move yet."

"Okay," he chuckled, kissing her forehead and only moving enough to lie himself down not quite on top of her. "Whatever her ladyship wants."

It was a teasing nickname, but she didn't even have it in her to scold him for it.

"Does this mean you'll stay?" he whispered, the light touch of his fingertips on her cheek tempting her deeper into sleep.

"Hm, I shouldn't," she sighed, curling against him on her side, even as her energy left her. That was all she got out on the matter. It was simply too tempting to remain all snuggled up with him. He certainly had no complaints, even as she felt him moving around to clean up or some such.

If he wanted to be her boyfriend, then he could be her boyfriend. And that meant letting her sleep as long as she wanted.

[cherryatombomb]

list of aus i think fit soapghost perfectly and want to read but am too lazy/busy/whatever to write

parent ghost x teacher soap. ghost leaves the military after his nephew ends up orphaned, and ends up falling in love with his teacher, who is very dramatic and very lovely and oh god hes so cute

another alternative is where they are BOTH parents. ghost who took in his nephew, and soap who ended up with a kid one way or another. their kids end up loving eachother, so they have to keep interacting - a bit of forced proximity where they end up falling for one another

tattoo artist soap x flower shop owner ghost. soap who works across the street and works every day to see this highly tattooed and gruff man work in the flower shop. he goes in at least once a week to buy flowers (and talk to simon, of course, it's just an excuse). simon who thinks soap is annoying to begin with but begins to fall in love with him, but also WHY is he buying so many flowers?? hello??

alternatively, tattoo artist soap x piercer ghost. no i will not be elaborating (ghost with piercings is so real to me)

au where the 141 has to disband for various reasons and each member goes their own way. they try to keep in contact but life ends up getting in the way. price brings in the 141 to reunite after so many years apart, and both simon and johnny have to cope with their feelings reigniting - are they ready to let each other go after so long? probably not!

physical therapist ghost x injured soap after las almas. price has insisted he sees a physical therapist for his arm. soap initially complains until he meets the man - and now he's head over heels. when his injury begins to heal, he has to find a way to work up the courage to ask simon out (and possibly fake still being injured in order to work that courage up, hehe)

firefighter ghost x an extremely unlucky soap. a soap whos a civilian that always ends up accidentally in danger - car crash? yep. house fire? yep. it's all worthwhile when he finds the firefighter extremely handsome, even underneath that facemask... maybe he brings cookies over to the fire station, a snack to show his gratitude, and things blossom from there

medic soap x soldier ghost. soap who's there to - physically - help simon heal through his injuries several times throughout his life, after roba, then after various missions, etc. both of them end up falling in love with one another after a long amount of time... a good mixture of fluff and angst

bartender ghost x military soap. ghost who works in a bar most frequented by the military bc of its close proximity to base, and soap, who should be an annoyance, but he really does enjoy his presence the more they get to know one another.

famous soap x bodyguard ghost. im sure this has been done but oh what a good trope. fans keep theorizing over the mysterious skull man whos always at soaps side, who soap keeps smiling all fondly over. ghost whos gruff abt this dramatic man to begin with but ends up falling head over heels in love with him.

nextdoor neighbour au where soap and ghost, you guessed it, live next to eachother. maybe ghost is agoraphobic, he struggles with leaving the house - maybe he's a writer, so he never really has to - and soap moves in, runs into him a few times, and is determined to get to know him. fluff - and some angst - ensues

chance first meeting au where soap has a dog who's normally very good, but for some reason today is insisting on running up to the cute jogger he normally sees run through the park. it's love at first sight when the jogger - ghost - crouches down and offers him a treat, because apparently he keeps a whole pocket of treats just in case he sees any animals who want them. they end up running into eachother near enough every day, and begin to fall for eachother.

[pettyprocrastination]

i would love to know your very specific eddie thoughts!!

HEHEHEHEH >:D

partial inspiration credits goes to @ofstarsandvibranium for THIS lovely post talking about cute dates with Eddie, one of which being roller skating. But also ever since I started playing derby I've been looking to do roller derby aus for literally every character under the sun so!

Eddie dating a derby girl!

You play banked track roller derby for the local league: The Hawkin's Derby Dolls!

Now realistically: banked-track derby had died out in the late 70′s and wasn't truly revived until the early 2000's in Austin, Texas, but for now we will pretend that roller derby was still a bustling sport in the eighties for my own little heart

Eddie thinks it’s the coolest thing in the fucking world

You’re slamming into other girls on a floor with an incline while roller skating? It’s the most badass thing he’s ever seen. 

You guys met because you were always skating in town. On the sidewalk, the road, even in the mall, cackling away while some fucking mall security chased after you but you would always leave them in the dust. He was fucking obsessed with you.

You’re walking home from practice, when his van drives by and slows down to match your pace. He stick his head out of the window and smiles. 

“Hey speedracer, you need a ride?” 

During the drive you talk to him about roller derby, and he talks to you about music, turns out you guys like a lot of the same artists!

mans is literally on cloud nine: as if you could be any more perfect. 

Drops you off and calls out to you “Maybe I’ll come by some time, watch you do your thing, yeah?” 

“I’ll be looking for you, Munson.” 

and he was done for. 

Supportive boyfriend supreme right there, nobody can top him. 

Has cancelled postponed hellfire so he can go see you play. 

Never gives them a set reason though. He likes to make them wonder because he’s a dramatic son of a bitch. 

“Sorry boys, but the oh-so mysterious dungeon master has more important plans for the evening. You go find somebody else to squawk at tonight.” 

Cheering your derby name (Spawn of Skatan) so loud you would think he was performing a song. 

“That’s my fucking girl! You got this!” 

Gets the team shirt and everything. 

At half time he’s jogging up to the team bench and pressing a kiss to the top of your helmet and “you’re kicking ass, babe. Just one half left and you ladies take home the win, alright?” 

Definitely moments of anxiety watching you up there because holy shit do you get bruised up and the risk of injury is for real. 

If you ever get knocked down and don’t get back up? He’s sprinting and jumping onto the track before anybody can say a work and taking you into his arms. Let them fucking try and stop him and he’ll swing. 

When the bout is over though? Oh he’s cheering loud as hell. Win or Lose.  

“That’s fucking right! That’s my girl right there!! fuck yeah!!” 

running over and cupping your sweaty face in his hands and kissing you while your teammates hoot and holler. 

“you're fucking amazing, baby-” “Eddie! I’m all sweaty and gross-” “Never stopped me before >:)” “eddie NO” 

After you both sit down in a boot at your favorite diner, eating greasy burgers and dipping your fries in a strawberry shake as you remark on what went well and what didn’t, with some feedback from Eddie of course. 

“It was hot as fuck when you slammed that one chick down, babes.” 

he tries his best.

Afterwards you take a hot shower at his trailer and slip into bed where he holds you with gentle hands as he presses kisses to the bruises and scrapes that lines your body, soft praise being whispered between each one. 

You're sore as can be the next day, but waking up in his arms makes it feel a big sweeter. 

[highwaydiamonds]

I was tagged for this by @mountainmaven - thamks Kim!

love at first sight or slowly growing fond of someone | love letters or mixtapes | hand kisses or kisses on the cheeks | understanding each other without words or finishing each other’s sentences | gazing into each other’s eyes or looking away blushing | longing to be with someone again or spending every second together | laughing together or crying together | someone running their fingers through your hair or gently playing with your hand | surprise kisses or long tight hugs

Uhh man it's been forever since I did tags and tagged people but uhhhh ok I'mma tag: @seashells-and-bookshelves , @ladyoleighander , @ladymarge , @theselkiesea, @freckles-and-books , @i-blame-this-on-sherlock , @ndb-123 , @librarianlirael (are you there???) , @usedtobeanothername , @toisse1 and whoever else wants to be tagged (if you're reading this and want to be tagged *BOOPS YER SCHNOZ* you've now been tagged!)

[girlscience]

I don't know if my life is just extremely charmed. but listening to my coworkers talk is so bizarre to me? the way that money is the only measure of success or good life that they care about blows my mind. we are talking about furthering our education and the only thing they are looking at is how much the salary for that field pays. I understand money is important, but that's honestly not something I've given even more than a passing thought to with the programs I'm applying for? I just don't get it? We do science, don't you care more about the work than the money? Am I just blind because I haven't ever had money troubles? I don't know.

[tinycoffeeroom]

treat you better | carlos sainz

face claim: none ♡

request: here !

requested: Could I request a Carlos smau where another driver breaks your heart and he’s there to pick up the pieces and make you whole again? Please and thank you ❤️

cw: cheating, bad guy charles, mentions of unwell family members, cursing

a/n: charles and alex i love u guys i promise this is just for the au <3

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November

👤 charles_leclerc liked by fan, fan, and 78,283 others

f1gossip Trouble in paradise for Charles and Y/N? Charles Leclerc was spotted on a long walk on one of Monaco's more secluded islands with a mysterious brunette and his and Y/N's dog, Leo, this weekend. Sources say the pair were often looking to see if there were cameras around, the two of them giggling as they held hands and played with the puppy. Y/N L/N, Charles girlfriend of 2 years, is currently said to be on a trip home to see family, we wonder if the two have broken up or if Charles is back to his old ways?

fan f1gossip tagging charles is so shady i love it

fan when i catch you charles

fan no bc remember when a fan said they met y/n in her hometown and she was visiting her gran bc she's not doing too good? charles u fuckin suck bro ↳ fan wtf really???? oh i hope his tyres stick to the road next race ↳ fan kmag you know what you need to do ↳ fan we put our hopes and prayers in the paddock terror 🙏🙏

fan ok but the girls gorgeous ↳ fan THAT'S YOUR TAKEAWAY FROM THIS? ↳ fan im just saying damn

fan this is not what i meant when i said i wanted silly season to get more interesting

fan *looks around* wow i'm so surprised... not like charles has a bad rep with women or anything

fan i hope y/ns ok... my heart is hurting for her ↳ fan the paddock adore her, charles has got a big storm coming next week

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liked by kellypiquet, carmenmmundt and 25 others

y/npriv my gran is doing so much better (nothing can keep the old girl down), my hometown is still as gorgeous as always and my sister got me a cake :)

kellypiquet my girl :((( i'm so happy your grans ok 🤍 ↳ y/npriv thank u kelly bear 🤍 ↳ kellypiquet did i have to physically hold max back from going after he who shall not be named?? yes... did i consider letting go?? very much so ↳ y/npriv 😭😭 hes not voldemort babe 😭 you should have just let him go ↳ kellypiquet now is that really how you feel? ↳ y/npriv ... no but i wish i did ↳ maxverstappen1 she has to go to sleep at some point, then i shall be free ↳ y/npriv thats so ominous you strange creature (i appreciate you)

carmenmmundt me and george have been keeping your gran in our prayers angel 🩷 ↳ y/npriv i love you carm 🩷 ↳ georgerussell63 and me? ↳ y/npriv i tolerate you :)

flavy.barla esteban nearly joined max ↳ y/npriv love him dearly but este's about as intimidating as a teddy bear ↳ estebanocon ?? hey??? ↳ y/npriv sorry king xo there's a reason your nicknames estie bestie ↳ estebanocon let it DIEEEEE ↳ y/npriv never 🫶

schecoperez I am glad your gran is ok, y/n. Let me or Carola know if you need anything x ↳ y/npriv thank you checo :( give the little ones and carola a big hug from me x ♥️ schecoperez

lilyzneimer he shall d word at my hands ↳ y/npriv i fuckin love you lily

lewishamilton he will never know peace next year. ↳ lewishamilton i am however happy to hear your gran is well x ↳ y/npriv lewis 😭 thank you x

francisca.c.gomes pierre has been shouting at Him on the phone for like an hour... ↳ y/npriv 😭 ... what are they saying ↳ francisca.c.gomes a lot of french and things i don't want delicate eyes (yuki) to read... ↳ y/npriv pierre i appreciate you ↳ pierregasly i'm gonna kill him ↳ y/npriv ok maybe tone it down frenchie

lilymhe alex is setting his zoo on him ↳ y/npriv that's how you know it's serious wow ↳ alex_albon tinky's gonna boot him in the head

sebastianvettel i am very glad to hear your gran is ok, y/n, sending her and you all my love x ↳ y/npriv thank you seb :( miss you x ↳ sebastianvettel come and see us soon! the kids miss you x ↳ y/npriv you got it! x

danielricciardo he's a cunt ↳ danielricciardo and i don't mean that in a nice aussie way ↳ y/npriv DANIEL ↳ oscarpiastri no he's right, in the nasty aussie way, he's a cunt ↳ y/npriv oscar i did not raise you to talk like this ↳ oscarpiastri we are literally like 4 years apart in age... ↳ y/npriv kicking a girl when she's down WOW oscar ↳ oscarpiastri ... i am sorry mother dearest ↳ y/npriv that's better

carlossainz55 hermosa, he may be il predestinato but to me he is carne morta (dead meat) ↳ y/npriv carlos 😭 ↳ carlossainz55 also i'm glad to know your gran is well, send her my love ↳ y/npriv she already fancies you enough as it is ↳ carlossainz55 my plan is working :) ↳ y/npriv what plan? are you seducing my family members??? hiding my mum as we speak ↳ carlossainz55 something like that ;)

yukitsunoda0511 happy to see your gran is ok! and i am sorry about the other thing :((((( ↳ y/npriv yuki my angel you have nothing to be sorry about

kevinmagnussen i know what i have to do ↳ y/npriv kevin NO you're like 2 points away from a race ban!! ↳ kevinmagnussen worth it :) ↳ y/npriv nicohulkenburg pls talk some sense into your teammate ↳ nicohulkenburg unfortunately y/n i too will be joining kevin in his "defense" ↳ y/npriv haas i am so sorry

landonorris i may have done a thing... ↳ y/npriv i am terrified... ↳ landonorris i'll text you :)

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📍Monaco

👤 landonorris, carlossainz55, francisca.c.gomes, kellypiquet, lilymhe, lilynzeimer, flavy.barla, carmenmmundt liked by carlossainz55, landonorris and 87,902 others

y/nstagram angel baby, dumb and dumber and my girls 🩷

Comments on this post have been limited

carlossainz55 ... am i dumb or dumber ↳ y/nstagram do you really want to know? 🤨 ↳ carlossainz55 for my own sanity im saying i'm dumb ↳ landonorris why am i dumber????? ↳ carlossainz55 do you really want to know? 🤨

carmenmmundt don't forget about lunch today xx ↳ y/nstagram been looking forward to it since i boarded the plane 🫶

landonorris you're welcome for the lift and the room btw 🙄 ↳ y/nstagram my saviour xx ↳ landonorris and for stealing leo for you ↳ y/nstagram I NEVER ASKED YOU TO STEAL HIM???? 😭 ↳ landonorris well i did because i'm an amazing friend and am willing to sacrifice all my bloody furniture ↳ y/nstagram you leave the baby alone, he was probably stressed :(

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FEBRUARY

(estrellita - little star) (uy, quécarechimba - ugh, that dickhead)

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📍Shanghai

👤 carlossainz55, landonorris liked by carlossainz55, landonorris and 89,028 others

y/nstagram did y'all think i would miss the first race week?? ft dumber and roomie x

fan mother has returned!!!!! ♥️ y/nstagram

fan if looks could kill, carlos would be six feet under ... charles was FUMING ↳ fan given the way his girly hid when y/n appeared i would say he has no right to be mad at all ↳ fan if the girl i cheated on rocked up to my teammates garage whilst i was with my side piece i quite frankly would walk onto the track midrace ↳ fan how do we know charles cheated? they've not said anything ↳ fan exactly. if they had been broken up surely they would have put out some sort of announcement to clear things up ????

scuderiaferrari always good to see you in red, y/n ❤️ ↳ y/nstagram FORZA FERRARI SEMPRE!!!!!! 🐎🐎🐎🐎🐎🐎

carlossainz55 i hate this new nickname ↳ y/nstagram what else should i call you? ↳ carlossainz55 yours ↳ fan CARLOS I SAW THAT????????

landonorris i have been demoted from bestie to roomie... this is the thanks i get... ↳ y/nstagram thanks roomie xx btw bins go out on tuesday :)

lewishamilton now you're free of your ferrari obligations, you should come across to mercedes next time ;) ↳ mercedesamgf1 we would love to see you over here y/n! ↳ mclaren um no us next?? ↳ alpinef1team no us!!! ↳ redbullracing come to the winning team :) ↳ scuderiaferrari y/n will always be a ferrari girl, back OFF 🤺🤺🤺 ♥️ carlossainz55

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charles_leclerc added y/nstagram added to their story to their story

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liked by maxverstappen1, carlossainz55 and 20 others

y/npriv that bitchass man... idk how he thought he was gonna spin that story but not on my watch

oscarpiastri did you really have to use my meme though? ↳ y/npriv yes it was funny and otherwise i was gonna call him a cheating lying bastard on main so 🤷🏻‍♀️ ↳ oscarpiastri understandable, please continue

danielricciardo lando was laughing so hard i think he bust a rib ↳ landonorris it still hurts to breathe but holy shit y/n i love u ↳ y/npriv love u too stink :) also don't forget to pick up leo's food from the shops ↳ landonorris you do know you can text me this stuff? ↳ y/npriv yeah but reminding everyone we're roomies is funny to me

maxverstappen1 walked past ferrari hospitality and fred was PISSED ↳ y/npriv 👀👀 carlossainz55 can you confirm? ↳ carlossainz55 oh, absolutely... i was worried he was going to have a heart attack or something

francisca.c.gomes ok but did he not even think to talk to you first before posting that? it's literally been months ↳ y/npriv apparently not 🙃 texted him about it and suddenly he was sorry ↳ francisca.c.gomes men 🙄 ↳ pierregasly ???? ↳ francisca.c.gomes i stand by what i said ↳ y/npriv yeah is there a problem gasly? ↳ pierregasly no problem at all ma'am, as you were

scuderiaferrari we had no knowledge charles was going to post that. we love you y/n ↳ danielricciardo FERRARI? why are you on y/ns priv? ↳ y/npriv me and the social media intern are besties xx

carlossainz55 estrellita, lets go for dinner, you deserve it ↳ y/npriv 👀 are you paying? ↳ carlossainz55 of course, i am a gentleman ↳ y/npriv pick me up in an hour :)

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liked by fan, fan and 40,718 others

f1gossip Carlos Sainz and Y/N L/N were spotted at dinner last night. The two enjoyed a meal before taking a stroll along the Monaco pier front where, as pictured, the pair were in high spirits. We're happy to see Y/N looking so happy following the revelation that her ex-boyfriend, and Carlos' current F1 teammate, had cheated on her. The two were then joined by Y/N's current roommate and F1 driver, Lando Norris, who then whisked them off to a local nightclub. We continue to send Y/N our support and hope to see more of her happy side.

fan i don't think i've ever seen y/n laugh like that, we love to see it

fan this coupled with the photos of charles and his girly arguing in the paddock 🤭🤭 we know who won the breakup

fan why do i kinda think carlos and y/n would be cute together ↳ fan woah, she's only been broken up with charles for a few months and under really shitty circumstances, she needs time to heal ↳ fan ofc ofc!!! i just mean when she's over ch*rles, the two would make a really good couple

fan happy y/n and happy carlos, my two favourite things ❤️

fan y/ncarlos fans we rise!!! ↳ fan he would treat her so right ↳ fan the entire time she dated That Man, carlos has always been so nice to her, i wonder if he secretly fancied her all along 👀 ↳ fan or maybe he's just a good guy ↳ fan that too 🤷🏻‍♀️

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APRIL

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📍 Australia

liked by y/nstagram, landonorris and 890,274 others

carlossainz55 swipe across to see me and oomf Another Carlando podium! We know what you guys wanna see and we love to deliver! The car drove like a dream today, shame we couldn't get more points but it's always nice to celebrate a great race with some champagne showers!

See 98,072 other comments

fan WHO TAUGHT CARLOS WHAT OOMF WAS??? ↳ fan either lando or y/n 100% 😭

fan CARLANDO PODIUM!!!!!!!!! WE DREAM OF DAYS LIKE THIS

y/nstagram FORZA FERRARI SEMPRE !!! 🐎🐎🐎🐎 congrats winner 🥳 ↳ carlossainz55 i think i was right when i said you would be my good luck charm 😉 ♥️ y/nstagram ↳ fan oh they're so sick for this ↳ fan y/ncarlos'ers we're so winning

charles_leclerc congrats ↳ fan ik for a fact he was forced to comment

landonorris carlando are back baby!! ↳ landonorris also cant believe im either oomf or roomie... ↳ y/nstagram stop leaving your smelly socks in the bathroom and maybe i'll change the nickname ↳ landonorris oh that was mean

fan "shame we couldn't get more points" carlos you shady shady man

fan who else cheered when kmag pulled through and took * out of the race

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liked by carlossainz55, francisca.c.gomes and 21 others

y/npriv oh we eating good tonight

kellypiquet i'm sure we are 👀 ↳ y/npriv KELLY???

landonorris carlos is so sexy ↳ y/npriv real ↳ landonorris back off my man??? ↳ carlossainz55 i'm gonna hold your hand when i say this lando... ↳ landonorris WOOOOOOW.... i see how it is carlos

carlossainz55 gorgeous as always ↳ y/npriv you can't even see my face in that photo carlos 🤣 ↳ carlossainz55 don't need to see you to know you're gorgeous ↳ maxverstappen1 i hate to say it but that was smooth ↳ danielricciardo they don't call him the smooth operator for no reason

scuderiaferrari power (soon to be (fingers crossed)) couple ↳ carlossainz55 😉 ↳ y/npriv not from the main acc damn

francisca.c.gomes need you biblically ↳ y/npriv come here then babe xx ↳ flavy.barla lemme join ↳ y/npriv i got two hands babygirl ↳ oscarpiastri estebanocon pierregasly you gonna let her snatch both your girls? ↳ estebanocon unfortunately there was a clause when they agreed to date us and it was that y/n is wifey, we are simply the Others ↳ pierregasly ^^

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liked by carlossainz55, lilymhe and 25 others

y/npriv decided to put him out of his misery :)

carlossainz55 and who is that sexy man? ↳ y/npriv idk but he keeps speaking spanish to me even though he knows i dont understand it 🙄 ↳ carlossainz55 but do you like it? 👀 ↳ y/npriv i think you know i do x

francisca.c.gomes AND YOU DIDNT UPDATE THE GROUPCHAT??????? ↳ lilymhe FR!!!! I LITERALLY SAID TELL US AFTER YOU KISS HIM ↳ y/npriv SHUT UP RN ↳ carlossainz55 no do go on ↳ lilymhe what happens in the y/n gf's gc, stays in the y/n gf's gc

carlossainz55 estás muy guapa, vuelve a la cama cariño ❤️ (you look so pretty, come back to bed sweetheart) ↳ maxverstappen1 we have the translate function on ig you horndog ↳ y/npriv don't be mad i snatched ur man ↳ maxverstappen1 ... he'll never forget the redbull days

landonorris RUE WHEN WAS THIS?????? ↳ y/npriv hiiiii lando... um so.... 🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️ ↳ landonorris GET BACK HERE U RAT EXPLAIN YOURSELF ↳ landonorris carlossainz55 WHAT ARE U DOING WITH MY ROOMIE ???? ↳ carlossainz55 i mean i could tell you but instagram does have guidelines ↳ landonorris ew ew ew that's so gross i dont even wanna know ↳ landonorris happy for you guys or whatever but ew never tell me anything remotely sexual about y/n or i will vom ↳ y/npriv lando wtf???? ↳ landonorris you're like my annoying sister i'd have to remove my skinsuit if carlos opens his fat mouth ↳ carlossainz55 hey? ↳ y/npriv you're so fuckin weird ily

danielricciardo HE SHOOTS, HE SCORES!!!! ↳ carlossainz55 you were right, they don't call me the smooth operator for no reason ↳ y/npriv you were literally giggling and kicking your feet after i kissed you ↳ carlossainz55 y/n :(((( my reputation :((((((

lilyzneimer wait do was taking the photos? ↳ y/npriv ... self timer ↳ lilyzneimer down horrifically bad wow

scuderiaferrari OH Y/NCARLOS'ERS WE WON!!!!! ↳ y/npriv admin 😭 not u too ↳ scuderiaferrari not even sorry i've been WAITING for this one!!!

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liked by francisca.c.gomes, fan and 30,892 others

f1gossip A surprise twist in the Charles and Y/N drama? Following Sainz's back to back victory in Australia and then Silverstone, Y/N and Carlos shared what looks like a loving kiss. Eagle eyed fans then spotted Charles on camera arguing with a Ferrari employee in the garages following the Y/NCarlos moment. Finally, Carlos was spotted outside where he was soon joined by Y/N, the two leaving the circuit hand in hand. It is noted Charles' new beau was nowhere to be seen.

fan Y/NCARLOS'ERS WE SO WON!!!! ♥️ 10,829 others

fan she upgraded wowow

fan charles throwing a hissy fit was so funny i was cackling watching it

fan kika in the likes... what do you know queen? ♥️ francisca.c.gomes

user not her being a homie hopper 🤢 ↳ carlossainz55 can't be a homie hopper if we're not homies :) ↳ fan CARLOS????? ↳ fan oh he ate them up ↳ fan carlos has not been fucking with ch*rles for a WHILE, even before all the drama

fan y/n's face... she looked so happy my heart is so full ❤️

fan queen y/n we trust your judgement

fan ik the entire grid is cheering rn

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📍 England

liked by carlossainz55, landonorris and 105,018 others

y/nstagram carlando podium again!!! anything else interesting happen at Silverstone? :)

fan the carlando bears 😭 her boyfriend(?) and bestie 😭 ↳ landonorris roomie* ↳ y/nstagram you love me shut up

fan she's so unbothered im giggling

francisca.c.gomes the last slide... ↳ y/nstagram don't worry baby, he was just dropping me off for our date x ↳ carlossainz55 all i am to you is a glorified taxi driver

landonorris couldn't even post a photo of me for my podium... see how it is ↳ y/nstagram don't want your ugly mug messing up my feed ↳ y/nstagram also grey bin needs to go out on tuesday ↳ landonorris you're on bin duty this week? ↳ y/nstagram actually i'm gonna be on a boat in spain soooo ↳ landonorris i hope y'all break up ↳ fan LANDO ? ↳ y/nstagram he's joking dw he did the whole "big brother" speech with carlos, was kinda funny knowing carlos would flatten him in 2 seconds flat ↳ landonorris oh now i really hope y'all break up

fan y/n please we know you have bf carlos pics... i only ask for one thing ↳ y/nstagram i'll post some soon x ↳ fan the most unserious soft/hard launch

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👤 carlossainz55 liked by carlossainz55, lilyzneimer and 98,017 others

y/nstagram my boyfriends so hot, do you guys mind if i chew on him a lil?

carlossainz55 please don't chew me??? ↳ y/nstagram it's internet sla- never mind, ok mr sainz

fan her captions are always so real i love her

fan unhinged y/n is back, we missed you best friend ♥️ y/nstagram

scuderiaferrari HARD LAUNCH HARD LAUNCH HARD LAUNCH LETS GO Y/NCARLOS'ERS!!!! ↳ y/nstagram i love u admin ❤️ ↳ scuderiaferrari our ferrari girl, forever ❤️

landonorris i hate this ↳ fan your ex and your roomie 😔 ↳ landonorris you get it 😔 ↳ carlossainz55 stop calling me your ex 🙄 ↳ landonorris you dare deny the love we shared?

francisca.c.gomes never mind him, can i chew on you a lil? ↳ kellypiquet ^ ↳ lilymhe ^ ↳ lilyzneimer ^ ↳ flavy.barla ^ ↳ carmenmmundt ^ ↳ y/nstagram everyone grab a limb x ↳ carlossainz55 please don't chew my girlfriend

fan thank you for the pic y/n! sorry for interrupting your holiday 🥺 ↳ y/nstagram don't be silly!! it was lovely to meet you <333 dont forget to send me the link to the dress!! ↳ fan on it!! ↳ fan omg how was it meeting them? ↳ fan they're honestly so sweet, they were just holding hands and walking around and carlos was yapping away and the way y/n was looking at him 🥺 they're endgame fr ↳ fan could actually cry?? ↳ fan also when they were on the beach, carlos twirled her around and they started dancing to the music playing from a nearby bar... it was actually like a movie scene 😭😭

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👤 y/nstagram liked by y/nstagram, scuderiaferrari and 505,287 others

carlossainz55 dicen que ver una estrella fugaz da buena suerte, y tenían razón, mi estrellita ❤️ (they say seeing a shooting star is good luck, and they were right, my little star)

See 198,017 other comments

francisca.c.gomes that first picture... i love my girlfriend ↳ carlossainz55 can't even have peace on my own hard launch ↳ francisca.c.gomes you snatched y/n from her girlfriends, you will never know peace.

fan he bagged a baddie wowow

fan the caption??? oh hes in LOVE ♥️ carlossainz55

y/nstagram 🥺 carlos..i'm so grateful to have you in my life ❤️ ↳ carlossainz55 i am the one who's grateful ❤️

scuderiaferrari heyyy y/n *with rizz* ↳ carlossainz55 even my own teams admin wow... ↳ scuderiaferrari not my fault your girlfriends hot

user homie hopper ↳ carlossainz55 eat glass :) ↳ y/nstagram CARLOS ↳ scuderiaferrari we love that you're happy but please carlos this is still your official account

lilymhe y/n i could treat you so much better ↳ carlossainz55 back off i've waited years for this ↳ y/nstagram YEARS??? ↳ carlossainz55... 🏃🏻‍♂️🏃🏻‍♂️🏃🏻‍♂️ ↳ y/nstagram you're literally sat right next to me ... ↳ y/nstagram he just got up and ran away... ↳ fan this is so fucking funny sddjsdhdk ↳ landonorris danielricciardo what was that about him being a smooth operator? ↳ danielricciardo hes also fucking dumb

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a/n: hope everyone enjoys! i am working hard on part 2 of girlfriend of the enemy so we can have some happy charles <3 also 2-3 posts in one week who AM I? (i'm gonna be busy w work so i'm trying to give u guys some food in case i have to disappear)

[navybrat817]

Why isn't Bucky waking me up to have his way with me?

I wish I had the answer, nonnie!

Slip Inside

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky can't resist having you when he comes home.

Word Count: Over 1.5k

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, unprotected vaginal sex, somnophilia (at first), established relationship, pet names, possessive behavior, slight feels (it's me, okay?), lovesick and needy Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: I can't send Bucky, but here you lovelies go! ❤️Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky wasn't meant to be home until tomorrow. He almost called to let you know he’d be back a day early, but it was late and he didn't want to disturb your slumber. Imagining the happy look in your eyes when you woke up beside him brought a smile to his face. Being loved by you was something he still couldn't believe was real some days, but he knew in the depths of his soul that you would always be his girl.

“Welcome home,” he whispered to himself when he saw you in bed, a sight for sore eyes.

He kept his gaze on you as he undressed, careful not to make any noise. You had an arm draped over the pillow next to you, the one he usually rested his head on. His heart raced as he took a step closer and gently pulled the blanket away, your body barely covered by the shirt he recently bought for you. Shivering slightly, you tried to curl in on yourself, but stilled quickly.

Like you knew he was watching you.

“I love you,” he breathed into the room.

You replied with a moan and rubbed your hand against the pillow.

You were beautiful when you slept. If you asked him, you were gorgeous all the time. A breathless kind of vision that he grew to appreciate more and more each day. But you weren't like a piece of art for him to just admire. You were the type of beauty meant to be appreciated.

And he gladly did so with his hands, mouth, and cock.

Oh, he loved you. Fuck, he needed you, too. It was an ache. A hunger. Awake, asleep, it didn't matter as long as he had you. And you were understanding enough to let him take what he needed.

“Mine,” he whispered.

Bucky quickly took the opportunity to slip into the bed and spoon you from behind. Your steady breathing grounded him in a sense while awakening the beast he kept at bay. The one that wanted to come out and play. One that needed to bury himself deep and keep you full.

If you were awake, he would've turned your head to kiss you nice and slow, unrushed even with the mounting desperation. Instead he rubbed his nose and scruffy chin at the juncture between your neck and shoulder, breathing in the distinctly sweet scent of you while wanting to leave his claim. That no one else could touch or have you. That you were his.

“You're mine,” he growled lowly.

Rubbing the inside of your thigh once he pushed your shirt up enough, he heard your breathing hitch. He wasn't ready for you to wake up just yet, but it didn't keep him moving his hand higher and grasping the elastic of your underwear. He debated tearing the offending fabric off, but he couldn't fault you for wearing them.

You didn't know he'd come home tonight.

He also thought about touching you through your panties to feel you squirm under his touch. Your whines and whimpers always made his cock twitch, especially when you soaked the fabric. Sometimes he liked to shove them in your mouth so you could taste yourself and know he was the one who did that to you.

Only him.

He brushed his lips along your skin as he pulled it down, almost wishing he was in front of you so he could look down and see your exposed pussy. “Mine,” he whispered again as his fingers parted your folds and skimmed over your clit.

You moved back against him with a sigh, enticing him without even trying. Alternating between teasing the bundle of nerves and your slit, he felt his own breathing get heavier and harsh with each passing second. By the time he brought his fingers to his mouth to lick your juices away, his cock was hard and heavy with the need to sink into your dripping cunt. He grunted as your flavor exploded on his tongue. He was done with foreplay.

And with how you panted and writhed, you were ready for him.

He hooked your leg over his thick thigh to open you up, hoping it wouldn't hurt when you stretched around him. “I love you,” he said once more as he brushed the tip of his cock against your hole, sighing as he slowly filled you up.

He had to close his eyes and hide his face in your neck to keep from losing it. He could go for hours when he wanted to, but the feel of your warm wetness gripping him like a vice was almost too much. Finishing quickly or not didn't matter. You’d take it as a compliment if your sweet cunt made him empty himself inside you so fast.

But he had to make it last and make you come first.

With a deep breath, he got himself under control. You let out the sweetest whine when he almost pulled out completely and shoved himself back in. Curled around you, all you could do was take his deep thrusts. He could've breathed through his nose and tried to stay quiet. He could’ve gone slow and steady. But he moaned and nipped at your skin, not wanting to hide his desire for you.

He couldn't see your face, but he felt you roll your hips back as you began to stir and heard another whine escape. You weren't completely awake, but your body craved what he was doing to you. It was enough for him to roll you on your stomach and quicken his pace.

“Bucky?” You mumbled.

“Sorry, sweetheart. I couldn't resist. Your pussy’s too good,” he groaned, putting a hand to the back of your neck to hold you still. “I need you. Need to feel you come on my cock.”

You fluttered around him as he stretched over your back, forcing you to take every inch of him. Your body went pliant as you let out a tired and needy moan. If you wanted him to stop, you would’ve told him to do so. “Please,” you whined as he practically rutted into you.

“I got you,” he grunted, driving harder into you as your fingers twisted in the sheets. “Missed you. Missed you so fucking much. Might need to keep my cock in you all night.”

You trembled, both of you knowing you’d lay there and let him fuck you all night if he asked. You were so good for him. And greedy. It would be wrong of him not to give you what you longed for.

“And you'll let me fill you up, won't you? Of course, you will,” he panted against your ear. You tried to arch your back, but his massive frame overpowered you. “It’s okay. Just take it. Let me have you.”

Fucking you raw was a gift he’d selfishly continue to ask for and take. But how could he not? You always let out the prettiest sounds when he flooded your holes.

He couldn't stop himself from shoving his hand between the mattress and your body, seeking out your clit to tip you over the edge. Moans poured from you as he lightly pinched it, giving you the push you needed. “That’s it. Come on my cock. My cock. My good girl,” he encouraged as you clamped around him hard enough for him to lose his breath.

You nearly cried as he took you apart. “Bu… Bucky…”

“Trembling around my cock. Greedy girl,” he moaned, his hips snapping faster as he brought his mouth back to your ear. “My turn.”

He let out a deep groan as he stilled, filling you. His release hit him so hard his head spun, muttering his love for and possession of you as his eyes fluttered. You let out a broken moan as you clenched around him again and he had to keep from collapsing against you, both of you fighting for air.

“Love you,” he mumbled, wanting you to hear it now that you were awake.

He only pulled out so he could move you to your back and desperately kiss your lips the way he needed to, pushing himself back inside your leaking hole with a hum. Your eyes were half-lidded when he broke the kiss. Your gaze made him want to ruin you all over again.

“Love you, too,” you croaked, your back bowing when he groped your breast through the shirt. “Welcome home.”

Bucky’s heart pounded as he leaned down to kiss you again. It was a dance of tongue and teeth, dizzying and passionate. Some days you were the fire and others you were the fuel. You accepted the entirety of him and he welcomed everything you selflessly gave him in return.

“Good to be home, baby,” he smirked, brushing his thumb along your covered nipple. “Now stay awake. I need to fill you up at least two more times before the sun comes up.”

Even after that, he wasn't close to being done with you. But he was whole because he was home with you. And that would always be enough.

We deserve this, okay? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

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