#taylor swift mysterious count down

[cuteandhughesy]

The Great War ╰┈➤ JH86

summary: during a friends getaway to the hughes lake house, you are faced with the ongoing struggle of trying to get along with the middle hughes brother. the 3 times you were sure you and jack hated each other + the 2 times you aren’t so sure.

[word count] 11.7k

warnings: NSFW! enemies to lovers | rude!jack | alcohol | suggestive themes | smut | kissing | fingering | read at your own discretion.

🎵 the great war by taylor swift, right here by chase atlantic, sunsetz by cigarettes after sex, the way I loved you by taylor swift, golden by harry styles, set yourself on fire by ruel + love is a wild thing by kacey musgraves

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one: the drive

"It's too early." ashley’s voice is an exhausted whine, and you look over just as she dramatically drops her forehead to the purple suitcase sitting infront of her.

you roll your eyes gently, very much used to your best friends distaste in early morning conversations and wake up times. you can’t say you’re the biggest fan of waiting on the grand stairs outside luke and jack hughes’ apartment building at 8 a.m., but the reasoning for the early wake up call was one that you were a fan of.

you met luke hughes in your shared freshman year at the university of michigan, and you had both hit it off instantly - becoming quick friends. since then, you and your friend ashley had always been invited to spend a week of summer vacation at the hughes’ michigan lake house and every year, without fail, you’d all get together and drive up.

ashley groans again, and the sound has you breathing out in a quiet laughter. your fingers drum against the smooth stone steps beneath you, your head lolling over to look at her properly. “it’s only 8, ash “

the brunette throws her head backwards, an even louder noise of displeasure leaving her small body. “yeah, way too early.” she stretches out her tan legs, nudging the suitcase out of the way with a painted toenail. ashley rolls her shoulder a few times and huffs obnoxiously. “what the hell is taking them so long?”

you frown, “I’m not sure. luke said they were on their way down a few minutes ago.” you glance over your shoulder and in the direction of the grand apartment doors behind you, trying to catch a glance of luke or anybody else you know. "maybe-"

"hello ladies" trevor zegras pushes open the doors, sauntering out from the apartment complex and over towards you and ashley. he’s sporting his usual sneaky grin, and there’s an expensive pair of black sunglasses covering his bright eyes - you couldn’t see his eyes, but you knew they were crinkled at the corners as he continued to grin.

just like ducks, the rest of the group follows trevor, making their way towards the three of you from the entrance of the building. you recognize pretty much everyone, saved from a face towards the back of your friend group that you’re unfamiliar with.

trevor pulls you get up, one of his strong arms effortlessly bringing you to your feet from where you previously lounged on the ground. you see alex tourcette help ashley up beside you, the kings forward narrowly missing tripping over the suitcase ashley had pushed away earlier.

beatrice, luke’s girlfriend is breathing a heavy, trying to catch her breath as she stands with her hands held firmly against her hips. she gives trevor a stink eye, wetting her dry lips. “trevor we told you not to run.”

“where’s the fun in that?” trevor laughs unashamed. immediately his exterior had you smiling, the sour attitude from the early morning long forgotten as you listen to quinn and trevor begin to bicker.

like you and ashley, trevor was another honorary hughes lake house member and was always bringing the lighthearted fun to your vacation week - ever since you met him, trevor has always been one of your favourite people.

“why you were so excited to get out here is a mystery to me dude, not like there’s anyone worth while out here.” for the first time, jack makes his presence known but not without the cruel comment which you knew he was directing at you.

you roll your eyes, typical. you and jack, for lack of a better word, despised one another. ever since luke introduced you to his superstar brother, you did not like him. maybe it was his sour attitude or the fact he always seemed like he couldn’t care less about you or anything you said - you’re not sure why. all you’re sure of is the strong feeling of needing to rip his head off and how it’s growing stronger everytime you have to spend time near him.

"i'm in vacation mode dude," trevor chuckles.

"same here!" an unfamiliar female laugh follows the preach, and it quickly has your attention. she's like ridiculously beautiful - the kind of beautiful that you're not even jealous of but instead you're just amazed by. the girl stands confidently beside jack, her blonde hair tied back into a low bun and her simple gold jewelry catches the sun so it looks likes she's glowing.

beatrice says something along the lines of feeling excited about wearing her new bathing suit, but you're too distracted by the mystery's girls sweet laugh, perfect teeth....and the way jack just seemed so enamoured by her. you watch as he looks down at her softly, his tongue wetting his plump bottom lip as he does. you've never physically seen jack look so kindly at someone, and the feeling is a bit foreign - weighing oddly on your chest.

quinn claps his hands together, and the sound has you blinking hard, quickly looking away from the middle hughes brother and the mystery model and finding quinn - who's clap affectively grabbed the attention of the large group. "Okay, less cars the better - i'm thinking two vehicles max. who's up for driving?"

"my cars here," beatrice smiles gently, her delicate hand raising as she gathers the attention. jack follows suit, telling everyone he filled his trucks tank the day prior and was ready for the hour drive up to the lake house.

at that, trevor immediately makes a b-line for the truck, which coincidentally was parked towards the front of the gated parking unit. "let's get going!" he tosses his bag into the open trunk just as it begins to open, because yes jack of course has one of those fancy vehicles that's trunks open with a push of a button.

you watch as ashley is whisked away by beatrice, the chatty brunette already talking about the things she had planned for the three of you to do while you were at the lake house. you just catch the end of beatrice mentioning a hiking trail before the sound of rolling wheels on the suitcases overpower the conversation .

just as you make a move towards beatrice's mini car, already praying that you'll fit between the ridiculous amount of luggage, luke rushes past you, tucking himself behind the driver's seat just as beatrice and ashley get in the front.

you slow in your steps, a gentle frown taking over your face. you analyze the remaining seat, thinking of ways to move around the luggage and bags to make room for yourself - but your thoughts are halted as alex jumps into the car, effortlessly moving around the suitcase so he can sit comfortably behind the passenger seat.

you sigh, hands falling to your sides. "seriously guys?" the only one that seems to hear you is luke, the other three already arguing loudly over what songs to play and who exactly gets aux cord privileges.

luke shrugs his shoulders stiffly and shoots you an apologetic smile. "cars full."

you run a warm hand through your unbrushed hair - forgetting to comb so early in the day - and you readjust your black duffel bag along your exposed shoulder. "luke, I swear to god if you don't let me sit in your spot-"

"what? why should I move?" he counters, brows raised comically as he looks up at you.

you take a step closer to the jam packed cooper, crossing your arms unimpressed over your tank top covered chest. it feels a bit awkward with the bag weighing down your shoulder, practically rubbing your shoulder raw - but you don't care. "bea and ash - they're my friends."

he laughs, "bea is my girlfriend."

just as you go to further your point, ready to tell luke that there was no possible way you could ride in the other vehicle, the sound of a rumbling engine gets louder, signalling that the truck had come to a halt behind your back.

you feel yourself physically deflate but somehow you also feel like you're frozen. you knew what this whole car situation means, especially with luke being his usual stubborn self and refusing to offer you his spot (you'll definitely get him back for that later). with no other options, you'll have to ride in jack's truck.

the all too familiar voice of the middle hughes brother calls out to your turned back, a taunting undertone to his words that just make you want to get swallowed up by the ground and not go anywhere. "you need a ride?"

suddenly, the bustling chatter and laughter from beatrice's car comes to a halt, the three previously noisy passengers all going silent as their eyes all find you.

awkwardly, you turn around and your eyes connect with jack's past trevor's completely oblivious smile - scrolling leisurely on his phone. jack was leaning over the center console of his truck, his weight resting on his elbow as he looks at you through the passenger window.

you give beatrice's car one last look of defeat - to which ashley, finally realizing your predicament, shoots you a sympathetic look, and her smile is a mixture of guilt and sadness for you.

with a huff, you look back towards the truck and send a forced, borderline sarcastic, smile in jack's direction. "obviously." you grit through your clenched teeth, taking the two steps towards the truck and hastily pulling open the door.

jack's lips slink upwards into a smirk at your words, watching you gently as you clamber over quinn's large outstretched legs to get to the middle seat.

once you're comfortable (as comfortable as you can be in a confined space with jack hughes), the truck begins to move, jack pulling out of the gated apartment complex and onto the street.

10 minutes into the drive and you were still feeling pretty on edge. the vibes in the truck were anything short of awkward - to say the least. you could tell quinn was waiting and anticipating for you and jack to start bickering - his shoulder tense against yours. anytime jack said anything to trevor or sydney (the beautiful model that jack had brought along - who introduced herself as soon as jack pulled onto the freeway) , quinn would hold his breath, waiting for an argument to start.

sydney's sweet voice pulls you from your head, eyeing you brightly. "so, y/n, how do you know luke?"

you smile, "we got close at uni - my good friend used to hookup with one of his friends so we'd all hangout at their place."

"now we can't get rid of her." quinn's elbow hits your ribs teasingly, letting you know he was only joking.

sydney hums lightly, "and are you still in school?"

you nod in conformation. unlike luke, you weren't a nhl superstar who's time in college was cut short - you still had a year left of schooling and gymnastic training at michigan.

"and I think jack mentioned you do gymnastics, are you wanting to persue that?" sydney eyes you curiously, knawing her lip intuitively as she waits for a response.

immediately though, your brows pull together as you try and work out why jack would mention you at all. you clear your throat, unable to think of a reason why. "that's definitely the goal, hopefully i’m good enough."

trevor laughs, eyeing you over the high shoulder of the trucks seat. his eyes are blown wide, and he's looking at you with an expression mixed of disbelief and amusement at your words. "you're definitely good enough - hell anytime i've seen you compete i've been left in pure astonishment."

you smile, head dipping slightly as you turn red from the praise. you can be really hard on yourself when it comes to your athletics, so hearing other people compliment your hard work is always nice and you can't help but blush.

jack clears his throat gently, shuffling forward in his seat. it gatherers your attention, and your eyes meet his deep blue ones in the rearview mirror. they flicker away shortly after, focusing back on the highway. "so, y/n." jack begins, eyes finding your gaze in the mirror once again.

beside you, quinn deflates as he mumbles to himself. trevor groans in exhaustion, already covering his face to save himself from witnessing any possible argument that could occur.

jack looks at you over his shoulder, eyes darting over your frame quickly.

on your other side, sydney is clearly unaware of the tension growing between you and jack, and she pushes against his shoulder gently. "hey, eyes on the road, jack. I don't wanna die."

jack did what sydney asked and turns back towards the road to divert the breakage of traffic laws - but the odd look he's been sporting didn't fall from his lips. "how's it going with ethan? luke hasn't mentioned you two in awhile."

your face falls. you can't tell if you're going to start sobbing uncontrollably or if you're going reach out and strangle jack until he passes out. you knew for a fact that jack knew you and ethan had broken up, because luke told him only a few days ago (and luke told you he told his two oldest brothers to help you avoid any akward conversations).

but this is typical jack, you think. trevor had complemented you, which had you visibly joyful, and jack seemed like he wanted nothing but the opposite for you. he's seen you happy so now he planned to ruin your mood by bringing up your freshly new ex-boyfriend.

"dude.." trevor whispers in disbelief, side eyeing his friend.

"jack-" quinn starts, brows furrowed uncomfortably.

"you know we broke up." you tell him roughly. you hope to catch his eyes in the mirror again, wanting to desperately have some fucking eye contact while jack insists on bringing you down once again- but he keeps his gaze on the road. "and you know that because luke told you about what happened."

"I forgot," jack practically scoffs, and one of his hands shoots up in defence. "no need to get all worked up over it."

you huff, "and there's no need for you to be a complete asshole."

"how was I being an asshole?" he laughs out, his fingers flexing on the edge of the steering wheel as the truck shifts lanes. "i'm just asking about your life."

"no," you correct roughly, "you were trying to get a rise out of me and congratulations jack, it worked and now i'm annoyed." you spit unpleasantly. your palms are starting to become wet with sweat, and your body feels like it's on fire. you always felt that heat when you and jack argued - he just always gets you so worked up and unfortunately, he's way too good at doing it.

"i'm not responsible for how you react to my words, y/n."

"is this taylor swift?" trevor's loud words cut off any further conversation brewing between you and jack. he turns up the volume in the truck so that's it's borderline deafening, a clear indicator that he was sick of hearing you both bicker at one another.

your arms cross over your chest stubbornly and finally, you look away from the reflective rearview mirror - eyes finding the carpeted floor of the truck. you miss the look jack sends you though, an unidentifiable expression on his face.

trevor starts to belt out the chorus of you belong with me - sidney and even quinn joining in on the impromptu karaoke session. but you ignore it...all of it. you ignored how jack brought a stranger to the cabin (a very sweet stranger - but still), ignored how jack has already picked a fight with you and humiliated you, and ignored how you'd have to spend a whole vacation with jack on top of it all.

you're feeling a little frustrated in yourself as well. you were so sick of taking his obvious bait, and allowing yourself to get so worked up over him. from now on, you're going to try your best to bite your tongue and stay quiet in his presence.

"hey, y/n, wanna shoot a text to bea and tell them we're only 20 minutes away." trevor's words have you already feeling better and pulls you out of your own self inflicted misery. the other passengers beside you begin to cheer in excitement, and quinn bumps his shoulder against yours knowingly - which has you breaking into a grin.

through the surge of excitement, you can't help but let your eyes wander back towards the driver's seat - instinctively landing on jack. he looks so happy, his teeth practically sparkling in the summer sun as he giggles at something trevor says.

his hair has grown since the season came to a disappointing end, giving jack that care-free, messy look you always thought suited him best. you squint questionably, wondering how he could be so happy and unbothered after your mini fight - did he not even feel guilty that he'd upset you?

you look away, past quinn's firm chest and out the truck window - watching the bustling city highways and buildings turn into beautiful lakeside streets and summer homes.

you're now really looking forward to lounging by the lake and doing nothing for a few days - planning on being the bigger person and acting civil for the remainder of the vacation.

screw jack and his stupid truck.

two: the boat

it was early morning before you saw anybody, besides ashley, again. after your rather draining car ride, you weren't feeling up to mingling or barbecuing with anybody, so after some lame excuse of feeling sick, you sulked to yourself in bed for the remainder of the day.

jack had rolled his eyes and huffed loudly as you made your way up the stairs, but you didn't stop or make a comment - you ignored him and kept going. after all, you'd had enough jack for the day.

you quietly make your way into the kitchen, bare feet padding against the hardwood floor as you round the corner.

trevor is already in there, slowly spreading some butter on a borderline burnt bagel half. he looks up, and his eyes widen in suprise at the sight of you. he licks some butter of his thumb, and then wipes it against his bare chest. "shit, wasn't expecting you."

you move around him and open the fridge. your eyes quickly scan over the options before you decide on orange juice, grabbing the full carton and bringing it towards the kitchen island. "forget I was here already?" you tease once you retrieved a glass and begin to pour yourself some juice., shooting him a look.

"could never forget you." trevor smiles, taking an extremely large bite out of his bagel so that butter smears over his dimples.

you laugh before taking a sip from your glass, letting the citrus juice slide over your teeth and down your throat - clashing with the toothpaste left over in your mouth. regardless, it's still enjoyable and you hum in satisfaction.

trevor eyes you, "how can you drink that shit?" he's laughing slightly, but his lips are tugged into a frown of displeasure. "apple juice is way better."

"it's not," you scoff gently, eyes twinkling with amusement.

he nods, "it is. nobody here drinks that shit but you."

you frown gently, "really? nobody else likes orange juice?" trevor shakes his head no, taking another bite and poppy seeds go everywhere. you hum questionably, "why did they buy it then?"

"who knows," trevor shrugs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "ask quinn and jack - they went out shopping last night."

behind you, footsteps come bounding around the corner and into the kitchen. you glance towards the entry way just as jack walks in - he doesn't look up at first, too engrossed on his phone. like trevor, jack was also shirtless but instead of wearing pyjama bottoms like the anaheim ducks forward, he had on his bathing suit - a towel thrown over his shoulder.

he looks up from his phone and over at trevor, "quinn and I were thinking of heading out on the boat for a bit - bring some floaties and shit. you in?"

trevor lights up, dusting his hands free of any buttery bagel residue, "yeah man, let me get changed."

jack moves further into the kitchen, eyeing you and your cup of orange juice silently before moving past your body and opening one of the cupboards behind you.

silently, you roll your eyes at his typical rude behaviour. he didn't like you, that much was obvious, you weren't expecting him to ask you to join them on the boat anything- but could he not even greet you.

trevor turns back towards your direction, his brows raised questionably. "y/n, you coming?"

behind you, you can hear jack busing himself, but you knew he wasn't actually doing anything - he was subtly waiting to hear your answer to trevor's question.

so much was certain - you knew jack didn't want you there.

“sure,” you smile is exaggerated, and you can only hope jack is watching it with irritation. "I'll lay out and tan."

trevor grins, although his eyes widen in something that looks like fear at your wide smile. he pats the door frame twice, mumbling something about pennywise as he walks off.

as soon as he is out of sight, jack sighs. “of course.” his words are very quiet, but you knew he had no intent of keeping his words to himself - he wanted you to hear.

initially, you ignore him - working on finishing the banana you’d begin to peel when jack first walked into the kitchen.

jack sighs again - louder this time and you can practically hear his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

you huff, spinning around slowly so that’s you’re facing the second oldest hughes. resting your hip against the edge of the granite counter top, you eye him - gaze full of question as well as knowing. “spit it out.”

his expression turns smug like he knew he could break you - and that just has your blood coming to a boil. you stay composed though, focusing your surge of anger on the chews of mushy fruit in between your teeth.

jack rests the heels of his palms against the opposite counter top - near the sink across from the island . he leans back, eyeing you with an almost teasing glimmer in his eyes. "I thought you would've shaved your legs before offering to lounge around in your bathing suit all day."

you sigh, tilting your head tauntingly in his direction. you had waxed your legs two days ago, so obviously there was nothing there but you know he’s just trying to push your buttons like usual.

you send him a sarcastic smile. "you’d like that wouldn't you."

jack tongues his cheek, and his gaze doesn’t leave you face - even when you push off the island and brush past him to throw your banana peel out. you smirk to yourself once you know that jack isn’t going to say anything back, and you go get changed.

10 minutes later, you and ashley make your way down to the dock where quinn, trevor, alex and jack are (impatiently) waiting.

at the sight of you, trevor groans with exasperation, "finally the princesses have arrived."

"whatever.” ashley mumbles, a sarcastic eye roll gracing her dark eyes. the la kings player is at the side of the boat quicker than you can process, eyeing your friend gently and offering his hand to her. she accepts the outstretched hand, and lets alex help her gracefully step off the wooden dock and into the boat.

alex tourcette has very obviously been crushing on ashley since trevor introduced them two years ago at the hughes lake house. it was alex’s first time there and the sight of ashley had him coming back every year since.

so like usual when ashley was around, alex was too wrapped up in all her glory - leaving you standing on the dock with your arms full of beach towels, a tote bag full of all your essentials, and trevor’s hat he’d forgotten inside.

“any help?” you ask, but the only thing you get is the view of trevor and ashley’s backs as they walk away. “hello?”

you think you’re going to have to just pray and make the step down - vision practically blocked from the plethora of things in your arms. just when you try and attempt, you catch jack look over at you.

but then after a second he looks away, his attention once again back on his phone. a moment passes, and you’re almost too in shock to say anything to him, because was he really about ignore you and let you try this by yourself? after seeing you struggling?

nobody else is moving to assist you. quinn and trevor are going over the depth reader set up and the manuals, and obviously, ashley and alex were busy being lovey dovey at the very front of the boat. nobody else knew your predicament.

jack suddenly groans and tosses his phone on the bench seat beside him. wordlessly, he gets up from his previous seated position and makes his way towards the part of the boat you were standing beside.

he places his hand out, his palm up in your direction. jack looks at you expectantly, his brows raised as he waits on you to make the next move.

you bite your tongue to stop any irritant comments from coming out, but you can’t control the way your eyes roll at his bluntness. you attempt to reach out for his hand, trying to balance all the stuff in the crook of your opposite elbow.

"hold on,” jack huffs tiredly, "pass me all the shit in your arms so you don't trip and fall into the water."

quietly, you load everything off and give it to jack - who then places it all near his cellphone on the bench seat behind him.

finally, jack takes your hand, and helps you stay steady as you step onto the boat. his fingers brush against your wrist delicately, the foreign feeling of his skin on yours providing and unfamiliar rush of feelings.

the tote bag you had chose to keep on your body, resting loosely on your shoulder, begins to slip down your arm as you step down onto the boat.

jack’s opposite hand darts out, grabbing the bag before it can fall off your arm - putting it back on your shoulder properly.

you look up at him, swallowing thickly. “thanks.”

jack walks away without a word, his touch that was, just seconds ago, all you could feel, was gone - leaving you feeling rather chilled under the blistering summer sun.

you huff, shaking your head clear of any thoughts of jack and his odd behaviour.

the boat took out onto the water just moments later, which helped in distracting your brain - the smell of fresh water and the wind on your face providing a new focus. it took quinn almost 15 minutes to find the ‘perfect spot’, before anchoring down near the sand bar he always ended up at anyways.

trevor and jack waste no time, and jump of the boat and into the michigan water while quinn was still dropping the anchor down into the water.

the idea of sitting with alex and ashley as the two of them cuddle and giggle to themselves was something you did not want to be witness to - so swimming it is. you quickly follow suit, stripping off your band tshirt turned cover up, leaving you in your bathing suit.

quinn rushes past you, cannonballing into the water. the commotion has trevor looking in the direction of the boat, watching as you throw your top into your bag - wiping the drops of water off your arms from quinn’s cannonball.

“looking hot, y/n!” trevor shouts at you, hands cupped around his mouth to further project his already loud voice.

you laugh warmly at his teasing as you make your way down towards the swimming platform - the last thing g you want to do is try and jump in and accidentally flash quinn, trevor and jack your nipple.

quinn laughs gently, pushing trevor under the water as a form of lackluster punishment for his degrading comment.

you swallow your laughter, and ignore the feeling of eyes on you as you begin to take the steps down into the water - quinn and trevor still laughing and bickering in the distance. the water is feeling cold from the temperature drop last night, and you quiver as you become fully emerged in the lake.

you practically doggy paddle towards the area of sand bar, and once you’re close enough, you grab onto quinn from behind - your small, cold hands gripping the muscles of his broad shoulders as you attempt to hold your torso above the water. "it's so cold, oh my god."

"you're fine," trevor insists, swimming up beside you, a small splash of water hitting your torso as he flicks it at you.

"trevor.” you warn sternly, pointing at him accusingly. “we’re not splashing.”

suddenly, quinn spins to face you and your hands slips off his wet shoulder from his sudden movement. the smirk on his face has your stomach dropping, and you take a step back through the water.

quinn sends a splash towards you, water sloshing up your arms and further wetting your bathing suit top. trevor continues and follows suit, soaking you with lake water as they splash you like children.

you try and escape the attack, backing away from them with your hands raised in an attempt at a surrender. “guys, seriously?!”

under the water, a piece of slimy seaweed is disturbed from your quick movements, and the green water plant grazes your calf. you screech at the foreign touch, hopping backwards to escape it. the water splashes up and around you at your quick and frantic jump, completely drenching you.

suddenly, your cold back come in contact with something unfamiliar- but not foreign. behind you, you feel warm skin tense and chest muscles move smoothly as you unexpectedly back into them.

you swallow, and you whip around and meet the harsh eyes of jack.

"careful," jack’s voice was calm, but still sharp like he was demanding something from you. it was like you were inconveniencing him by simply being in the same water as him, and his stern gaze was almost taunting as he looked over your face.

you open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

jack doesn’t say anything else. he makes his way over to the back to the boat, and pulls himself out of the water and onto the swimming platform effortlessly. he shakes out his hair, water spraying all around him - the droplets reflecting brightly in the sun as they fall off him.

you look away, jack’s typical weird behaviour leaving you feeling rather annoyed.

jack didn't speak or even look in your direction for the remainder of the afternoon - a sour attitude radiating off of him for the rest of the boat outing.

when you all get back to shore a couple hours after departing, jack had gotten off the boat first, not bothering in helping with tying up the ropes or bringing up any loose stuff from inside the boat.

you watch as he walks up to the deck a few feet away, and immediately plops himself on top of sydney, who was laying on a lounge chair tanning.

you hear luke tell his brother to get a room as he flips burgers at the grill with beatrice at his side, and your mood is suddenly very sour. you exit the boat with a scowl on your face, your arms full of even more stuff than you brought down that morning - no thanks to jack and his no help.

you quickly walk pass the four of them on the back deck, shooting a harsh glare in jacks direction before heading inside.

three: the kitchen

when you excused yourself from the warm comfort of the bonfire to use the bathroom and grab yourself another seltzer, you weren't expecting to end up crying before making it back outside.

but here you are - warm, salty tears falling heavy on the screen of your phone. on your screen, the same video is replaying over again, the familiar sound of your ex boyfriends laugh ringing in your ears as you listen through dylan duke's snapchat story. it was an innocent post really, dylan was clueless to the activities going on behind him and mark as the two talked away on the private story. ethan was seen in the background, laughing with a girl before going in and cuddling into her neck.

the breakup, although you're not actively having romantic feelings, still hurt, and watching ethan move on wasn't the easiest thing to witness.

you sniffle quietly, watching the video play out once more before you exit snapchat - closing off the app roughly. you wipe your leaking nose with the back of your hand, cleaning yourself up of any salty tears.

behind you, the patio door creaks open and just as quickly, it closes. jack walks in behind you, his cheeks tinted red from the day outside in the sun.

you swallow thickly, swiftly looking away so he doesn't catch your puffy, red eyes. you almost want to laugh in this moment - because, of course it was jack of all people who would walk in when you're on the borderline of an emotional breakdown. you reach into the box of white claws left open on the island - not in the fridge because you preferred them warm (you'll have to thank whoever left them out for you).

just as you pull out your desired flavour, the sound of a bottle cap sounds on the counter top, followed by the sloshing sounds of jack pouring his hard liquor into a cup.

your eyes flicker up, watching jack's diet coke mix with the clear liquor at the bottom of his plastic cup. you can smell the woodsy bonfire smell off his clothes, mixing with his usual spicy cologne.

suddenly, he looks away from his drink and across the island at you. his eyes dart between yours, like he was analyzing your somber expression - then his gaze moves around your face, noticing your blotchy cheeks and pink puffy lips. jack looks away for a second, brows pulling tight as he completes his drink. "why are you crying this time?”

the sound of your full can hitting the counter top echoes throughout the empty house and jack looks up rather quickly, meeting your eyes again. your shoulders deflate - too disappointed to even feel proper anger. "seriously?" you sigh, and your tone clearly indicates that you're feeling upset by his question.

jack shrugs once, wiping up some melted ice with one of the crumpled napkins that had been abandoned on the kitchen island. "well?" his words are knowing- his tone condescending.

you feel yourself beginning to tear up for the second time tonight, expect for some reason the tears currently threatening to fall felt more painful than the ones from ethan. jack doesn't say anything else and only looks at you expectantly- waiting for you to further breakdown.

you huff - all earlier feelings of sadness are quickly replaced with irritation and frustration caused by jack and his insufferable attitude towards you. "why do you treat me so terribly, jack? fuck," you sigh, wiping at your face angrily as you feel a few unwanted tears fall. "I came on this vacation to try and relax and forget about the past few weeks by spending time with my friends, and you have made it your mission to keep me miserable. god, even your girlfriend has been treating me better than you have, and she's a stranger." you finish roughly, swallowing thickly as you try and gauge jack's face for his reaction to your outburst.

you feel a little embarrassed about ranting about your emotions and anger towards jack...to jack. but you hold your ground, keeping you gaze on him.

jack clears his throat thickly. "she's not my girlfriend."

you laugh in disbelief, the sound mixing with a scoff. is that all he had to say? no apology? no reasoning for his seemingly amplified hate towards you this vacation? jack looks away from your somber face, and you have all the answers you need.

without another glance, you grab the white claw off the counter, the metal can scraping against the granite as you do so. you quickly make your way back outside, walking through the dimly lit backyard - saved from the fire pit glow.

you take your original seat on one of the blue campfire chairs, curling your legs under yourself as you look towards the roaring, tangerine flames.  beside you, you can feel luke eyeing you curiously - trying to analyze your exhausted expression. you don't give him the satisfaction though, keeping your eyes trained on the fire as you take a sip of your drink.

roughly five minutes pass before jack comes back outside, no drink cup in sight. you watch through the light of the bonfire as he sits next to sydney, and the two of them exchange a brief conversation before sydney turns away from him completely- a look of disbelief on her face.

you see jack shrug grumpily just before you move your attention away from them - you've had plenty enough jack for the night.

it isn't ten minutes later you find yourself becoming overwhelmed with exhaustion and you excuse yourself from the dying bonfire to head up to bed.

four: the injury

your face scrunches up involuntarily, the strong taste of tequila burning and warming your throat as you down another shot.

once you manage to swallow the alcohol, you holler in your own mini celebration- the affects of many, many, many drinks controlling you and your actions completely.

on the speaker you’d placed somewhere in the backyard earlier into the late night, the familiar chords of a drake song begin to play, and you gasp happily. “I looooovvvvveeeee this song!” you drag out your wording, the sentence slurred together in a drunken manner.

trevor laughs at you near the dying bonfire, his head dropping in an amused embarrassment. a couple other laughs are heard nearby, but you don’t find yourself caring all that much. after your previous miserable night and another demeaning conversation with jack, you told yourself you’d allow yourself get more loose. you didn’t necessarily mean getting sloshed by yourself, but a win is a win.

you practically squeal in delight, coming to a skipping halt infront of the youngest hughes brother. you pout largely, “come dance with me lukey."

thankfully, luke is a good sport and allows you to take ahold of his hands and pull him out of his caping chair - although, he is the one is pulling himself up because drunk you is one misstep from completely toppling over. the corner of luke’s mouth quirks into a smirk as you wave his arms around for him - belting out the lyrics to the song without hesitation.

letting go of luke, you take a wobbly step onto the picnic table you’d been around all night, sidestepping the hoodie you’d been wearing before the alcohol warmed you up. your hips sway to the music, and you smile warmly. you spin around on the wooden planks, but your state has taken away all your sense of balance and stability, so you’re closer to the edge than you expected.

your foot slips over the edge, and you fall onto the gravelled surface of the fire pit area.

“oh shit.” trevor winces - luke had tried to catch you before you hit the ground but his reflex’s had failed him, and trevor is met with you laying uncomfortably on the gravel.

beside him, jack shoots up from his chair, a look of undeniable concern on his soft features. trevor stands as well, both of them making their way over to help in assisting you. everyone else had previously gone to bed, and if it was sober you seeing that trevor, luke and jack being the only options to help you in your current state- you’d shit your pants.

but you’re drunk, so all you can do is focus on the burning sensation on your skin and immediate ache all over your body. “ouch,” you whine. once you’re eyes focus again, you get a proper look at the palm of your hand, and the sight of the raw wound has tears beginning to well up in your eyes.

drunk, embarrassed and hurt wasn’t your best look.

trevor curses again, "luke help me find the first aid kit," he stands from his previous squatting position next to you as he finished checking you over, nudging the youngest brother on his thick shoulder.

before the two of them disappear from your sight, luke looks back at you sternly, pointing a finger at you. “stay here.”

you’re left with nobody but jack. the gravel is cool on your thighs, and the dwindling fire is doing nothing to warm your shivering muscles. tearily, you look over at jack. "i'm sorry," you sniff, eyes darting back down to examine your palm. blood is mixing with bits of dirt and minuscule stones, making your wound sting terribly. "I slipped really bad."

you look at him again, his crouched position making it easier for you to do so. jack’s brows pull together tightly, his gaze flickering over your blotchy face. “you're fine, y/n. stop crying."

despite the harsh tone, jack takes ahold of your hand gently - one of his hands wrapping along your wrist while the other cradles the underside of your hand.

he brings your wounded hand towards his face, and immediately starts gently blowing on your palm. the cool air from his mouth helps soothe the pain temporarily, and it helps keep your tears at ease.

the night air suddenly feels even colder, and the temperature drop combined with the cool air on your palm has you shifting uncomfortably - you were cold.

jack stops, his eye gentle but words still firm. "stay still."

you sniffle again, and wipe your leaky nose with the back of your good hand. "I wanna go inside i'm cold."

"yeah, okay.” jack sighs quickly, moving his body so that he’s able to help you properly get to your feet. his one hand still cradles your wounded hand, while his other wraps around the dip of your waist. the feeling of his torso on yours is rather comforting, and the heat of his body radiating through his sweatshirt instantly makes you feel warmer.

he shuts the back door with his foot, and the thump of it closing echos in the empty kitchen. jack lets go of you in favour of turning on the kitchen sink, and you’re pretty sure you pout at the loss of contact.

it doesn’t take long before the water runs to comfortable temperature, and jack brings your hand towards the stream - your palm angled upwards and slightly tilted so the warm water flushers the scrape.

you hiss through your teeth, muttering a curse. the sting has a new wave of tears prickling at your eyes, and you can feel your throat grow thick with emotion. "that really stings." you admit gently, using your shoulder to wipe away a tear as it falls from your bloodshot eye.

jack looks at you softly, nodding with an understanding expression. “I know," he whispers - a sweet, silent echo in the quiet house. his fingers flex around your wrist, running over your pulse point delicately. jack looks down, back at your hand, "you're doing good though."

you swallow harshly, blinking away the millions of emotions flowing freely through your body. jack has never been so gentle with you, or as kind to you as he is currently being. it is actually really nice and you find yourself smiling gently - despite the burning sensation on your hand.

trevor rounds the corner into the kitchen, luke following with the first aid kit tucked under his bicep. "I thought you were staying outside." luke says knowingly, eyeing the two of you suspiciously once he registers what is actually happening infront of his very eyes.

trevor sends the youngest hughes a look, both of them having the same confused expression on their faces.

"she was cold." jack interjects immediately, answering for you.

thankfully, there was nothing too deeply embedded in your raw skin, so the rest of the cleaning process went pretty smoothly. jack had helped dry your hand as gently as he possibly could with paper towel, and then luke had poured the peroxide onto the raw scratches. that had you wincing uncomfortably again, your head hitting against jack’s outer bicep as you dropped your gaze to the floor.

luke delicately wrapped your hand in a bandage, sighing gently as the whole ordeal of it all came to a close. "alrighty, let's get you to bed." trevor says tiredly, his arm wrapping around your shoulders as he begins to guide you through the kitchen.

just before you exit, you find jack’s gaze on you, his expression still gentle. you smile tightly, "thank you." your words are still a little slurred and you definitely sound tired, but jack can hear you just fine.

he nods once, a very small closed mouth smile making a brief appearance.

five: the hike + the dishes

the sound of nature around you was pure magic. you breathe in happily amidst your huffy exhale, continuing to walk on the beautiful hiking trail along side the hughes' lake property.

alex rushes past you, ashley following soon after as she tries to beat him in a foot race. you smile happily, watching alex turn on her and scoop ashley in his arms. she squeals delightfully, letting the hockey player manhandle her.

a pang of sadness hits your chest watching your friend so happy and infatuated with someone. you missed being in love and the feelings of want and need that came with it. you missed having somebody constantly in your corner and somebody waiting for you at home.

it wasn't that ethan was ever a bad boyfriend, but the relationship wasn't fulfilling enough. it was simply just easy - it lacked deep emotion and yearning.

you watch ashley blush as alex kisses her cheek quickly and you can't help but wish somebody was as obsessed with you as alex was with your best friend.

weirdly enough, it has you thinking about jack. when you woke up this morning with a blurry memory and a bandage around your hand, to say you were confused would be an understatement. you felt oddly peaceful among it all though, and that was even more worrisome.

luke told you that you'd fallen and scrapped your hand - which makes sense. but there was something else in the air, you could tell by the way luke and trevor seemed smug while you all ate breakfast, and how jack seemed especially quiet. jack had yet to make any unnecessarily rude comments today, which was of course nice - but weirdly enough it didn't feel right.

"let me get on your back," trevor comes up beside you, a wide grin on his tanned face. it pulls you from your thoughts, and you push down any lingering confusion about the off vibe from this morning.

you roll your eyes gently, but stop walking. you squat down slightly, locking your knees so trevor can climb on. "hop on trev."

he wastes no time getting onto your back, and you grunt out from the added weight to your body. you only make it twenty small, slow steps before tapping out - breathless with laughter.

trevor offers you a piggy back ride as an apology for borderline collapsing you under his weight, which you take happily. once you're secure, trevor instantly makes alex race with ashley on his back and of course alex complies - the four of you darting away on the trail.

from afar, luke breathes a pleasant laugh, watching the four of you run around like loose chickens. he falls into line with his second oldest brother, the two of them walking in a comfortable silence, finally without the constant pestering from trevor.

luke has noticed jacks sudden quietness, and he too is a bit confused on what exactly is going on. luke thinks jack must feel guilty for acting his typical way around you, and that's why jack has been more reserved today.

luke clears his throat gently, eyeing jack. "this is good for her, you know. she's been so sad recently because of ethan...i've been worried about her."

jack swallows, eyes trained in the distance. he watches you laugh at something ashley says - your body folding completely over and your mouth opening as you do that scream laugh you always do when something is truly funny. he tears his eyes away from you, gaze landing on the mud coloured path below his feet.

luke continues, "and listen jack, I know you hate her, and you guys have this uncomfortable bickering thing going on but- "

"I don't hate her," jack interrupts his brother sternly, "I've never hated her."

luke's brows twitch slightly, raising ever so subtly and he carefully studies his brothers expression, "okay, well, I don't think y/n knows that. and whatever you guys are doing, it makes her really sad - I can tell."

luke walks away, jogging to catch up with you all. he tells ashley he needs a turn on alex's back, which immediately starts another race conversation.

jack sighs, blinking up towards the trees. the conversation with his younger brother, combined with last night, really has the way he's been handling his emotions and actions towards you, not sitting right in his stomach. he feels extremely guilty, and he wishes he would of handled the situation differently.

jack looks away from the tree line, and finds you looking back at him softly over the line of your exposed shoulder. you look slightly confused, but jack can tell you're trying to hide your curiosity by keeping your face neutral.

he sighs to himself, and makes his way over to you and the rest of the group.

—

the sky is overcome with darkness, and a comfortable silence enveloped the inside of the lake house as 10 p.m. approached.

luke and beatrice were watching a movie with ashley and quinn downstairs in the den, trevor had been sleeping on the couch for the past hour, and alex had fallen asleep in his bedroom just 20 minutes ago - sydney even before that after she claimed she wasn't feeling well before dinner.

the silence was peaceful, and even as trevor begins to snore gently across from you, it's not a bothersome sound - it's familiar and comfortable.

you stand from your spot nestled under throws on the couch, leaving the living room and a sleeping trevor. the hike earlier had pretty much tired the majority of you out, and the ones who hadn't come on the hike were still tired from the sun they'd been in back at the house all day.

so although you were also ready for bed, you knew the dishes sitting in the sink from spaghetti dinner needed to be done. after all, it's the least you could do with the kind hospitality the hughes brothers had showed you on this vacation.

you've got soap suds up your forearms as you work on the large plates - cleaning them of their saucy, cheesy mess. the hum on the refrigerator and the sound of impractical jokers from the living room tv provide the perfect white noise, and you find yourself getting lost in your own head as you washed the dishes.

footsteps approach gently, somebody rounding the corner behind you. "hi," jack says, slowing in his steps.

you look over your shoulder, "hi." you put the last clean plate into your designated clean side of the sink, and you wipe your pruned hands on your bottoms. 

jack leans against the countertop, and the muscles in his forearms shift as he grips the edge of the granite. "if I knew you were doing dishes, I wouldn't of brought these down."

you notice the couple of small plates and the mug jack had put on the island counter, presumably from his bedroom upstairs.

you shrug gently, reaching across the small space between you and jack to grab the small stack of dishes. you shrug quickly, dropping them into your soapy side of the sink. "I don't mind."

jack rounds the side of the island and moves over towards you. his socked foot nudges against yours as jack borderline lunges across you, trying to take his dishes back. "i'm not going to make you do my dishes."

you laugh gently, "it's fine, really." you pick up the scratchy sponge, but jack snatches it out from your hands just as you do. you huff gently, one of your eyebrows raising in an amused manner. "jack, what are you doing?"

"i'll do them." he insists firmly. his fingers slide smoothly over yours, almost interlocking them under the soapy, warm water your hands are submerged under.

you don't give in, fingers tightening on rim of the new jersey devils branded coffee mug. with suspicion, you continue to eye him. "why are you being weird?"

he laughs once, a deep rumble of disbelief. "i'm not being weird."

"you are." you chime instantly.

jack is practically trying to pry your hands off the mug, and while he's focused on that task, you snatch the damp sponge back. you look at him smugly, waving the sponge infront of his face, a gentle ha passing your lips.

he sighs gently, "you're the one being a weirdo and doing my dishes after I said I can do them - you're not my maid."

you dip the sponge into the water and begin to scrub the coffee stains on the inside of the mug - soap splashing over the edge of the sink and wetting your pastel pink tank top. " I know that, but i'm trying to be a good guest."

jack watches you focus on the dishes, your eyebrows slightly furrowed and tongue poking out to wet your bottom lip. he finds himself mimicking you, and his own tongue licks over his lips to moisten them.

you look back up at him curiously, waiting for an inevitable response.

he clears his throat quietly, "you can be a good guest by doing nothing." without warning, he steps closer into your space, bumping you gently off to the side with his hip. the suprise of it all has you going freely, your hands leaving the dishes involuntarily. jack smiles teasingly, running the sponge over the front of a desert plate left from last nights chocolate brownies.

you huff, pushing your way back to the sink. jack's much stronger than you though, so he doesn't budge at your attempt to push him out of the way. in a mixture of amusement and disbelief, you laugh out, your hands resting on your hips as you look at jack - your eyes almost twinkling with delight. "that's not me - that’s not how I do things."

jack snickers knowingly, because he's well aware now of how you are. you've always shown compassion and caring for others and have always taken on that polite, motherly role that always has you thinking of others. it's something jack has inevitably always noticed when it came to you - he notices more about you than he allows himself to admit.

you reach into the sink quickly, taking the last two plates out of the dirty water and bringing them to your chest. immediately, your tank top is becoming soaked and drops of lukewarm water fall off the ceramic and hit the kitchen floor mat between you and jack.

jack looks at you with something similar to shock, his tongue poking against his cheek in a way to mask his growing smirk.

"you're ridiculous." he hums.

you back away slowly, the dishes still clutched in your hands. one of your brows raise challengingly, rounding the corner of the island counter. "yeah?"

jack's slinky smirk is the last thing you register before he darts towards you, coming around the other side of the island as he attempts to grab you.

you spin away from him, turning your torso around so that you've got the plates out of reach.

jack laughs, reaching around you in another attempt at grabbing the wet dishes - although now, the plates are becoming dry with your tank top soaking up all the water.

you giggle, and try to slip between the counter and jack's torso, quickly, to try and create some space between jack and the plates. it's an unsuccessful attempt, and jack pushes you against the island with his hips. now that you're trapped, jack plucks the plates right out of your grip, holding them out and away from you.

the press of his body on yours has you feeling syrupy - the time around you coming to a hard, screeching halt. you look up at him gently, watching as jack's previous smile falters, a much more serious expression taking over his flushed face.

you swallow, anticipating building low in your belly. your eyes don't leave jacks, even when his arm lowers, putting the plates on the counter with a gentle clink. your heartbeat increases, and you can feel it pumping loudly in your ears. in that moment, you and jack forget about everything- you forgot how trevor is only a room away, you forget the stupid arguments and the anger...it all fades into the background.

jacks tongue passes through his lips, wetting them slowly as he hovers over you. his eyes flicker between your eyes before finding your plump lips - slightly parted as a hitched breath is pulled between them.

just as softy, jack's hand comes up towards your face and he places it against your cheek, cradling your sunkissed, freckled skin. his palm is warm and a little sweaty, but it makes everything so much more raw.

his thumb strokes the shell of your ear gently, a little comforting movement that has you holding your breath.

jack leans down, nudging his sloped nose against yours sweetly before he kisses you deeply, lips enveloping yours in a tight, passionate embrace.

instantly, you find yourself grabbing ahold of jack, desperately needing to feel him under your hands. your fingers grip the material of his shirt, pulling him tightly so he becomes impossibly closer.

it was almost odd in a way, kissing somebody who before this very moment, you thought hated you. which was why you were left slightly confused on why kissing jack hughes felt so right.

your movements become more desperate- frantic. jack lifts you effortlessly, sitting you on top of the kitchen island. your legs spread instinctively, and he wastes to time slotting his body between your thighs. with his lips still messily on yours, jack pulls your hips to the edge of the counter, bumping your clothed crotches together.

between you, one of jacks hands rest on the edge of your waist band, two fingers dipping underneath the top of your leggings - teasing you.

you're body feels like it's on fire - that burning sensation you've always had around jack is just as prevalent as ever. when jack's hand slides down the threshold of your tights and he begins to palm you though your thin panties, you pull away mere inches, breathless.

"please," you whine quietly, bucking your hips so that jacks fingers slip over your wet underwear. it's successful, and he thumbs around your clit deliciously.

"fuck - i got you." he nods against you, hooking your panties off to the side underneath your leggings. he curses again as he slides his ring and middle finger through your folds, collecting your arousal and bringing it up towards your clit and down again.

you whine pathetically, head falling backwards - disconnecting your lips from jacks.

his free hand glides over your clothes chest, passing over your painfully hardened nipples, before he rounds to the back of your neck - pulling you back upwards so you're looking at him.

"you're so wet," he whispers, pressing a sloppy kiss to the junction of your neck. your pulse jumps, and your hips move again - desperately trying to get jack's fingers inside you.

you moan, watching the outline of jack's hand move against your core through your pants. it's all so dirty and erotic - you don't think you've ever been this turned on at the thought of being fingered.

jack shushes you, his usual demanding tone present. "be quiet for me pretty girl, okay? you think you can be quiet?"

you're completely at his mercy - not even having the slightest urge to tease him and bite back at his question. all you can do is nod quickly, breathless as you gaze into his warm eyes.

at that, two of jacks calloused fingertips tease your dripping entrance, feeling through the gush of your arousal. you bite your lip, holding onto the moans that are on the brink of passing through your lips. his eyes don't leave yours while he pushes the entire length of his tail fingers into you, and you gasp at the adrenaline of it all.

jack's mouth falls open slightly, basking in the feeling of your gooey walls tightly welcoming his fingers. he begins to pump them in and out of your entrance, and even with the limited space, it still feels amazing.

you grab his face, pulling jack in for another needy kiss. it's mostly hot breath and spit, but neither of you seem to mind.

the way jacks fingers expertly work your spongy walls and the feeling of his palm bumping your clit deliciously, has the tiny coil in your stomach tightening - ready to snap.

you pull back, "i'm going to cum."

"fuck," jack smirks quickly, so fast you can't even register it, and he leans back into you - pressing a sweet kiss to your blotchy cheek. "cum for me, baby, I can feel your pussy clenching down on me - you're so beautiful."

it's the final push you needed, the band snapping and sending your body over the edge into a euphoric state. you see white, releasing your juices all over jack's hand and wetting the seam of your leggings. you start to moan, but he silences you, pressing his wet lips against yours.

his fingers come to a slow stop, allowing you to ride out your blissed high. you hum against him, running a hand through his grown out hair, tugging gently at the roots.

jack moans into your mouth at the feeling, automatically grinding his hard dick against your wet crotch.

the couch creeks, and the sound of trevor's socked feet hit the hardwood floor loudly - signalling he's awake and on the move.

quickly, jack removes himself from between your legs, and you hop off the counter just as fast. your legs almost give out on you, but thankfully you catch yourself.

trevor walks into the kitchen just as you take ahold of the plates, bringing them back over to the sink in hopes to appear busy. he is still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, a big yawn echoing through the kitchen- trevor's jaw cracking.

jack fixes his obvious hard-on, his back turned to his friend. he hopes trevor doesn't notice, and thankfully the ducks forward is too sleepy and can't even properly open his eyes.

"what are you two doing?" trevor hums curiously, moving past you in favour of grabbing a glass from the cabinet.

you can barley hear him over the thumping heartbeat in your ears - your hands are shaky under the now cold, soapy water in the sink.

"nothing, just cleaning up." thankfully, jack answers trevor in an appropriate way - seeming completely nonchalant.

as trevor opens the fridge in search of the brita, you quickly glance over your shoulder, seeking out jack. as you do, jack meets your eyes and he sends you a quick wink. the fridge clicks shut, and you both look away.

six: the beginning

there was something so peaceful about the sunset - you'd take it over the sunrise anytime of the year. the stunning shades of fuscha mixed with the dark reds and neon oranges - combining with the upcoming navy night sky. watching the world infront of you go to sleep was just so refreshing.

the evening was warm, and a light breeze slinked through the air providing the perfect temperature combination for an approaching summer evening. the wood of the dock is slightly harsh against your bare thighs, but you'll put up with it for some much needed time away from inside.

after jack fingering you on the kitchen island the night before, your mind has been reeling with what it all meant. you had come to your own realization that you weren't fighting with jack because you didn't like him - but rather the opposite. you've been seeking his approval for years, desperately wanting him to like you the way you've always liked him.

you had been pushing those feelings so deep down that when you came to the realization, you almost didn't believe yourself. you don't know what last night meant for jack, and you didn't know how jack actually felt about you.

this morning, when you were all gathered in the kitchen, snacking on your respective breakfast foods, jack had eyed you teasingly, hiding his growing smirk with the side of his cereal bowl. you had blushed into your glass of orange juice, choosing to not look back - too scared to get caught.

then you had thought about sydney, the girl jack had brought to the lake house to join your vacation. jack told you a few nights ago that they weren't dating, but they also didn't seem like just friends.

everything piling on top of one another was very quickly becoming overwhelming, and for the entire day you were left wallowing in your own confused thoughts.

so that's why as the sun began to set, you came out to the boat dock, resting quietly by yourself - trying to tame the tornado made up of thoughts and ideas in your head. 

the sound of footsteps gently approach behind you, echoing against the faded wood. you turn down the taylor swift playing quietly on your phone until it's borderline silent, looking over your shoulder to find out who was making their way over to you.

jack smiles gently, looking very athletic in his black lulu shorts that displayed his thigh muscles delightfully, paired with a team branded tshirt. once he's close enough, he greets you gently before dropping down beside you. jack sits in a similar position, resting his forearms on his kneecaps, while you are hugging your legs to your chest.

it's silent for a few minutes, both of you bathing in the warm setting sunshine and basking in the comfortable silence each of your provided.

you choose to speak first, a slightly shaky exhale leaving your lips. "I don't know where to go from here, jack." you admit vulnerably, tearing your eyes away from the still water and looking over to him. "I mean, for years I thought you hated me and until last night I was set on that, but now...I don't even know what's going on." you laugh gently, tone thick with disbelief.

his brows pull together tightly, creating a little divet in the middle of his face. "I've never hated you...ever."

"then why did it feel like you did?"

jack watches the way your eyes gloss over, the moisture shining under the bright sun. he sighs gently, running a hand through his hair quickly - an attempt to try and relax his beating heart. "I thought that you hated me, y/n. so I would only argue with you because....I don't know, fuck." he curses, taking a shaky breath. "no - fuck this. I like you, really like you. so if you laughed at somebody else's jokes or if you were dating somebody else, I'd get so jealous that I would immediately go into this defensive zone- pushing you away with really horrible words."

he continues, "I was an asshole. I thought that you hated me and that made me mad, because I really wanted you. and I know that's a horrible excuse but it's the truth. I wanted you and thought I couldn't have you, so i'd lash out at you. i'm so sorry."

your breath hitches. you can't believe what you've just heard, and you have to pinch yourself to make sure it wasn't some longing dream you hadn't woke up from just yet. although his words seem authentic, you still feel weary. he could just be trying to get back in your pants, or maybe he was looking for some sadistic way to hurt you - maybe he actually did hate you. "how do I know you're not just saying this?"

jack laughs once gently, warm gaze looking out towards the water. he wets his lower lip before he looks back at your watery eyes and shaky lips. he sighs, "I didn't forget you and ethan broke up, I only asked because I wanted to make sure you didn't get back together - shitty, I know, but I couldn't think of another way to do it, I needed to know." he continues, "when I went grocery shopping with quinn, I was the one who picked out orange juice because I knew you liked it. I made sure nobody put the white claws in the fridge because I know you like your seltzers warm. when you hurt yourself by the fire pit, I blew on your scrape because I remember one time you told quinn that cool air always made your cuts feel better. I knew you'd be the one doing the dishes last night because you can never relax, so that's why I brought mine down - because any excuse to be near you, i’ll take."

you say his name, throat thick with emotion.

jack swallows thickly, voice dropping into a deep sigh. "I brought sydney here to try and make you jealous. and I know that's horrible, and I apologized to her a million times already. everything i've said to you and done to you is horrible, and i'm so fucking sorry."

"jack," you begin, "all that stuff you just said...I don't realize how well you know me."

he smiles gently, "I've had many years of watching you from a distance to learn."

your nose scrunches playfully, "that sounds really creepy."

he laughs, a real laugh that he usually only lets out around trevor and his brothers. but here he was, his shoulder brushing yours as he admits his feelings for you and laughs at your teasing. "it does doesn't it?"

you hum, shrugging your shoulders. "I can't say anything really, because i've been watching you from afar this whole time as well. I like you so much, jack. i'm so sorry for everything; the arguing, the rude comments and everything else. I should've just admitted my feelings - to you and myself."

he smiles, and the arm closest to you moves to wrap around your shoulders. jack brings your body into his, tucking you into his chiseled torso comfortably. "you're forgiven." his tone is teasing, and when you look up at him with a faux scowl, jack is already watching you playfully.

you pout your lips at him, feigning disappointment from his teasing comment.

jack rolls his eyes amusingly, and the last thing you see is his slinky smirk before he gives in and presses his lips to yours. 

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

[lukesaprince]

Ruin Me H.S

Summary: When the good girl / bad boy trope is just as hypnotic and addictive as everyone says it is OR y/n decides to get Harry's handwriting tattooed on her thigh (badboy/gang LHH trope?)

Warnings:  SMUT!! oral (f receiving), edging, spanking (with hand and belt), hair pulling, squirting, masochism, dom!harry, mocking/degradation, dacryphilia, bondage (with a belt), Injuries (black eye, split lip, gunshot wound & wound cleanup)... I think that's it 😅

Word count: 13.7k+

Author's note: This is loosely and I mean SO loosely inspired by Guilty As Sin by Taylor Swift and yeah I know what that song is about but this is based off literally one line in it... I definitely got carried away with the story hehe

- Find my General Masterlist here -

You never liked the bad boy, good girl narrative. The power imbalance and toxicity that came with someone so ruined and so problematic trying to heal his soul in someone that deserved better. She would always think she could change him, that he was just misunderstood and needed someone to love him. That his soul could be healed.

It was bullshit. Until you found yourself in that exact situation, believing just that. That he was misunderstood and so kind underneath his rough exterior. You even found yourself loving the hidden hookups and midnight cleanups. A knock on your door at all hours in the night to be let in for some charged, desperate fuck or to be fixed up because he got in a fight. 

You didn’t even know how it started, really. Harry was an enigma. A shadow in the wind that appeared one moment and disappeared the next on a dark bike just as mysterious as he was. That was how you met him, in a fleeting moment which at the time meant nothing. Until it meant everything. 

He drove by the cafe you worked at. You were closing up for the night and locking the door when the loud purr of his bike filled the entire street. You were already on edge being by yourself after the girl closing with you had to leave sick so your head whipped around to follow the loud noise. 

That’s when you saw him for the first time. He drove through the quiet street with a girl on the back of his bike that you had never seen before, both dressed head to toe in dark clothing and leather. They each had a black helmet covering their heads and yet you still knew that they were both looking at you.

It was unnerving and an interaction that had you walking a lot faster to your car in case they circled back and decided to give you trouble. Your town was used to damaged, dangerous shadows. People like Harry who came in for a night or a weekend for something illicit, only to never return. 

You weren’t sure why your small town attracted people like that, but only being a 45-minute drive from the closest big city made it the go-to place for affairs, romantic getaways, illegal meetings and everything in between.

Harry was meant to be like that too. Someone who just passed through. Until he met you.

The very next day he found himself visiting the cafe in hopes you were there. Harry wasn’t sure why he felt the need to go there since he was meant to be driving back to the city the morning after his rendezvous, but there was something about your eyes that he couldn’t get out of his head.

He didn’t even know if you’d be there and yet by some chance or fate, you were. Your back was towards him, busy on barista duty making coffees for the many customers waiting for their orders. He recognised your hair first; pulled back in two long braids down your back. You wore the cafe logo on your t-shirt and this pair of jeans that made your ass look incredible. 

You had no idea what the mystery man from last night looked like but you spent the night filling in the blanks of what was hidden beneath his helmet. Your brain seemed to be fixated on the stranger with some magical pull like you knew him already. Your body definitely seemed to like him already, that’s for sure.

“Harry? Americano two sugars.” You called out, sliding the takeaway cup to the edge of the counter before moving on to the next coffee. When the figure approached the counter, you went into your automatic greeting, “have a nice da-”, but the words got caught in your throat when you looked up and locked eyes with the same stranger last night. 

You knew it was him instantly. There was no rhyme or reason to explain it, but you knew and he was even more good-looking than you ever could’ve imagined. With piercing green eyes and a strong jaw, plump pink lips and tattoos running up both arms that had your core clenching. The most unexpected feature of all though, was his long luscious curls pulled back from his face and running just past his shoulders. 

Harry smirked, visibly seeing the wide-eyed, freeze response your body had just at the sight of him. It was a reaction he got often. He was tall and handsome and the dark clothing he wore made him appear far more intimidating than the usual curly-haired white boy. 

“Thank you, love.” He smirked, grabbing the takeaway cup before casually slipping a $100 bill into the tip jar. He was walking out of the cafe without another word, looking at you over his shoulder before he was walking down the street and out of your view.

That night it wasn’t just his face you were dreaming about. 

You never expected to see the handsome stranger, who you now knew as Harry, again but as the weeks went by he came to visit the cafe time and time again. It was always the same order and the same ‘thank you, love’ that had your head spinning and then he was gone with no idea of when he’d return again.

Then one day he took things a step further and asked you when your break was. It was the longest you heard him speak and the more words that came out, the more you found yourself hypnotised by the way his mouth wrapped around the syllables. Your coworkers warned you that men like him were dangerous and not worth the excitement and pleasure they always offered.

Time and time again you had helped your friends through some shitty breakup or worse with one of the travellers that rolled through town and you always promised yourself you wouldn’t put yourself in a situation like that. It was clear from the very first night that he was trouble but as much as you wanted to keep your distance, you just couldn’t. 

You had never felt so mesmerised by another person before. That initial burning attraction hot enough to take your breath away. In only one sit down with him, you were ready to risk it all. He was so gorgeous and charming and sweet. The epitome of that misunderstood bad boy.

Just like his frequent cafe visits, your lunch breaks soon became his. You two would sit and he’d always ask you about yourself. You did most of the talking and he did most of the listening, never giving much away of himself. He’d show up with bloody knuckles or a bruised eye but would mask the pain and simply shrug when you asked him if he was okay.

It was starting to feel like he knew everything about you and you knew nothing in return. You wanted to know everything about him. After weeks of these little interactions, he never tried to fuck you or pursue things with you or make you feel like you owed him for all the $100 tips he left. All he wanted to do was talk and if anything, that made you want him more.

Then one night… everything changed.

You were woken in the middle of the night by a crash in your living room. That would be scary for anyone, but it was even scarier when you were on the top floor and the only access points to your apartment were the front door and the fire escape out the window. 

You went into immediate panic mode, snatching the steak knife you had tucked under your pillows between your top sheet and your fitted sheet in case this very thing happened. Living alone had its challenges and one of them was the intense fear someone would break in in the middle of the night. By now you could recognise the sounds of your apartment and building so not every little creak freaked you out, but anyone could recognise the sound of broken glass and your pot plant being knocked over. 

Sticking the knife out in front of you, you tip-toed out of your bedroom and down the hallway to your living room where the noise came from. Your phone was clutched against your chest, the three-digit emergency number ready to be called in case it wasn’t your cat, Mouse, knocking things over. Mouse was a fragile little thing and sometimes got scared by the smallest things. Even setting a mug down on the bench too hard could have her jumping out of her skin. 

You prayed it was only her being skittish. 

When you made it to the end of your hallway, you pressed yourself against the wall and tipped your head out ever so slightly to look into your living room. A whole wave of emotions rushed over you at once at the sight. It wasn’t your cat, but rather a tall dark figure holding your purring pet. 

It was a figure you recognised immediately, even with his strong back facing towards you.

“Harry? What the fuck?” You hissed, turning your phone off while turning the lights on at the same time. 

“Hey, bunny.” Harry flashed a sly smile, turning to look at you. You noticed the dried blood on his lip and eyebrow instantly and the swollen ball forming on his cheek. Fucking hell. 

That smile instantly dropped when his eyes ran over you, taking in the ratty loose t-shirt and tiny underwear you were wearing. The t-shirt had a worn-out collar making it slide down to expose your collarbone and one shoulder. Your nipples were pressing through the thin material, all pebbled and hard from the cold air now blowing in from the window Harry accidentally broke on his way in. 

Getting dressed was the last thing on your mind before venturing out here and you suddenly regretted not putting pants on at least. To be fucking fair though, you never would’ve guessed Harry would break in through your window when A. you had a very suitable front door, B. he didn’t even have your number and C. you never told him where you lived. 

“What the… how do you know where I live?” You asked a little shakily, crossing your arms to cover your chest while still keeping the knife on guard in front of you.

Harry set down Mouse and she immediately ran over to you, purring while sliding her body against your calf. He walked over to you slowly and the closer he got, the worse his injuries appeared. A split lip and split eyebrow and a deep purple hue starting to form around his socket. He looked awful. 

“Are you going to stab me, bunny?” He drawled, almost mockingly. You stood your ground, trying not to show your shaking as your hand tightened around the handle of the knife. His eyes were dark and he allowed himself a final drag over your body, stepping so close to you that the tip of the knife pressed into his stomach while he towered over you. “Gonna cut me open? Give me another scar to add to my collection?”

Even though you knew you should be scared, you weren’t. He found your address and broke into your house and yet physically, you weren’t the slightest bit worried that he’d hurt you. You knew nothing about him, didn’t even know what illegal venture he did for work and yet you trusted him.

Because you trusted him, your shaking was for a very different reason. Having him in your apartment all bloody and bruised and still as handsome as ever had you completely worked up. The thought of… of doing just what he teased, of giving him a scar that reminded him of you forever… god, it was so fucked up how horny that made you.

You were obsessed over a man who hadn’t even kissed you, yet knew every single thing about you. It was ridiculous. That felt even more ridiculous than playing off this entire interaction as a somewhat normal experience. 

“I’ve got a perfectly fine front door, y’know.” You whispered, looking over to the broken window. You kept your knife against his stomach, even testing the waters by pressing it harder ever so gently into the toned muscles beneath his shirt. “And you’re paying for that to be fixed, by the way.” 

Harry laughed, wincing ever so slightly at the tinge of pain in his face. But still, he laughed. And it was golden. “I’ll pay for whatever you want,” He murmured, smirking while looking down at the knife. “I’m sure you’re very skilled with a blade, bunny, but will you put it aside for now and clean me up instead? Need a pretty girl to make me feel better.”

You looked between your knife and his eyes, reluctantly dropping your hand beside your hip. “Come on.”

Saying nothing else, you spun around and walked into your bathroom. Harry followed closely behind, looking around your apartment with curiosity before his eyes fell on you. You pulled your t-shirt down as far as it would go, but it still rode up as you walked and he found himself unable to look anywhere else.

“Sit.” You pointed to the closed toilet and set your knife down on the bench, crouching down to get the first aid kit from the cabinet below the sink.

Harry did as told and shrugged his leather jacket off, setting it down on the bench before sitting on the closed toilet lid. He watched you intently, saying nothing as you set up your tools to sanitise and clean his wounds. 

After grabbing some gauze and betadine to clean the open wounds, you soaked the material and started to clean the small gash on his eyebrow. Harry kept completely still, barely feeling the pinch. Your touch was so soft, so gentle. He found it more relaxing than anything else. Once that wound was clean, you moved onto his mouth which Harry found a lot more sensitive. 

“So how did this happen?” you asked softly, dabbing his lip with the small cloth. His eyes closed as he tensed, hands fisting on his knees to stop himself from getting too worked up. Pain didn’t affect Harry, at least not in a normal way. Every sting and bite at your hand was turning him on in an inappropriate way. You were his bunny, his girl. He couldn’t get hard around you when all you were trying to do was help him. 

“Oh, y’know...” He shrugged, keeping his eyes on you but not giving anything away.

“I don’t, actually.” You responded. 

“It doesn’t matter how it happened, just that I’ve got a pretty girl fixing me up.” He attempted to smooth it over with a soft smile and a loving tap on your chin. It was the most he ever touched you, a little tap on your chin or a graze of his fingers on your cheek. He never touched your knee or your hand or anywhere else. It was infuriating. 

“It does! You show up here in the middle of the night and break in. I don’t even know how you found my address but I’m cleaning your cuts and you won’t even tell me how you got them. How is that fair!? I know nothing about you Harry.” Your voice bordered on a sigh and a yell, exhausted with him showing up out of nowhere and charming you before disappearing again. You weren’t sure what to make of it and he wasn’t giving you any ideas on what he actually wanted from you.

“It’s better that way, y/n.” He looked away from you, leaning back so your fingers weren’t holding his chin anymore to keep him in position. “You don’t want to get involved with me.”

“That’s not fair and you know it. You show up constantly and-and what? Have lunch with me? Get to know me? You can’t do that and not expect me to want to know something back.” You expressed frustratingly, shoving the first aid items into the small bin beside your cabinet. 

“I want to keep you safe, y/n.” He stood from the toilet, sighing when you refused to look at him. “The less you know about me, the safer you’ll be.”

“So why do you even keep coming back if you don’t want me involved with you? It’s killing me!” You snapped, looking up at him accusatorily. 

“Because I can’t stay away from you.” He whispered, sliding his hand over the side of your neck. Your breath hitched at the touch, your body automatically leaning into it as he rubbed his thumb over your jaw and towards your mouth. Oh. “I’m so fucking obsessed with you it’s unhealthy. I think about you all the time. All the fucking time, y/n.”

“I don’t know what you want from me.” Tears pricked at your eyes, “you’re so confusing Harry because you look at me like that and say things but you don’t even touch me. You haven’t kissed me or-or anything. Just tell me what you want from me so I know where to set my expectations.”

“You think I don’t want to kiss you?” He cocked his head, turning your bodies so your back was to the basin. His hand looped to the front of your neck and it was like every cell in your body suddenly put their focus onto him. You couldn’t breathe or think or move or anything. Not when his large ringed fingers were wrapped around your neck like he was carrying a trophy. A prize to claim. “You think I don’t want to touch you?”

Harry pressed his hips into you, eliciting a gasp when you felt his long, hard cock pressed against you. He used his hips to nudge you against the cabinet, pinning you there so you couldn’t go anywhere. “All I think about is kissing you. Kissing your lips and your neck and… everywhere. The things I want to do to you y/n are so unsavoury your pretty little head would explode.”

He always thought you were this pure… innocent angel. One of the rare people in the world with no ill intentions. You were polite and sweet, even after Harry significantly brought you out of your shell since he met you. You were studying to be a nurse for Christ’s sake, some of the purest of the pure.

He wanted to ruin you. He wanted to take that innocence away more than anything on this planet. It was his built-in fucked up default program. To want what he couldn’t have. To want to destroy everything around him. 

But he couldn’t do that to you. The last thing he wanted was to hurt you, even if it hurt him in the process. Harry had no light in his life, no hope until he met you and he knew that the moment this became real he would destroy you. His life would destroy you or Harry would do something to fuck it all up and he’d hurt you.

He’d break your heart. 

“It won’t.” You rushed out, “It won’t explode. I… I want it.” You could barely articulate yourself. Not when his whole body was pressed to yours. All you had been thinking of for months was having him completely dominate your body. Just to touch you and please you. Even if it was only one time before he disappeared from your life forever.

You needed it.

“I’ll ruin you.” He promised, leaning in closer so his nose bumped against yours. He breathed out a ragged breath, feeling so close to completely giving in to his desires. All of them. “I’ll destroy every good thing about you, y/n. You don’t want that.”

The scariest part of all… was that you did want it. You were becoming the exact person you didn’t want to be. A good girl sacrificing herself to save the soul of someone who might never be saved. But you believed Harry would be saved. You could fix him. Help him to get away from whatever life he lived that made him hurt so badly inside. 

You wanted to save him. 

“I do. I do want it.” You nodded desperately, grabbing his other hand to guide it towards your clothed mound. You pressed your hand over his, using your own fingers to press his against the silky wet patch on the crotch of your underwear. He swore under his breath, taking the initiative to stroke his fingers along the wet material. “Ruin me. Please.”

So he did.

He ruined you over and over again that night and for many nights after. It completely changed everything for you two. Like it was the last barrier stopping you two from being completely open with each other. You had always told him the things you told everyone else. Your likes and dislikes, the show you were watching, your workplace drama.

But your desires… your needs and wants. They were reserved for no one but yourself. Until he came along. 

Harry told you he’d ruin you and he stuck to his word. The things you did together were dirty and depraved and left you with such a feral need for the man, you would’ve let him do quite literally anything to you. As would he, you. And you practically had. Every desire or curiosity was sated and he was willing to do anything to satisfy you. 

Harry became as violently obsessed with you as you did him and even though it was a hell of a trip to see you, he did so as often as possible. He couldn’t help himself. Not when he had such a pretty girl waiting to please him and take care of his heart, body and soul. You filled the hole in his life in all aspects, which is what he feared would happen when he saw you that very first night. 

Someone so magnetic would ruin him and he was enjoying every moment of it. 

You had no idea he traveled from the main city just to see you until you two started sleeping together. He continued stopping by for a coffee or to disturb your lunch break but very quickly, your time spent together turned into an after hours activity. He’d come to get fixed up and then he’d ruin you. Or… his sole intention was to ruin you all along. 

There were many sleepless nights because of him. Not that you minded. He opened up to you more and told you more about himself and what he did. When you started to learn small things, you realised that he was probably right in you being better off left in the dark. It was a lot more elaborate than you could’ve imagined and it made sense why he did so much to keep you protected. 

Running an elaborate drug smuggling operation wasn’t exactly the safest job out there, nor did it give you much opportunity to switch careers. Somehow, though, you weren’t deterred by it. Maybe it was because you were already in love with him the second he ruined you for the first time. 

His high job security didn’t stop you from fantasising about a different life with him. Harry leaving that life for you. The only part of the job Harry liked was the financial stability and the power. The control he had. But you felt like Harry was destined for so much more, that he could live a much happier, safer life. With you. 

“Have you ever thought about running away?” You asked, playing with his long hair. It was unruly and sweaty and you were threading your fingers through the knots formed from the midnight hookup. You were still hot and sweaty too, but Harry quite liked the sticky feeling of your skin and the lingering scent of sex in the air. 

“Running away? I couldn’t.” Harry breathed through a laugh like it was unfathomable. “You couldn’t either.” He looked up from his work, reaching for your hand to bring it to your mouth to kiss your knuckles. “You’ll be a nurse soon and you’ve always had your heart set on Mercy. You’ll get a job there and it’ll be everything you want.” He smiled softly, guiding your hand back to his hair so you’d play for it while he finished the artwork on your upper thigh. 

The thin marker was steady in his hand and he only had one letter left before the piece was complete, not that four letters took a particularly long time to write. But he wanted it to be perfect, for the permanent marker to last as long as possible on your pretty skin. You’d never do it permanently, after all you were still his good girl and no good girl would be as rogue as to get her lover's handwriting tattooed on her thigh after only a few months. Or ever. Permanent marker and baby powder always did the trick to make a design last a while, though, and Harry hoped it would still be there the next time he snuck through your window. 

“I want you, Harry.” You whispered, finding his concentration both adorable and so damn sexy you were getting all worked up again. If he looked a little to the left to where your bare cunt was so so close to his fingers, he’d probably be able to tell too. “And the good thing about being a nurse is I can do it anywhere. I can…” you swallowed your nerves, unsure what his reaction would be to your suggestion. “I can work anywhere and-”

“It wouldn’t work, y/n.” He interrupted curtly, leaning back to observe his work while putting the cap back onto his pen. Harry rarely used your name, he was too fond of his pet name for you. “You will always be mine. Always. But I think we both know that what we have is temporary.” Your heart broke at his words and you felt the pain fizzle through your body like a burning liquid. He looked up at you as he blew on the temporary tattoo. “When I inevitably break your heart, bunny, you’ll move on and find someone who can love you the way you deserve. I’ll never move on from you, but you will and you’ll be happier for it.”

“That’s not true.” You all but whimpered. Harry ignored your plea, tapping against your skin to test whether the marker was dry. “You always say that you’ll break my heart, Harry but that’s not true.” He looked up at you for a moment, trying to hide the heartbreak he felt at seeing how sad you were. Grabbing the little bottle of baby powder, he sprinkled it over the little word, massaging the surrounding area of your leg. “I… I love you and I know you love me. If you loved me you wouldn’t hurt me.” 

“Bunny, I love you more than anything else on this planet.” He assured, shifting up onto his knees in all his naked glory. He spread his hands over your belly, rubbing his thumbs a little harder into your skin. “I would never do anything to hurt you but this life… it follows me wherever I go. There’ll be a time where I need to sacrifice my love and happiness to protect you. But you’ll always be mine. Until the day I die.” He smiled softly, looking back down to the pile of powder on your upper thigh. He ran his thumb over it, rubbing away from the white substance and leaving the matte four-letter word. 

Mine. 

“See?” He smirked, looking down at the ‘tattoo’, “I can’t promise you forever, bunny. But I can promise you that I’ll be yours at least until this fades. Who knows what could happen by then.”

You sat up, pressing your hands behind you on the bed for balance as you looked at his artwork. There was something so sexy about being branded like that, even if it was temporary. Your otherwise empty skin now looked complete with his mark there. In his handwriting. 

What other sign could be more clear that you belonged to him than his handwriting on your thigh stating just that? 

“I love it.” You whispered, tracing over the cursive letters. “Will you be back?” You settled on asking, pausing for a moment, “before the tattoo fades?” 

That was one thing that troubled you about your relationship with Harry. The fact that you never knew when you’d see him again. You both openly professed your love and obsession for each other and yet you didn’t go on dates or text or call. Harry just showed up. 

He told you it was to keep you safe. It was the very same reason he snuck through your window instead of knocking on your front door. There was less chance of anyone finding out about you. Whoever ‘anyone’ was. 

Harry nodded. “I should be. I’ve got a job this weekend though so it might not be for a little longer than usual.” He plastered a soft smile on his face to calm you and reached out to cup your face. “Better make sure it’s still here when I get back. Okay, bunny? Unless you want me to mark it on your skin another way.” That smile tilted to a smirk, promising you foreplay that both of you knew would have you begging him for release. 

This time you nodded, “I’ll be good f’you.” 

Shit. 

“Good girl, Princess.” Harry cooed, looking down briefly at his own cock, already hardening even after filling your mouth and pussy with his cum. He couldn’t help it really. Not when your naked body was so gorgeous and now marked with his handwriting. “now c’mere.” 

You smiled, shifting up on your knees to join him halfway in a searing kiss. It was nearly 2 am already but you knew that you wouldn’t get any sleep at all. 

The days that followed were restless. You kept looking at those four letters on your thigh and thinking of all the things you had and hadn’t done together. The many trysts you shared with hushed conversations and messy top lip kisses. How his hands felt on your body and his lips on your skin. 

You had no idea how long it would be before he came to the cafe or broke into your apartment again. There was no word from him or rumour that he was passing through town. The shadows that liked to drift in and out became known the moment they visited more than once and Harry… well he had become a regular now. 

The next time Harry snuck into your apartment, bordering on an entire week after he wrote ‘mine’ on your upper thigh, you were ready. You weren’t sure why you knew because sometimes you had no idea until you felt his presence in your bed. Mouse didn’t even meow or run in fear when he entered through the window anymore, making his entrance sometimes as silent as wind whistling through an empty street. 

But tonight… you knew. 

There was a shift in the room temperature and a lingering scent of tobacco in the air that had your core clenching just at the thought of him visiting you. Of him seeing the surprise you had for him. It was all in your head of course, a delusion brought on by obsession. Still… you knew. 

And just like clockwork, you heard the sound of your window sliding upwards just past midnight. He thankfully hadn’t broken the glass since the first night, but for him to just slink in you had to keep the window unlocked. Before meeting him you obsessively checked every lock on every window and your front door every night, fearing that one of the shadows coming through town would try and hurt you.

You’d think that getting involved with someone like Harry would make that fear worse and yet… it didn’t. Somehow you felt safer. Harry once made a passing comment about keeping an eye on you, that he always knew if you were alright. He didn’t have to elaborate for you know that meant he had hacked into security cameras or had someone he trusted watching your apartment at all times. 

6-months-ago-you would’ve been creeped the fuck out. Scared for your life that you’d allow one of the shadows to get you so hooked on him, you’d let him have a security guard of sorts around you 24/7, or even just the fact you let him so casually break into your apartment. It made total sense to you somehow because with all the theatrics and abnormal parts of your relationship came the love and happiness you got when you saw him.

Even though it was most likely your lover opening your window, you still fished for the knife under your pillow, now replaced with something pink and shiny and far more deadly. Harry decided that if you were going to protect yourself, you needed something more dangerous than a serrated kitchen knife. You treasured that pocket knife and you and Harry have had a lot of fun playing with it. 

“Harry?” You whispered, creeping down your hallway. 

“It’s just me, bunny.” His voice echoed, low and husky. 

You smiled, rushing out to find him pushing your window back down and locking the latch. His hair was pulled back into a bun, sitting messily at the back of his head and he was wearing his classic leather jacket and dark jeans. God, you had missed him. 

“You really need to start locking your window, y/n.” Harry drawled, turning around to face you. “A madman might try to break in and hurt you.” 

You giggled, throwing your pocket knife on your rug carelessly to pounce on him. Literally. He smiled and caught you easily, letting you wrap your legs around his hips while your arms wrapped around his neck. 

Your mouths joined almost instantly, lips brushing against lips in a heated exchange. You threaded your fingers in his hair and tugged until his bun came loose and his hair fell to his shoulders. He groaned at the feeling and ran his tongue against the seam of your lips, nibbling down on your bottom lip. 

“I missed you, madman.” You whispered once your lips broke, shifting in his arms. His hands supported your bum, squeezing while he devoured your mouth once more. His body was sore from his weekend job, but he’d never let that get in the way of having his girl in his arms. 

“I missed you too, bunny. So much… I couldn’t breathe without you.” He murmured, setting you down with a little wince. You noticed it immediately and ran your hands over his face, angling his head around to look for any injuries. He wasn’t bruised on his face for once, but you knew he was hurting somewhere. 

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt? What happened?” The questions came out spitfire, making Harry smile down at you and set his hands on your hips. Your eyes found a dried substance at his collar and you recognised what it was immediately. “Is that blood?”

“Not mine.” He assured, “I’m fine, baby. Don’t worry.” 

You ignored his assurance and started running your hands over his chest, looking for any sign of pain or visible jerk out of tenderness. When your fingers grazed his lower abdomen, he couldn’t hide the clench of his jaw. You glared up at him, pressing harder against the spot so he’d feel a little payback for lying to you. 

Harry groaned and dug his fingers into your hips, ensuring it was hard and painful enough to leave a bruise. You didn’t mind though, in fact, you quite liked it. 

“Jesus Harry, you got shot!?” Your eyes widened when you tugged up his t-shirt to find a bloody gauze. You knew what it was immediately. You had seen your fair share of bullet wounds in your work placements at the hospital as well as the dodgy ways they tried to mend them themselves. “When did this happen?” You decided to peel off the gauze to see the wound for yourself, not trusting the temporary mend he had done. The wound had been stitched up quite well actually, but it was inflamed and a few stitches had broken. It needed to be mended.

“Did it go all the way through? Is the bullet still in here? Why didn’t you tell m-”

Harry interrupted your second spitfire of the evening by pressing his lips to yours. It was quick to shut you up, especially when he slid his tongue against the seam of your mouth and dominated his way in. His tongue slid against yours, tobacco and whiskey heavy in the kiss. 

You whimpered against his mouth, almost forgetting about the bullet wound until you felt its blood soak your fingertips. Pulling back, Harry tried to chase your mouth, needing you violently. Insatiably. He had missed your soft skin and your delicious mouth and especially missed your sweet sweet pussy. One he had a severe craving for. He could almost taste it on his tongue. 

“Bathroom. Now. Your stitches are busted.” You pushed your finger to his chest and he easily backed away. He was completely whipped by you, willing to do anything you told him. 

“Alright, bunny. You’re the boss.” He murmured, shrugging his jacket off to dump it on the couch before following you to the bathroom. You both followed the same routine as always. He sat on the closed toilet seat and you readied your supplies to treat his wounds. 

“Top off.” You instructed, using a lighter to sanitise the end of the needle you threaded already. 

“Yes ma’am.” He chuckled softly, stifling a groan as he grabbed the back of his collar and pulled his shirt off his head. “You’re feisty when you’re mad.” 

“You shouldn’t have lied to me.” You shot back, sanitising the scissors next with your betadine. 

“It’s just a bullet wound, bunny.” He tried to soothe, watching you approach him and rub the wound with betadine in preparation to cut his original stitches and do new ones. “Didn’t even go straight through me.”

“So the bullet’s still in there? Jesus, Harry. Why didn’t you go to the hospital? I’m not equipped to remove a fucking bullet in my bathroom.” You snapped. 

“It’s not in there, y/n. One of my boys removed it, okay?” He chuckled softly, both loving and hating how worried you were. He reached up to cup your face, “I’m fine. The only thing wrong with me is a busted stitch.” 

You ignored him, keeping your glare strong on your face. His hands dropped to his knees and he remained completely still while you worked on the wound. He hated that permanent crease on your brow and all he wanted to do was make it go away. 

“What’s wrong?” He nudged, poking at your leg when you stayed completely silent. You were in your usual oversized t-shirt, underwear combination, but this particular t-shirt was long enough to cover your bum and the tops of your thighs. “C’mon bunny, talk to me.” 

“You’re distracting me.”

“And you’re ignoring me. I don’t like when you’re cross with me.”

“Well I don’t like being left in the dark for an entire week and when you show up you’ve been shot.” You snapped, pulling the needle tighter than you’d usually do to make a knot, just so it hurt a little more. He clenched his jaw, but he was more concerned about you than the temporary pain of his stitches. “What if you died Harry? Then what? I would’ve…” you looked away to grab the scissors, trying to blink away the tears. When you returned, his gaze was soft. “I would’ve never known. You would’ve left me and I… I’d never know.”

You couldn’t even focus on his wound with how hard your hands were shaking. You managed to cut the excess thread, but the moment it was done Harry pulled the scissors and needle out of your hand and brought your shaking ones to his. 

“Y/n, I’d never do that to you. Never.” Harry scanned your face, reaching up to cup you to get you to look at him. “I didn’t mean to scare you, bunny.” He wrapped his hand around the nape of your neck, gently pulling you down to rest your forehead against his. “I should’ve told you.”

“Yeah, you should’ve.” You agreed, unable to stop a few tears streaming down your cheeks. “You’re an asshole.”

“I am.” He nodded, trying to kiss you until you turned your head away from him. “I fucked up. I’ll never, ever do that again. Never.” He promised, tipping his forehead to your cheek while threading your fingers to press your hand against his racing heart. “My heart belongs to you forever.”

“I’m yours, Harry.” You promised, pulling back to wipe your tears away and get the bandage to cover his wound. He sighed and grabbed your waist instead, pulling you closer between his legs so you wouldn’t go too far. “But I need… I need something. I can’t keep waiting for you to show up with nothing in between. I can barely sleep when you’re not here.”

“Okay. I’ll… I’ll get a burner. Untraceable. Just for you and me.” He suggested, “You’ll never go a day without hearing from me again.” It was a promise. An oath. He never wanted to be the cause of your tears again, even if he knew he would be. It was why he didn’t want to keep your hopes up about a future, even if he wanted it more than anything in the entire world. 

“You promise?” You asked, running hands over the placed bandage to seal it in place. He nodded, looking up at you with a soft smile. You hated how easy it was to forgive him. But you loved when he looked at you like that. Like you were his entire world. 

“I promise. Cross my heart.” He murmured, running his hands over your waist and hips, “now will you stop being mad at me and give me a kiss?” 

Harry stood up, overpowering you with his height. Using one hand on your waist, he nudged you against the basin and used the other hand to cup the side of your neck. His gaze was dark, eyes blazing with a need to please and be pleased. He was hungry for you, just like he was since the moment he got on his bike to drive down to see you. 

“Please, bunny. Let me make it up to you.” 

All you could do was nod. 

Harry was easy to succumb to your influence, easy to follow instructions and do whatever you wanted. But he was just as easy to overpower you, to dominate you. To get you reduced to nothing but a whimper and a nod of your head. 

He was quick to duck in and clasp your lips together. It started slow and steady, a languid dance of your mouths that turned into something far more passionate. It always did. He slid his hand to the back of your neck, threading his fingers into your hair to move your face in the direction he wanted while he nibbled on your bottom lip and slid his tongue against the seam of your mouth. 

You let him in easily, loving the slow, deliberate slide of his tongue against yours. That familiar tobacco mint flavour was heavy in the kiss, a mix of the cigarette he no doubt had before climbing up the fire escape and the mint gum he liked to chew on to try and curb the habit. It never did work, but you liked the taste of him trying to stop the nasty addiction.

You pulled him closer by his hips, digging your fingers into the slight pudge just above his belt. It was one of your favourite parts of him to kiss, to bite. You had dug your teeth in it so many times Harry was tempted to get a tattoo of your bite so he could remember the feeling of your teeth sinking into him forever. 

“Wanna taste you, bunny.” Harry groaned, tucking his hand under your shirt to fiddle with the band of your lace underwear. Your hips bucked up to meet the touch, desperate to get him doing more than just play with your underwear. “Missed the sweet taste of you on my tongue.” He kissed you softly, dragging your bottom lip back between his teeth until he released it with a pop. “Always dream of it when I’m away.”

“I guess what’s one way to apologise.” You breathed, sighing when he pinched your thigh. He tucked his hands under your ass, hoisting you up so you’d wrap your legs around his hips. 

“Mhmm. I’d happily die apologising to you. Over and over.” He had this smirk playing on his lips, but you didn’t particularly find it funny. 

“Don’t talk about dying.” You reprimanded softly, playing with his hair while he carried you to your bedroom. 

“Not even if it’s death by your sweet pussy?” He grinned, lowering you onto the bed. You shuffled upwards, rolling your eyes as he knelt on the bed to hover over you. 

“For someone who gets shot for a living, you have the humour of a 13-year-old boy.” 

“And you don’t like that?” Harry raised his brow, grinning while leaning in to kiss you. You hummed into the kiss, tugging on his hair until his groan rumbled into your mouth. He pressed his weight against you, ensuring you felt every inch of his arousal for you.

He could feel yours right back. How wet you were, how warm your pussy was pressed right against his jeans. You had properly soaked through your lacy underwear and Harry could feel his jeans slowly dampen from the way he was grinding his hips against you. It was heaven. He could hardly wait to get his mouth on your sweet little cunt, especially when you were already so worked up for him. 

“Your humour is only funny…” you paused to gasp, head tilting back so Harry could nip down along your neck. “…sometimes.”

“And you’re sexy all the time.” He murmured, simultaneously pushing your oversized t-shirt up while kissing downwards. He ran his hands over every inch of exposed skin, pushing the shirt above your breasts so he could clasp his lips around one of your nipples. 

You took the shirt off immediately, whimpering and bucking your hips to meet his while you scratched at his back. He scraped his teeth against your sensitive bud, tugging and sucking hard enough to make your head spin. While he assaulted your nipples, his hands ran over your belly and hips down to your thighs spread wide underneath him. It was only when his fingers crawled to your very inner thigh ready to tease you through your underwear that he felt the thin film of plastic.

“What’s this?” His movements stopped immediately as he felt over the thin plastic film. You whimpered at the sensitivity, feeling particularly sore after your adventure yesterday. 

“I did something and you can’t be mad…” You breathed, watching him sit back on his haunches. 

His eyes widened when he got a better look, resting his hand on your thigh while he ran his thumb over the four little letters now permanently marked on your skin. Harry was no stranger to tattoos, he was practically covered in them. But the last thing he ever expected was for you to make your temporary tattoo last longer by making it permanent.

His handwriting. His claim. Harry permanently etched on your body forever. 

“Bunny…” Harry murmured, looking between you and the tattoo. “What did you do?”

“You said you couldn’t promise me forever but you could give me until the tattoo fades…” His eyes focused on you and you felt yourself already becoming pliant just with the dark look on his face. “...now it’ll never fade.”

He said nothing for a moment and just stayed staring at your tattoo. His eyes drifted upwards ever so slightly to where your pretty lace underwear was pressed snugly to your pussy. Then he looked further upwards to your soft belly and your perky tits and finally… to your face. Your pretty eyes and your lips, the lips he loved to kiss more than anything. 

Harry was back over you in an instant, cupping your jaw while kissing you like he was ravenous for it. You whimpered into it, tugging on his hair until your lips parted in a gasp. 

“Can’t believe you did that, bunny. Got a fucking tattoo so I’d be stuck to you forever.” He murmured, smushing his mouth to yours again. “That was the plan, wasn’t it? Force my hand so I’d be yours forever.” He started to kiss back down your body again, making sure his tongue pressed against your skin with every touch. 

“I love you. I want… I want to be yours forever.” You whimpered, watching him settle between your spread legs with an evil smirk on his face. 

“And you thought a tattoo was the right choice? Hm? You thought letting some other man permanently alter your body was the way to go?” He dipped his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, tearing the lacy material in two. He was completely rough with it, making sure it ached as he pulled torn pieces off your body. 

“It wasn’t a man. She… shit.” You couldn’t even find the words, not when he spread you wide and stared at you like you were some fine dessert. 

“You think that makes it better, bunny? You think who did the tattoo makes a difference?” He raised his brow, running both his thumbs up your outer labia to tease you. 

“I told you not to be mad.” You whined, pressing your hands to your face. 

“I’m not mad. I think this is quite possibly the hottest… most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me.” You peeked through your parted fingers, looking down at where he was looking up at you, spreading his hands to kiss at the thin layer of plastic. “So fucking sexy.” Harry murmured, looking down at it in awe. 

“So why do you sound mad?” You whispered, looking down at him.

“I’m not mad you got a tattoo, I’m mad I wasn’t there. Didn’t I always say I wanted to be there for your first one?”

“Well yes but-“

“And didn’t you promise me that I would be?”

“Yes…” you swallowed thickly. He was speaking at you in such a condescending way. Like you were a child being taught a basic lesson for the first time. It was belittling. 

It turned you on in such a feral way. He could even mansplain anything and you’d be happy to play into it. As long as he sounded like that and wound up between your thighs afterwards he could speak to you however he liked. 

“So you went against your word, hm?” He smirked as your thighs trembled on either side of his shoulders, your body growing more and more sensitive and needy as he started tracing over your pussy. 

“I guess so.”

“Do I go against my word? Have I ever broken a promise before?” 

“Yes.” You tried to defend, knowing very well he always stuck to his word. Harry had never broken a promise to you. Not when he told you he’d be back in three days or when he didn’t know but promised he’d return to you safely. He always kept his word. 

To be fair though, it was hard to stay clear-minded when he was caressing your pussy like it was something cute to pet. It wasn’t. And with every stroke of his fingers, every slide through your crease to spread your arousal up to your clit before coming straight back down like he didn’t even know what a clit was, your mind was spiralling. He was killing you. 

“Oh really?” He nudged a finger to your entrance, pressing just hard enough to slip the very top inside of you. You always were the most sensitive at your g-spot then right here, at the very beginning where all your nerves were alive and your pussy was clenching around nothing because you needed something inside. Specifically Harry’s cock. “Tell me. When?” He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your clit and finally slid his finger inside of you, eliciting the prettiest whine. 

“Um… Uhh…” You couldn’t speak or think with his tongue slowly sliding over your clit now. He traced languid circles and waves, taking complete control and doing it all at his own pace. Harry was tasting you for his own pleasure more than he was yours, even if he did love the way you came for him. 

“Exactly.” He smirked, “So let me take my time with you. I’m owed that, aren’t I?” 

“I thought you were meant to be apologising to me? This feels like an unfair system. A bullet wound is more serious than a tattoo.” You complained, sliding your hands into his hair to try and drag him closer to you. 

After being away from him for so long, one of the longest times apart since you started dating-or whatever you two were, all you wanted was to feel him. You wanted his pleasure and the weight of his body on top of you. Teasing wasn’t fun when you were apart more than you were together.

You prayed that would change after the gesture you made. The permanent commitment to him. 

“Which one is permanent?” He grinned lazily up at you.

“You could’ve died.” You argued.

“But I didn’t. Now will you stop complaining otherwise I’m more than happy to stop. It’s been a big day I could easily go to sl-”

“No!” You jumped a little too quickly, making him laugh and press spongey kisses against your inner thighs. “No… no, please. I’ll take whatever you want. I’ll be good.” 

“Yeah?” He smirked, pressing his fingers into your fresh tattoo. You gasped, clutching his hair tighter in your hands. “That’s what I like to hear, pretty girl. Besides, I think letting me take my sweet time tasting you is the best punishment out there. Don’t you think?” 

Harry pressed a few chaste kisses along your thighs, feeling just how tense you were. You were clenching around his finger and holding onto his hair tight so he wouldn’t move away. But he couldn’t have you so tense… he needed you to relax.

“Calling it a punishment scares me…” you whimpered, feeling his tongue slide over your clit in a sloppy figure-eight pattern. 

“mh… just relax, bunny. Stop thinking and let me take care of you… you’re my girl, aren’t you? My sweet, delicious girl. My girl?” He ran his thumb over your tattoo, speaking right against your clit like he was talking to your pussy instead of you. 

“Mhmm.” 

“Then relax… you deserve to be spoiled after all you do for me…” Harry looked up at you, smiling as you forced your body to melt into the bed. 

Your eyes fluttered shut, head tilting back when his mouth returned to your clit. He gently added another finger inside of you, curling them both into your g-spot in a steady stroke. They felt so deep inside of you, nowhere near as full of his cock but still so so good. 

The combination of his tongue and his fingers were driving you crazy, but he did them in such a relaxed, languid way that you knew it would take you ages to cum, if he even let you. 

“See? ‘S nice isn’t it?… you always take care of me, bunny. Always clean my wounds and take good care of m’cock… m’heart too…. Always make me feel so happy.”

“You make me happy too… scare me a lot too…” You sighed, fisting his hair as he grazed his teeth over your clit.

“I don’t mean to,” Harry murmured against you, kissing against your clit in an infuriatingly light touch. “Only want to make you feel good… feel safe…”

“You do… you do… just-fuck, please… More… Harder.”

He smirked at your begging, the whiny tone in your voice going straight to his cock. Barely a couple minutes into it and you were already getting desperate. Already tugging at his hair and starting to wiggle. 

He loved you like this because he had the ultimate control over whether or not he gave you what you wanted. At this point, it could go either way. 

“Not yet sweetheart, ‘m having too much fun just like this…”

Your back arched when he pressed his fingertips into your tattoo, purposefully digging into the soft skin. It was a small tattoo, tiny in comparison to half of Harry’s work but you had a relatively low pain tolerance and your very inner thigh was quite sensitive. It was torturous paired with the way his tongue softly stroked against your clit. 

“Please, Harry…” You begged once more, using your hands in his hair to try and drag him closer to you. You were writhing beneath him, desperate for something more than just light teasing shapes. You could barely handle it anymore. 

“Ah.” Harry tutted, slipping from your clit with a little pop of his lips. He grinned up at you, mouth and chin all soaked and dripping before pulling your hands from his hair to push them down on the bed beside you. It was possibly one of the most erotic things you had ever seen. “Y’know I like my hair pulled, bunny but if you keep pushing it, I’ll make sure you don’t cum at all. Let me enjoy you.”

“Okay…” You nodded quickly, hoping he wouldn’t stop altogether. “m’sorry. I’ll be good.” 

“Good.” 

Harry released your hands before grabbing a hair tie from his wrist and putting his hair up in a bun. God when he did that… it did unspeakable things to you. You watched him obsessively, frothing over the way his arms and chest stretched and flexed with every small movement. Up behind his head then back down to the bed when he settled between your thighs while staring at you with this triumphant fuckboy smile. 

“You’re so pretty, y’know that. So so pretty and all mine.” He murmured, tracing his finger through your crease while looking straight at your pussy with complete awe. Harry was fucking obsessed with you.

“Harry…”

“I know,” he sympathised, voice almost mocking at your flushed cheeks. He loved when you got nervous. “You’re so pretty when you blush, y/n.” He blew gently over your clit, sliding his two fingers back into you. 

Closing his mouth around your clit, he started pleasuring you again. He moved his tongue against you harder and curled his fingers into you with far more purpose than before. And finally, finally you were starting to feel that relief. It was exactly what you needed to start to feel that twist in your stomach and shake in your thighs… the rush before that euphoric release. Your toes were starting to curl and your fingers tightened into his hair, tugging so hard he had to dig his fingertips into your tattoo to ground himself from how desperate he was getting from his hair being played with.

“Oh god… I’m… ‘mgonna…”

And then the rush stopped, that spiraling wave freezing right before it tumbled over the cliff. Harry removed his mouth and halted his fingers, kissing over your thighs instead with an evil grin you could feel against your skin. 

“Harry” you protested, gasping while looking down at him. Your legs attempted to clam around his head and you tried to tug his mouth back to you but he easily overpowered you and used his arms to pin your thighs wide against the bed. 

“You’re cute when you’re desperate. Might be my second favourite look on you.” He bit down on your thigh, chuckling against your skin. 

“What’s the… what’s your favourite?” Your breathing felt laboured, skin already feeling a little sticky from being teased for so long.  

“When you orgasm… sometimes it’s when I’ve got you so far gone you’re fucking sobbing for me. Only like your tears when they’re because of m’cock.”

He was evil. 

Was it fucked up that knowing he liked to make you cry turned you on? 

“You’re so mean… you know I-oh” your words got caught in his throat, eyes fluttering closed again when he started tracing his tongue over your clit again. 

Harry started to tease you again, going back to that languid, gentle touching. He was enjoying every second of it too, moaning into you, using his spare hand to grab on your belly and your breasts. He pinched at your nipples before pressing against your tattoo, all to rile you up and build your orgasm again so damn slowly. 

Harry was nearly about to burst. You were so wet and so fucking sweet and though he loved having his face between your thighs for hours on end, it turned him on beyond anything else on the fucking planet. He had to keep focusing his mind elsewhere, on anything but the way your cream was coating his fingers and dripping down his palm, or how you were so fucking wet just one slide of his tongue through your crease echoed around the entire room. 

But then you got a little too sensitive, a little too desperate and tugged his hair so hard it slipped from the bun he did earlier. He was just as happy to punish you than he was to rest his face between your thighs. 

The pleasure stopped once more and you were flipped so fast onto your belly, you didn’t have an opportunity to try and wiggle away. He gathered your hands quickly in one of his so you couldn’t move and ignored your whine of his name. 

“I warned you once, y/n, and you didn’t want to listen…”

“Harry ‘m sorry. I’ll be good. I promise.” You protested, at Harry’s complete mercy. He pinned you to the bed with one hand, keeping your hands pressed to your lower back while he pulled his belt out of his belt loops. You wiggled beneath him, trying to get out of his tight grip only to be suddenly swatted with his belt over your ass.

You gasped at the sting, feeling the spot on your skin grow a heartbeat of its own. It was a warm spiced feeling, oozing down to your aching clit that Harry had teased all night. 

“You did this to yourself, bunny. I wanted to be nice and I wanted to enjoy your sweet little pussy but you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself. Could you?” Harry looped the belt around your hands then tightened it with the buckle so it was snug around your wrists. He tugged at it just to be sure you couldn’t slip out before hovering over you to kiss you gently on your shoulder. 

“Okay?” He asked, nuzzling his nose against your cheek.

“Mhmm.” You nodded.

“Colour?”

“Green.”

“Good girl.” He whispered the praise against your shoulder, kissing the middle of your back on his way back to kneel behind you. 

Harry was quick to pull your ass up off the bed until your face was pressed to the duvet, giving him the perfect access to all your pretty holes. You were practically dripping. Already edged once with no relief and now he could just taste you and bury his face without having your hands in the way. His perfect girl.

“See…” He murmured, tracing his hands over your ass. “Isn’t this better? Now I can enjoy you in peace.”

You responded with a noise of indignation, squeezing your fists when he chuckled and spanked your ass in that same spot he whacked his belt. Your skin was pulled taught with the way your chest was pressed to the bed, making the sting heavier than usual. 

Even though you whimpered and your whole body jerked at the feeling of his palm on your ass, Harry knew you enjoyed it. Just like you enjoyed being tied up.

The only reason you protested having his belt around your hands was because you hated it like this. Behind your back or pinned to your sides or thighs. You didn’t like not being able to feel him, especially when you couldn’t see him either. With Harry always gone you just wanted to touch him as much as humanly possible when he was around him.

You always had a hand on him. In his hair or scratching his back or in his pocket or intertwined with his fingers. You just needed that touch. Craved it. And now it had been taken away.

“God, you taste so fucking good, bunny.” Harry groaned, spanking your ass roughly. He spread your cheeks wide, pulling back to spit right on your tight rim of muscles before he was sucking over your clit again. “Like a fucking dream.”

He groaned against you, nuzzling his nose right against your entrance to press just hard enough to dip into you. The way he used his entire face to pleasure you was completely feral. He’d be able to smell you for days and taste your sweet sweet arousal for hours to come. That’s exactly how he liked it. 

He was completely wrapped around your clit, sucking in that perfect rhythmic pressure he knew you liked. The same pressure that had you tumbling towards an orgasm within two minutes flat. Now he seemed to be doing the opposite of his torturous teasing. He was trying to make you cum and he was doing it in the messiest, most feral way possible. 

That was somehow more evil because you had nowhere to go. You couldn’t move your hands or grab his hair, not even hold his hand until he reached for you. With the tight grip on your hips, you were pinned in his grip. You didn’t mind though, because he was finally… finally giving you that delicious pleasure. 

You were hopeful, your entire body tense and trembling. Your mouth was gaped against the bedding, soft moans muffled into the material. Until your entire world crashed and burned when it all stopped. Again. 

“No. Harry...”

“Shh, it’s okay, bunny.” Harry pressed his mouth over your ass, sliding his fingers out of you to run through your crease to your clit. “Still green?”

“Y-yes.”

“Good. Then let’s keep going, shall we?”

You lost count at how many times he edged you. After five it all turned into a blur; a teary, stinging blurr where your mind was completely in the clouds and your body felt like it was melting into a puddle. You were completely heavy in the bed, legs sore and trembling and your arms aching after being behind your back for so long. 

Every touch was torture, every flick of his tongue or suck over your clit sent your mind into orbit. You needed to come so fucking badly but there was nothing you could do to get him to let you finish. He was happy to just taste you and lick you until you were reduced to a pile of tears and sore muscles on the bed.

“Please Harry… please I need it so bad… need y’cock so so badly…” 

It wasn’t the first time you begged for it, but it was certainly the first time you cried for it. You were crying softly against the bedding, wiggling and clenching around his fingers. Your nails were digging into your palms, trying to counteract the pressure your entire lower body was facing. 

“Yeah? Wanna give it to you, bunny. So fucking bad…” Harry’s cock had been painfully sore since your fourth edge, so fucking hard he got rid of all his clothes just for some relief. His jeans were pressing so tight against his cock, he could barely handle it. 

Harry was a sadistic fuck, though and he liked the pain. He liked being sore and he liked to edge himself so when he finally got inside you and got that ultimate pleasure, the entire experience was better. He liked it when he made you come multiple times, but there was something romantic about edging you until you cried then letting you finally come when he was deep inside you and about to orgasm himself. 

Simultaneous orgasms were a rarity, but Harry liked the challenge. Often it was him timing his with yours anyway. You were terrible at holding your orgasm, practically incapable of it. That’s why edging you was so fun… Harry had complete control over it. He knew the signs of your body reaching that point without you even verbalising it and knew the exact moment to pull away before you tipped over the edge. 

And even when you cried and it was sore, your colour remained green the entire time. 

“Got me so hard f’you… just need to make sure you really want it, huh?” Harry bared his teeth against your ass cheek, biting down on one of the spots his various spontaneous spanks had made their mark. Your ass was beat red at this point, covered in teeth marks and hand prints from Harry getting too damn excited. He knew it would be sore for a couple of days, but that’s what he wanted.

He wanted his memory on your skin… and now after your tattoo, it would be. Forever. 

The thought of that was exhilarating and one of the most terrifying things in Harry’s world.

“I do… I need it so bad, Harry. Feel so empty without you… so sore…” Your words all joined together, a slur of neediness and sniffled tears. 

“Oh, I bet, bunny…” He cooed, sliding his fingers out of you before sucking them clean. He then moved up on his knees behind you to gently undo the belt from your wrists. “Bet you’re so sensitive n’sore, aren’t you?” He threw the belt to the side, massaging your wrists in his hand to soothe the reddened skin.

You just nodded against the bedding, curling your fingers back to hold his hands. He sighed at the sight, leaning down to quickly kiss your fingers before rolling you on your back. 

“Aw, baby. Look at you all teary-eyed…” Harry cupped your cheek, letting your legs fall wide on the bed as he wiped the tears from under your eye. With his other hand, he grabbed his cock and guided it to your pussy, sliding the head through your folds. His teeth gritted at the sensitivity on his desperate cock and he was trying so hard to not lose all strength in his body just at that one little touch. He was the one desperate now.

“Y’look so pretty like this… fucking gorgeous you are…”

“Harry…” You sighed, holding onto his wrist with one hand while grabbing his hip with the other. Just the feeling of his cock through your folds was heavenly, a sign that you’d finally get to come. 

“I love the way you say my name, pretty girl. Like a fucking angel… shit”

His hand slid down your face to your neck, looping around it in a loose hold while he pressed his tip to your entrance and slowly eased his way in. Your pussy was so sensitive from all his teasing and he could tell too. Your cry was loud and your nails dug deep into his hip. He was addicted to the feeling. 

“Shit… oh god…” You whined out, head thrown back against the bedding. Your mouth was wide in a pant, chest heaving just at the feeling of him bottoming out inside of you. His cock was always an adjustment… thick and long and fuck, every time you thought of it your mind went a little dizzy.

It ached to have him inside you without being edged so much and now it was like a hot fire in your womb. Your clit was aching, your belly was aching, and everything was so tightly strung all you wanted was just to be fucked. Even if you were more sensitive than ever, you just needed to be fucked hard into the bed. 

No teasing. Nothing. You just wanted him to fuck you until you came undone around him. 

“Fuck me… please, Harry just fuck me…” your words came in a rushed, desperate plea; your hips jutting to try and get him to move.

“Fuck, bunny. Got a filthy fucking mouth, don’t you…” Harry cursed, tightening his grip around your neck. “I’ll fuck you, alright. I’ll give you exactly what you want…”

He started rocking his hips against you, wasting no time to get to a steady, bruising pace. It was hips snapping against hips, your thighs wide on the bed while he used his hand around your neck for balance. His balls slapped against your ass and his noises of pleasure were so goddamn erotic you knew you’d never forget the sound of them.

It was euphoric. 

“God baby, you feel so fucking good wrapped around me. And you’re all mine, aren’t you? All fucking mine…” Harry grunted, gritting his teeth to try and stop himself from finishing too fast. He was practically going to burst the moment his cock slid inside you. “And this…” He pressed his palm to your thigh, heavily running his thumb over your tattoo… “is so sexy… so fucking sexy…”

Neither of you seemed to care about the fact he had fresh stitches and a fresh bullet wound because the way he was fucking you was too good to care about something that could be so easily fixed. That pain in his abdomen did very little to stop him from giving you the fucking you deserved, even if that meant he’d have to sit through another angry stitching done by you.

Hopefully, this time you weren’t as angry or as rough with him… though he wouldn’t have minded if it meant he’d have you again like this.

You couldn’t even respond to him because it felt like your mouth had disconnected from your brain. Your body was so overstimulated that your mind could barely function. But you could drag him down with two hands on his jaw and kiss him. It was messy and uncoordinated but that didn’t even matter. All that mattered was that his body was on yours and you felt the closeness you had craved since the moment he tied your wrists behind your back.

“I love you… I love you so much…” You murmured, already feeling your orgasm approach again. It hardly took any time, not when he was fucking you so good and so hard. He felt deeper than ever before, so deep you could feel that deep pit in your stomach start to churn. It was a feeling that didn’t happen very often, but one both you and Harry reaped the benefits of. 

“I love you so much, angel. My love forever and always.” Harry groaned into your mouth, gathering your hands in his and intertwining your fingers together. He pushed on either side of your head, pressing them into the bedding as he started to kiss along your jaw and neck to get a bit of air. 

The dirty talk kept spilling out of his mouth, some coherent and others just desperate strung together sentences that made your head spiral and your pussy clench around his cock. He had a way with words, both in and out of the bedroom and it never failed to knock you to the fucking floor.

That deep churning in your pit only grew and started to press right against your clit. You could feel the pressure building and building until it felt like you were going to burst. Your clit was aching; a pinching white-hot pleasure beating from it like it had its own heartbeat.

“Oh… shit… shit. Harry… ‘m gonna… ‘m gonna squirt” The words barely got out, all thrown together in a loud cry right in his ear before you felt the damn burst from inside of you. 

It rolled over you in a crash. An initial euphoric crash of pleasure hitting your body from all angles. Waves and waves of pure ecstasy made your thighs tremble and your toes curl. Your whole body shook as the first spray of your arousal hit Harry’s lower belly and with every squirt after, another jolt of electricity.

“Shit baby. Good fucking girl. Fucking hell…” Harry cursed, grinding his hips against you to try and draw as much of your orgasm through. He felt it coat his cock and the hairs at his base, dripping down to his balls until it started to dampen the bedding beneath you. “Jesus, bunny. ‘M gonna cum… Can I?...”

“Want it… want it inside, please…” you whimpered, squeezing his hands tight as the pleasure started to die down to a low beat in your clit.

Harry’s mouth smushed against yours as he fucked himself once more inside of you, groaning against you as his body trembled above you. You could feel the hot bliss of his come filling you to the brim and the sudden weight of him on top of you when he let himself relax against your body.

“Shit, bunny…” He sighed, dropping his forehead to the crook of your neck. 

You were both exhausted. Your skin was damp and sticky and the bed below you felt exactly the same. It was a mess. You were a mess and yet you were the happiest you could’ve been. Sore muscles and a fire beating on your ass and fresh tattoo meant nothing compared to the fulfilment you had just being with Harry. 

“Are you okay?” He whispered after a moment of silence, resting his chin on your chest to look at you. He needed to collect himself before he checked on you so he was physically able to take care of you and provide whatever you needed. He definitely needed to have a shower or bath with you and rub some cream on your wrists and bum.

“I’m good,” You whispered back, smiling softly at him. “A little sore but so good… are you okay?”

“I’m perfect,” he smiled and softly kissed your sweaty skin, “can I pull out now?”

With a small nod, he gently pulled himself out of you and then started your normal routine. He went to get some water and a damp towel to clean you both up and then returned to clean you while you guzzled the entire thing. Some nights you two jumped in the shower straight away, but that was only if you weren’t going to have another round or were prepared to change the sheets at the same time.

Tonight wasn’t one of those nights. After you went to the bathroom quickly you returned and you both curled into each other’s arms to have your usual pillow talk. It was your favourite part of sleeping together because it was often when the truth came out or you found out more things about him. You loved that.

“I still can’t believe you did this…” Harry murmured, looking down at the tattoo. He traced his fingers over it, looking at it obsessively.

“Was it too much? Be honest…”

“What?” Harry was a little taken aback and looked up at you with a furrowed expression, “Never. Fucking unexpected but I love it,” he reached up to grab your cheek and you immediately nuzzled into it, holding your hand over his, “I love you, y/n. I don’t say it often enough but I do. And I want you in my life, I just don’t know how to do it. I don’t know how to keep you safe.”

“Let me come with you.” You responded, “next time you go back to the city, let me come. I want to see where you live and… I don’t know, maybe meet your friends? Or…” you felt a little embarrassed at the next words that came out of your mouth, but you weren’t exactly sure how else to say it, “work colleagues…”

Harry cracked the biggest fucking grin at how you phrased it, but he tried to not laugh so he wouldn’t embarrass you. “Alright. Tomorrow. I’ll take you back with me.”

“Tomorrow?” You blinked, not expecting him to just willingly agree like that.

“Yes. I don’t have a job until Thursday so we’ll have a couple of days together. But that’s only if you don’t have college or wo-”

“I don’t.” You interrupted quickly, knowing very well you did have university and work. Harry knew that too, he just wanted to see if you’d really skip a few days of responsibility for him. “I’d love to go.”

Harry smirked, nearly getting all worked up again at the thought of his angel skipping classes just to spend time with him. “Good…” He then cleared his throat and sat up so he could look at you, “I want you to have this.”

He removed his signature cross necklace from around his neck and motioned for you to sit up as well. “Harry… I couldn’t”

“You can.” He pressed, placing the necklace over your head. He eyed the way it fell right between your breasts and pulled your hair out from underneath it so it wouldn’t get tangled. “Always wear this, y/n. I mean it. The moment I take you into the city there will be people who care that you know me and they’ll use it against me.” Harry played with the cross between two fingers, rubbing his thumb over the front of it, “Wearing this… it’s a protection.”

“How?...” You whispered, looking between the necklace and his gorgeous green eyes.

“Because this-” his hand fell to your thigh, squeezing over the plastic film of your tattoo, “-tells me that you’re mine and this-” he grabbed the chain again, tugging it ever so slightly, “tells the entire fucking world.”

━━━━━━ ♡ ━━━━━━━ ━━━━━━ ♡ ━━━━━━━

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[cressidagrey]

Such A Mystery - Part 7

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Colette Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen fell in love at the ripe old age of 12 and never looked back.

Colette Leclerc really regrets posting that particular Taylor Swift Lyric to her private Instagram account, because it made George Russell go insane.  

The rest of the world has absolutely no idea that the Dutch Lion and Charles Leclerc’s twin sister have been a couple for 15 years and are expecting a baby. 

Warnings: 

Pregnancy, Mention of multiple miscarriages, Pregnancy complications, George Russell Bashing (he's probably really nice in real life but in this, he's the bad guy, sorry), Jos Verstappen

Author Notes: Huge thanks to @llirawolf for holding my hand through this. Happy New Year! Chapter count is continuing to go up, because I need to halve this chapter after hitting 6k. Should be 10 parts. Hopefully.

Arthur did eventually show up with enough McDonald’s in tow to feed an army. 

Fries, Nuggets and even including apology milkshakes.

“I am really sorry,” her little brother apologised to her, looking distraught.

Colette exhaled slowly, trying her hardest not to laugh at the sheepish look on Arthur's face.

"The next time, maybe you should think before you post. But then I clearly didn’t do that either,” she said drily.

“I mean, karma is the guy in the car coming straight home to me, did amuse me very much,” Vic said brightly.

Arthur blushed deeply, and ducked his head in embarrassment. He set down the bags of takeout on the counter, and then looked up to her to apologize again, his eyes wide like a puppy begging for forgiveness.

"Come here," Colette said with a sigh, holding out her arms for him. "I love you, ma petite puce."

"Colette!" Arthur complained with a grimace, but she just grinned.

"Oh you'll always be my little flea," she teased her younger brother.

"Oh god, don't call me that," Arthur complained, letting her pull him into a tight hug. He let out a long suffering sigh. "I said I was sorry!"

"I know you are," she said, patting the top of his brown hair, even when that meant that she needed to stand on her tiptoes to reach. "But the fact remains that you were an idiot before."

Arthur groaned in embarrassment and dropped his head to her shoulder in defeat.

"Eat your fries," his voice was muffled. "And please tell me you have some salad or something in the fridge so Max doesn't kill me for feeding you nothing but junk food."

"I do have some salad in the fridge," Colette said and ruffled his hair. "I'll eat lots of veggies, I promise. And I’ll even tell Maxie that I blackmailed you into getting me fries, if you want,” she suggested brightly.  

Vic just snorted. "Let's just get that back in the living room and we can put on Sky News and bitch about the commentators."

"You guys are awful," Arthur protested, but he was already gathering their food and following along obediently. "The comments on Sky Sports are not nearly as bad as you make them out to be..."

Colette rolled her eyes and instead collapsed onto the couch, wriggling to get comfortable, because her back was still killing her.

Arthur was also very wrong. Danica Patricks definitively was that bad. Colette could just stare at the train wreck in front of her.

"Vic. Why in the world has Sky Jos on there to talk about Maxie's anger issues. What anger issues?" she demanded. Max didn’t have anger issues. Who in the world had come up with that? This was utterly ridiculous!

Victoria stared at her. "You don't know?!" she asked, sounding shocked.

"Know what?" Colette demanded. "Enzo deleted every social media app in existence from my phone. Why do people think that Max of all people has anger issues?!"

"George Russell," Arthur mumbled. "He said some...things."

Things. George Russell had said some things. 

Colette sat up a little straight at that, her eyes widening in disbelief. "What things?" she demanded. "What did he say?"

Victoria and Arthur exchange a look.

"He may have said that he wouldn't want Max to date his sister because he is sure that his girlfriend is the one dealing with his anger issues?" Arthur offered.

"He. Said. What?" Colette bit out.

No wonder there had been this tone in Max's voice when they had talked this morning...No wonder he had sounded upset, when that George fucking Russell had pretty much accused him of hurting her. And of course, he hadn't wanted to worry her, so of course, he hadn't told her.

Victoria reached out and grasped her elbow, as if she worried Colette would jump up and attack the screen.

"You need to stay calm," Vic said firmly. "You can't get worked up, it's not good for you, and it's not good for the baby," she warned her.

"I will murder George Russell," Colette growled in response.

"No murder," Victoria said in a no-nonsense voice. "You can't kill him, he's not worth it. And you can't have this stress, for your health. And the baby."

Colette huffed but she was still seething.

Only to then have Danica Patrick pipe up from the TV Screen: "What are your thoughts on your son’s supposed anger issues?"

"He doesn't have anger issues!" Colette snapped. "I have anger issues right now! I am going to find George Russell and punch him in the face!"

Arthur stared at her with an ill-hidden combination of horror and fascination.

Victoria laughed again, but it was mostly out of surprise and disbelief. "Well, at least we know that your temper is firmly intact," she said dryly.

"I'm sure Max is going to loooove seeing you this worked up over this," Arthur grumbled.

Colette had a lot of problems with Max's father, but at least for once she actually agreed with him:

"On the circuit…as soon as Max lowers his visor, he turns into a lion. He is really motivated and the only thing that matters is winning. It was always in him. What I see in Max now, I saw in karting," Jos answered Danica's question. "But that’s not the same Max you see when he is at home. On the race track, he is a lion, but at home, he’s a teddy bear. He got that from Sophie. He’s very sweet, very gentle…Incredible protective of the people he cares about."

For the first time in recent history, Colette found herself agreeing wholeheartedly with Jos Verstappen.

"He is a teddy bear," she mumbled in agreement. "The sweetest thing on earth. And that bastard has no idea what he's talking about," she bit out.

"Of course Max is a lion on the track," Arthur said with a scoff. "We've witnessed that ourselves. Everyone in the paddock knows that Max is a machine when he's in his race car, but George has his head up his ass if he thinks that Max is aggressive off the circuit."

"We all know that Maxie is the gentlest, most generous person out there," Victoria agreed, shaking her head. "George Russell is clearly jealous and is making stuff up just to get attention."

Colette just huffed.

"So you don't think he has anger issues?" Danica Patrick pushed.

"What kind of a stupid question is that?" Colette grumbled in response, her shoulders taut with anger.

Arthur laughed and Victoria squeezed her arm.

"No," Jos answered flatly.

Danica Patrick, who was clearly fishing for a different reply, seemed a little thrown by the firm response. But she rallied quickly enough to pivot: "And what can you tell us about your son’s relationship with Colette Leclerc?"

"Oh, come on!" Colette snapped.

"They have been together for a very long time," Jos replied simply, his accent strong as ever. "…since back in Karting. I don’t think anybody believed that that relationship would last, but they did prove everybody wrong."

The answer was unexpectedly charming and sincere.

Colette found herself blinking at that, surprised at how fond he sounded when talking about her and Max. Even Arthur was gaping stupidly, and it looked like Victoria was struggling not to choke on her drink from surprise.

"I think the great thing about Colette is that she understands his life, his career. She has a brother who does the same job as Max, so she was always incredibly supportive of him," Jos continued. "She is there for him. She supports him completely, and she’s been there for him through the good times and the bad. I don’t think Max would be the man he is today without her."

Arthur and Victoria stared at the screen with dropped jaws, stunned into silence.

"Is that Jos actually giving a heartfelt compliment?" Arthur muttered in disbelief.

“I think he is?” Victoria responded questioningly. This was certainly a new experience for everyone.

On the screen, Jos continued: "I have been watching their relationship for over half of Max's life, and Max really did pick the right girl."

"Your son hasn’t talked a lot about his relationship," Danica said leadingly.

"Oh, you won’t get anything from him," Jos said with a snort. "He’s very protective over her, always has been. Especially with her in her current condition."

Colette’s eyes widened and she immediately put a hand over her stomach in a protective gesture. 

"Fuck," Victoria cursed.

“Did he seriously just do that?” Arthur croaked. “Did he just tell all of F1 - no, all of the world - that Colette is pregnant?”

All three of them just gaped at the TV.

Danica Patricks looked like a vampire that had just tasted blood. "Her current condition?" she asked, her voice honeyed sweet.

"Yes," Jos confirmed simply. "The baby is supposed to come any day now. We’re all incredibly excited for the new addition to the family. I mean, it took them long enough, they definitely practiced enough."

He said like it was a joke. Like it hadn't taken them the better part of 3 years and 2 miscarriages.

Colette’s whole body had tensed, her heart clenching painfully in her chest as the words echoed in her mind: It took them long enough, they definitely practiced enough. Those words felt like a punch to the gut - like a mockery of all the pain and disappointment and suffering.

All the stress and anxiety and anguish that they had gone through. All the tears and the desperation and prayers for a miracle.

And all of it reduced to a cheap, dirty joke.

"I am going to throttle him," Victoria said, her voice shaking.

"Get in line," Arthur grumbled, looking equally enraged.

Colette just sat there staring fixedly at the screen, feeling like her whole mind had gone numb.

It was one thing when Jos made his snide little comments to them, but it was quite another when he decided to talk about that on international TV. He made it sound like their troubles to conceive had only been a matter of not trying hard enough.

It felt like a gut punch. Colette had always known that Jos had no idea how hard the last couple of years had been for them, but now, in light of his comment, it sounded like he somehow assumed it had all been their own fault.

They had kept both miscarriages quiet...had only shared it with a handful of people. She knew that Max had told Vic about it, but he had never told his father.

Her hands were shaking with anger. The urge to throw something - anything - was almost overwhelming as the words echoed in her head over and over: It took them long enough, they definitely practiced enough.

How could he have been so cruel? How could he go and announce it on international television and make it sound like it hadn’t been the hardest thing that either of them had ever been through?

It felt like a betrayal. Colette had never expected much out of Max’s father, but this? This felt like twisting the knife in a still-healing wound and pouring salt into it.

It felt like a stab to the back. Jos had no idea. No idea how hard it had been to keep the hope up. No idea how much it had hurt with every failed test and every lost dream. And no idea how much they both had longed for the baby that was growing within her.

And now he was just treating it like it had been a matter of not working hard enough, as if it had been an easy task and they had simply taken their sweet time to do something that came naturally to most people.

Her mind would have continued to turn into circles...if there hadn't been a sudden stabbing pain low in her abdomen.

Colette winced as the pain flared. It was a shock, and her hands immediately flew down to press against the source of the pain.

"Are you alright?" Victoria asked immediately. Colette clenched her teeth as the cramping pain seemed to grow even worse, before easing.

"Just...just a cramp," Colette managed to breathe out. "It's fine. It's fine. I just- it just startled me, that's all."

She tried to assure herself that it was nothing. Just Braxton Hicks - just the body preparing for the labor, the pain sometimes got intense. But something about it felt...off.

"Is that the first one today?" Victoria asked her. "You winced a few times this morning."

Colette thought back to this morning, recalling how she had woken up with a stabbing pain in her lower back. She hadn’t thought much of it then, since her muscles hadn’t been happy with her in a long time at this point - and it had passed pretty quickly after a few minutes.

"I'm not sure, I-" she started, her breath catching.

There was pain again, another stabbing contraction.

"Are they getting stronger?" Victoria asked, her voice sharpening.

The pain receded after a few seconds, and Colette had to force down the urge to curl up on the couch with her hands on her stomach as she tried to take deep breaths."It's nothing. I still have 4 weeks," Colette said with a shake of her head.

The words sounded like a prayer. Because she wasn’t due for at least another month, after all. This was just the Braxton Hicks contractions that her doctor had warned her about. The practice contractions that were supposed to help get her body ready for labor, nothing to worry about.

It was just her body preparing for the birth, that was all.

But the pain came back again, and this time, Colette couldn't quite suppress the gasp as she closed her eyes and tried to breathe through it.

"Colette," Victoria said, her voice sharp. "I don’t think they’re just practice contractions. The way you’re tensing and wincing...this is the real deal. I think you’re going into actual labor."

“No,” Colette said, her heart lurching in her chest. “No, no, I’m not…I’m not supposed to go into labor until January, this is- this is not supposed to happen.”

She had just hit her 36th week, and she was due at the start of January. It was far too early for the labor to start.

"I don't think the baby cares about that," Victoria said with a laugh. "Come on, we'll need to get you to the hospital."

"No, I can't be in labour. Max isn't here," she disagreed.

Colette felt a fresh wave of panic wash over her. The very last thing she wanted to do was start labor without Max there, and Max was currently in the middle of a race on the opposite end of the world.

“Where’s your hospital bag?“ Victoria asked her, all business. “Where’s are the car keys? Arthur is driving.“

“What, no!“ Arthur squeaked. Arthur clearly looked terrified, his eyes growing like saucers as he stared at them. "No - no, I don’t think I can-"

But Victoria was already rounding on him. "Oh yes,  you can. Just get the keys and get the damn car ready. I‘ll help Colette get her things, and you'll drive us."

The authority in her voice was intimidating enough that Arthur didn’t dare to disagree with her, and he nodded mutely and hurried away to look for the car keys.

Colette was torn between laughing at her brother’s expression and panicking over the fact that her labor was actually starting.

Just like that, she felt frozen in place a few moments longer, before Victoria snapped her fingers in front of her face. "Hey, no freezing up. We need to get moving. We need to get to the hospital, and your kid doesn’t care that it still needs 4 more weeks. So come on, come on, get your things."

It snapped her out of her temporary daze, and she managed to focus back to the present again. "Right, yeah," Colette mumbled, and she quickly went to get her hospital bag.

She had already packed it, just in case - but she had definitely not expected to actually use it.

Her hands were shaking as she picked it up, the whole situation still not entirely sinking in yet. Max was not here. She was going to have her baby without him here - that wasn’t how it was supposed to be!

But the pain came back again, and her body seemed to agree that there was no time left to waste.

She winced through the contraction, and Vic’s face tensed as she saw it.

"How are you doing?" she asked, watching her worriedly. Colette had to take a deep breath, trying to keep breathing as the pain faded out again. "I’m-” she started, but that was the same second that Arthur appeared again with the keys.

"The car is ready," he said, sounding very much like he’d rather bolt.

"Right," Victoria said, and she looked at Colette. "We gotta go. You good to go?"

Colette felt a surge of panic as the truth of leaving to go to the hospital finally sank in - she felt very much like her entire body had seized up. But Arthur was already waiting at the door with an expectant look on his face that did not look at all reassuring, and Victoria had picked up her hospital bag and was ushering Colette’s towards the hallway.

The contractions didn’t seem to care about any of her feelings, anyway.

"Come on," Victoria told her quietly. "We're gonna go and have a beautiful birth, and when you're done, there’ll be a healthy baby in your arms, okay?"

Colette was sure that her face had gone pale, and her hands were shaking as she slowly made her way through the hallway. Victoria led her the entire time, supporting her as they moved.

She was more than grateful to slip into the backseat of the Audi and her hands could claw themselves into the buttery soft leather interior.

“Are you sure we can’t wait for an adult?“ Arthur asked weakly.

“You are an adult. You literally drive race cars for a living,“ Victoria snapped.

Colette would have laughed at Arthur’s terrified expression in any other situation, but at the moment, she really wasn’t up to find anything funny.

“Just drive the damn car, Arthur!“ Victoria snapped, and Arthur flinched, his eyes wide as saucers.

A whimper escaped Colette as another contraction gripped her, and she curled up in the back seat, both hands clawed in the seat as the wave of pain ebbed away again. Her breathing was ragged, and she felt like she was slowly coming apart at the seams.

"Keep breathing," Victoria’s sharp voice came from her left side, and she felt a cool, smooth hand on her forehead. "Just keep breathing. You're doing great."

The words managed to cut through the panic, and Colette managed to gasp out a shuddering breath. “I-” she choked out, “I can’t…I can’t do this without Max, I-”

"You are doing it," Victoria cut in, her voice steady and sharp like a blade. "You are doing it, and you are going to be fine. Max will be by your side the moment he can, but you will make it until then. Just keep breathing and keep talking, you’re doing great."

[guiltyasdave]

delicate

pairing: modern!Oberyn Martell x f!reader

word count: ~3.9k

summary: You meet a mysterious man at a club. He's just as attracted to you as you are to him.

warnings/tags: explicit smut (-> 18+ only!), alcohol consumption, able-bodied reader, no use of y/n, very soft dom!Oberyn, protected p in v (who am I), dirty talk, fingering, anal play (m receiving), a hint of angst, romance because I can't help myself

a/n: written for @dancingtotuyo’s on repeat drabble challenge, based on the song delicate by taylor swift. this is honestly just feral, i have nothing to say for myself.

dividers as always by @saradika-graphics <3

find my full masterlist here and follow @guiltyasdavenotifs for fic updates!

Lights are flashing, colors dancing over the exposed skin of your arms and shoulders; the bass is pumping, making your whole body feel like it’s vibrating from within. You’re clinging to your friend, your arms intertwined as you navigate your way through the crowd of people to the bar.

You first see him as you’re gulping down your drink, welcoming the cool liquid in your parched throat. Your eyes are observing the crowd, flying over him and then flickering back to take a second glance. 

He’s gorgeous, his dark hair a mess, a beard framing his face, his skin shining under the lights. He’s wearing a shirt that flows around his body, threads of gold weaving through the fabric and reflecting the dancing lights. It’s almost entirely undone, giving you a generous look at the expanse of his toned chest, at the sun-kissed skin that you feel a sudden urge to run your fingers over. A massive gold chain with a lock hangs around his neck, an accessory that you’re convinced would look absolutely ridiculous on anyone else. But on him, it somehow only accentuates the strong cords of muscle that ripple under his skin in a way that makes you want to lick your lips. 

He moves with a confident ease, his body in tune with the stomping beats, his whole being exuding an almost cocky self-assuredness. You keep drinking him in, fascinated in a way that you can barely understand. You realize that you’ve been staring when your friend follows your line of sight and you hear her quiet gasp beside you. 

“Haven’t seen that one around before,” her voice floats into your ear over the music and you shake your head in silent agreement. You’d definitely remember if you did. 

You both watch him move with the body of a woman next to him, watch him bend down to whisper something into her ear, watch the way his lips curl into a smug grin as she grinds against him in reaction to his words. 

“Too late, I guess,” you laugh, downing the rest of your drink and tearing your eyes away. 

The two of you head back into the crowd, swaying your bodies to the beat. You try to get lost in the feeling of it, but your eyes keep searching for him, hungrily grasping at the glimpses of him that you can spot. Eventually, you watch the retreating backs of both of him and the woman head toward the exit, their bodies closely intertwined. Like you said, you try to shrug it off, too late. It’s not a big deal, there’s more than enough other guys around you. 

But you don’t go home with any of those guys, none of them able to catch your interest the way he did, and when you lie in bed in the early morning hours, your head pleasantly buzzing with the remaining alcohol in your bloodstream, you still see him behind your eyelids. 

A few weeks go by and while you hope to catch him every time that you’re out, there’s no trace of him. It isn’t until your friend’s birthday celebration, a tradition that the two of you have kept up for years, that you see him again. 

Again, you’re leaning against the bar, your eyes aimlessly drifting over the dancefloor while you’re sipping on your drink, when you spot him. He’s wearing another colorful shirt, his chest almost entirely on display, and he’s shamelessly grinding against another young man as they’re both moving to the beat. You can’t tear your eyes away, apparently staring so intently that he catches you and throws you a wink across the room. 

You feel heat rising in your cheeks and almost turn away, but he’s already on his way, moving towards you with a cat-like grace, effortlessly weaving through the crowd of moving bodies. 

“Hey,” he says, leaning into you so close that his breath fans hot against your ear, causing goosebumps to rise on your neck. “Saw something you like?” 

You grin at him over the rim of your glass, biting your lip and nodding. He mirrors your grin, an almost predatory glint in his eyes. He’s even more gorgeous up close, a light sheen of sweat on his face and his eyes a smoldering brown, his dark hair a mess with strands sticking to his forehead. You take in his toned chest, his broad shoulders and you desperately want to touch your hands to his golden skin. A foreign accent is lacing his words in the most delicious way, only adding to the pull that you feel towards him. 

“Let me buy you another drink,” he purrs and you accept, thanking him and offering him your name. You relish in the way you have to lean into him so that he can hear you, greedily soaking in his scent and his body heat that make your mouth water. 

His name is Oberyn, you learn, a name that sounds foreign on your tongue and you could swear that a quiet growl rises up his throat when you repeat it back to him. 

You’d love to spend your evening dancing with him, pressing your body against his, find out if moving with him feels as good as it looks from the outside. But it’s your friend’s birthday, and you’re gonna stick together, dance the night away with each other and no one else, the way you do every year. 

He shrugs it off when you tell him as much, an unbothered grin on his face as he promises you another time then. His hand wraps around your wrist, the warmth of it sinking into your skin as he pulls your arm out towards him, a black marker suddenly in his other hand. 

“What are you–” you begin to ask, but your voice dies at the sight of him pulling the cap off with his teeth, something that really shouldn’t affect you this much. 

He bends over your arm and it takes your hazy mind a moment to register that he’s writing numbers onto your skin. You’re getting lost in the feeling of his hand on you, even in such an innocent place, and your thoughts are already jumping to fantasies of how it would feel trailing up your arm and over your body. 

“There,” his voice floats into your ear and you almost jump. The smug look on his face leaves no doubt that he knows exactly what kind of effect he has on you. He leans in close again, so close that you can feel his breath on your skin. Your mouth feels dry. 

You look down at your arm, now adorned with digits in black ink. A phone number. 

“Give me a call,” he smirks, and leans in even closer, until his lips move against the shell of your ear and a shudder runs down your back at the sensation. “Just think of the fun things we could do.” He throws you another wink and slides away from you, back into the crowd. 

You text him the next day, worried if it’s too soon, if it makes you seem desperate. Then again, you have to admit to yourself, you are desperate. Desperate to hear his voice again, desperate to feel his hands on you again. Texting him is less awkward than you had hoped, his demeanor putting you at ease almost immediately. You catch yourself smiling at the screen, already down bad for this man. 

You’re in bed, struggling to calm down enough to sleep when your phone’s screen lights up the darkness of your bedroom from where it’s lying on your nightstand. 

He’s asking you to meet him in a dive bar, right now, if you want to. You’re reluctant at first, once again worried to appear too eager, but the almost magnetic pull that you feel towards him eventually leads you out of your apartment and to the address he sent you. 

He’s waiting for you in the back, just like he told you. Wearing dark jeans and a white t-shirt, the fabric stretching around his broad chest in a way that makes it hard not to stare, dressed much more casually than you’ve come to know from him. It doesn’t take away from his persona one bit, he’s still exuding that energy that seems to let him command every room he’s in, that makes it so hard for you to resist him. 

He buys you a drink and pulls you into a corner booth with him. Talking to him is easy, he’s an attentive listener and his quick remarks make you laugh, leaning into him when you do. You learn that he’s not from around here, that he flew in to visit friends but that he’s thinking about moving here permanently. It almost scares you, how giddy that prospect makes you, the idea of having the chance to keep seeing him. His arm finds its way around your shoulders eventually, his fingers drawing shapes over your skin. The innocent contact makes you feel like a teenager, suddenly sixteen again. 

He walks you home later, his arm still wrapped around you, pulling you into his side. It feels good, a sense of safety and intimacy that you feel yourself getting lost in. You had thought that he was hot, that he would be a fun hookup, but as the minutes tick on, you realize how much you already like him. How much you want this feeling to last. 

It feels so natural, turning around to face him when you reach your building, both of you leaning in simultaneously until your lips meet, like it’s the only possible way for this evening to end. You think that it is. 

Kissing him feels even better than you had envisioned in your mind, and you melt against him, one hand braced against his chest while the other comes up to pull at the hair in the nape of his neck, needing him closer, not ready to let him go. He’s cupping your face in both hands, his thumbs caressing your cheeks, and you feel him smile against your lips. You lick into his mouth, revel in the groan that rumbles deep in his chest. 

You don’t let go of him, holding onto his hand when you pull him up the stairs, soak in the feeling of him pressed against your body when you unlock your apartment door, let him connect his lips with yours again when he walks you backwards down your hallway.

Everything about him feels so right, so safe and yet like the most exciting experience you’ve ever had. You breathe him in, ecstatic with the sensation of his broad form against you, with the way you feel his muscles move under your fingers where you’re grabbing at his shoulders.

He lets you lead him into your bedroom, his hands still all over you. You push him down to sit on the edge of your bed and he follows your lead, sinking down on the mattress with an easy grin on his face, regarding you with hooded eyes. He wraps his hands around your waist as you’re standing in front of him and he pulls you closer. His fingers find their way below the hem of your skirt, dancing over the supple skin of your thighs, slowly inching up higher. 

You whine, already squirming under his touch, and his grin widens. 

“So soft,” he coos up at you, tightening his grip on your thighs and moving you to straddle him, your legs already spread wide to accommodate the thickness of his thighs beneath you. One hand comes up to cradle your face again, his thumb nudging at your lips and you flick your tongue against the digit, making him chuckle. 

“And so pretty,” he continues, leaning in to connect your lips once more. You want to melt into him, let him consume every fiber of your being. 

Your hands tug at his t-shirt, pulling it up, desperate to satisfy the need to be closer to him, to feel his bare skin against yours. He helps you, lifting the fabric over his head. You’ve seen most of his chest before, but not like this, not revealed just for you, in the dim light of your bedroom, yours to look at, yours to touch. He somehow seems even broader without clothes on and you’re almost transfixed by the thick cords of muscle of his arms and shoulders that are on display for you now. 

He chuckles again, placing another kiss at the corner of your lips. 

“You alright, princess?” 

“Yeah,” you murmur, feeling breathless, overwhelmed with how much you want him. 

His hands splay over your thighs, fingertips dipping beneath your skirt again, slowly, teasingly skating higher. 

“Take this off for me.” It’s phrased like an order, but it’s still so soft, not leaving a doubt in your mind that you could say no if you wanted to. But you don’t. You want him to see you, want to feel his eyes on you, want to have this hungry look that’s trained on your face burning all over your body. 

He groans when you obey, a deep, rumbling sound that goes straight to your core and you know that he feels your thighs clenching on top of his. His mouth is on your bare skin within seconds, kissing and sucking, his tongue moving against you like he’s going to devour you. 

You arch against him with a whine when he circles your nipple, first with his fingers and then with his tongue before sucking the sensitive bud between his lips. It’s all encompassing, the wetness of his mouth, the strong grip of his hands, the heat of his chest seeping into your skin where you’re pressing yourself against him. 

“Please, Oberyn,” you whimper, not even sure what you’re asking for, just knowing that you need more. His responding moan sends vibrations from his mouth straight through you, before his fingers dig into your waist and he flips you over, until your back is resting on your sheets and he’s hovering over you, your thighs still spread wide around him. 

The image alone is enough to send another wave of arousal through you, the way he looks just as wrecked as you feel. His large hands spread your thighs wider as he leans back, his eyes trained on your panties, where you know the fabric must be soaked already. 

“So pretty,” he mumbles again, more to himself than to you. His eyes fly back up to meet yours, almost black, his pupils blown wide. “Can I take these off?” He dips a finger under the lace covering your hip, pulling it away and letting it snap against your skin. 

“Please.” You don’t care how desperate you sound, not when he looks up at you with the most sinful smirk on his face. His hands grasp the fabric and you lift your hips to help him pull it down, but his smirk widens as he tears the lace in half, ripping the shreds off of your body. 

“Fuck,” you whine, not a single thought wasted on the fact that those were some of your favorite panties, every part of you focused on how badly you want his hands all over you. 

His eyes stay focused on your expression, eagerly drinking in your every reaction as his fingers dip between your legs, so close to where you so desperately need him. He groans when he feels the wetness seeping from your folds, swirling his digits through it before reaching your clit. He’s ghosting over the sensitive nub with barely any pressure, but it’s enough to elicit a moan from you, your hips canting up to follow his touch. You’re distantly aware of the pleas that are falling from your lips, giving way to a loud whine when he finally sinks two thick fingers into your heat. 

He thrusts into you, curling them just right, and his name tumbles out of your mouth again, laced with pure need. You watch in fascination when he sucks his slick-coated fingers into his mouth, eyes still trained on your face, a rumble forming in his chest at the taste. 

“Tastes so sweet, princess.”

Your thighs fall open wider, shamelessly offering yourself to him, to his eyes, his hands. You reach out, grabbing at his waist, the need to feel all of him nearly overwhelming. His fingers intertwine with yours, pulling your hands away from his body. He lifts them up to his mouth and presses soft kisses against your knuckles, a whisper of patience on his lips before he lets go of you and rises up to rid himself of his jeans. 

Your eyes widen at the sight of him, a needy sigh escaping you when you think about feeling him inside you, about the way he’s gonna stretch your walls. You sit up, eagerly reaching for him again. Your fingers wrap around his cock, mesmerized by his girth, and he hisses when you move your hand over his length. 

You hear the crinkle of plastic and then his hand is on yours, gently tugging it away, much too soon for your liking. You watch as he puts the condom on with practiced ease, the sight of his own hands on his cock enough to send another wave of arousal through you. 

He’s back on you before you know it, sliding in between your spread legs, his large hands splayed over your upper thighs, pushing them further apart. His eyes are trained on your weeping pussy, a hungry darkness in them. You whine when he rubs his cock through your wetness before tapping against your clit.

“You want this?” he asks, his voice husky. 

“Please, Oberyn.” Your desperate plea breaks off into a filthy moan when he sheathes himself inside of you, breaching your tight walls with the most delicious sting, and you feel your eyes rolling back into your head. 

Pleasure grows inside of you as he starts to move, slamming into your pussy in a forceful rhythm. You feel so full of him, the sensation almost overwhelming as he hits the perfect spot over and over. The wave inside of you crests so suddenly that you barely realize what’s happening, the need that you’ve felt brewing all evening finally reaching its peak. 

You gasp his name, nails pressing into his shoulders as he fucks you through it, until you’re a trembling mess beneath him. He slows, moving in and out of you with shallow thrusts, his lips on yours once more. 

You stay like that for a moment, arms wrapped around him, holding him close while you bask in the bliss that you’ve just experienced. But his continuous movements have the hunger for more growing inside of you once more. You meet his thrusts with your hips, needy to feel him deeper again. He props himself up, and it’s sinful how good he looks, his face glowing, a sheen of sweat on his skin. 

You suck one of your fingers into your mouth, eyes wide and holding his gaze, feigning innocence. He watches you, a curious glint in his eyes, as you trail your hands from his shoulders down his back until you reach his ass and pull him further into you, fingernails digging into his flesh. 

You let your saliva-covered finger reach further, gently massaging the puckered ring of muscle and he gasps, thrusting into you with so much force that it jostles your whole body and you cry out, the sensation of him so deep inside you a heady mix of pleasure and pain. 

“Fuck,” he grits between his teeth as you keep up your ministrations, delighted to have this effect on him. “Fuck, princess, just like that…” 

You bite your lip, grinning up at him. “Do the girls back home touch you like I do?” 

He breathes out a laugh and shakes his head, his movements never faltering as he gathers your wrists in his hands and pins them down on the mattress beside your head. 

“No. And you’re gonna make me come if you keep this up, but I’m not finished with you yet,” he purrs, leaning down and sucking bruising kisses into the soft skin of your throat, the scratch of his beard only adding to the sensation. You free one of your hands from his grip to tug at his hair, your fingers burrowing in the soft strands at his neck and scratching against his scalp. 

“You can give me one more, can’t you?” His voice in your ear makes you shiver and you nod, a breathless please on your lips. 

“Good girl.” His kiss is soft against your cheek before he pulls away, his thrusts speeding up, as he grabs your hips, holding them up, giving you no choice but to take him. “Touch yourself,” he demands, the tendons in his neck straining with exertion. 

Your fingers are on your clit within moments, rubbing against it, slick with your arousal. The coil inside you tightens again, desperate for release once more. 

“Give it to me princess, come on.” His voice sounds wrecked, and it’s the thing that makes you leap over the edge a second time, stars exploding behind your eyelids as you pulse around him, pure pleasure soaring through you. 

He comes to a stuttering halt, hips pressed flush against yours, and his groans are almost enough to make you want to come again. He falls forward, forehead pressed against yours, and you share a lazy smile. 

You think that he really is the most beautiful person that you’ve ever met.

You fell asleep curled against him, your head resting on his chest and soaking up his warmth, with his arm around your shoulder, but when you blink awake to soft morning light falling through your curtains, you are alone. You roll onto your back, staring up at the ceiling. You’ve seen him at the club, he’s probably in a different bed almost every night, you shouldn’t be surprised that he snuck out of yours in the morning. And you sure as hell shouldn’t be disappointed. 

You get up with a sigh, pulling a t-shirt over your head and padding down the hall to the kitchen. You come to an abrupt halt in the doorway, met with a sight that you hadn’t expected. He’s standing in front of your open fridge, the expanse of his back bare and turned towards you. There’s a swoop of excitement in your stomach.

You exhale loudly and he turns towards you, an easy smile on his lips. “Good morning.” His voice sounds raspier, still thick with sleep. 

“Hey,” you say, returning his smile. He closes the distance between you and cups your face, the sensation of his thumb against your cheek already a familiar one. His lips find yours and you get lost in the feeling of it, in the fantasy of this being your every morning, in pretending that he’s yours. 

When he pulls away, the words are out of your mouth before your mind is able to catch up.

“I think I really like you.” 

You want to bite your tongue immediately, to take them back. Too early, the voice in your head screams. Your eyes widen as you search for something else to say, but he doesn’t waver, still regarding you with that relaxed smile on his handsome face.

“Is– is it okay that I said that?” 

He hums, his large hand still on your cheek. 

“I think I really like you too.”

as always, if you enjoyed this, please consider putting a smile on my face by reblogging, commenting or sending in an ask <3 thank you for reading!

[driedposies]

It's been a long, long time

Summary: A Second World War grips the world, and your lover, Azriel, is sent off as one of many pilots to win against the Germans.

Warnings: WW2 (violence and talks of war), ANGST, bodily injuries, open ending

Song inspiration: "It's been a long, long time" by Harry James & vocals by Kitty Kallen (& "Cardigan" by Taylor Swift)

Word count: 2.5k

The bar stunk thick of tobacco and whiskey, an old mixture of wood and the tang of sweat permeating the warm air. Jazz music crackled from the music box in the corner, the smooth, calming sound of the saxophone weaving through the few that remained at this late hour, creating a bittersweet harmony. 

Soldiers stood in pairs or warily alone by the bar as the last rounds of liquor were poured, glasses clinking with cheers and promises of a win against the Germans. A few were on the dance floor, men holding their missus for as long as they allowed. 

Azriel didn’t seem like he wished to let you go, not in this lifetime. The moment the two men he met at mandatory training left with their women, he pulled you onto the floor. You had to swallow a sob at the silent declaration—Azriel never danced, but he would for you, one last time. 

Although, what you were currently doing could hardly be considered dancing. You swayed to the beat with your cheek to his finely pressed uniform and his nose against your pinned curls. 

The world seemed to fall away in Azriel’s arms for just a moment. No war was taking him from you on the next morning train. All that was left was the music and him. The saxophone crooned into a soulful solo, the music swelling, rising to meet the heartache in the room. There wasn’t much time left. But for now, you both danced. For now, you held onto the hope that tomorrow was a mere fleeting nightmare. 

“When I return home, there is something I wish to ask you,” Azriel murmurs into your hair, running a palm down the length of your spine until it reaches the small of your back. 

When I return home. ‘When’ was such a hopeful word. 

You lift your head to meet a hazel stare, seeing nothing but adoration in his sharp features. “Will you agonise me with further mysteries?” You ask, not meaning to sound upset. 

Azriel releases a small breath as he cranes his neck to rest his forehead on yours. You raise a hand to cup his clean-shaven cheek. 

“I wish to promise you all of me—for as long as I breathe,” Azriel whispers, cupping his hand over yours to run a finger over your bare ring finger. 

Something in you moves, and it takes everything in you not to shatter. “If you come home to me,” you murmur your promise in return, and Azriel smiles. “I’ll be on my porch waiting for you, like I always am.”

Azriel releases a long breath, tucking your head back underneath his chin. “Don’t wait forever,” he whispers, so utterly devastating, because no matter how selfish he was, he couldn’t ask you to promise yourself to a grave. 

You said your farewells hours later at the small train station. The stand was loud with a cacophony of people sending their men off to fight a war that wasn’t theirs; emotions running high as wives kissed husbands from open windows and mothers cried into handkerchiefs that belonged to their sons. Everywhere, faces were etched in sorrow and hope, all drawn together by one inescapable fate. 

You stood at the edge of the crowd, holding the black and white portrait photograph you saved up for just for this very moment. Azriel stood tall in his uniform, shoulders squared and jaw tight, warm hazel eyes saying he was already missing you. 

Azriel’s fingers brushed yours, gently coaxing the photograph from your grasp before tucking it into the inside pocket that rested above his heart. You step closer to him, hoping to bridge the distance growing between you. Azriel ghosts a thumb over your cheek. 

“I’ll come home to you,” he promises, again, strained with the unknown. 

Your breath hitches as reality settles, and you try to smile, a fragile thing that breaks as quickly as it forms. You nod, knowing Azriel needed all the strength you could give him—a lifeline he could hold onto when he’s up in the skies piloting aircrafts into battle. 

Before you could respond, the train whistled its final call, and Azriel was hauling you into a messy kiss. You hold him just as tight, gripping his coat as you hold in unshed tears. 

Azriel pulls away without another word, stepping into his assigned carriage, the doors closing behind him. You stand there, watching him through the glass as the train starts to move.

Your eyes never leave the train, even after Azriel disappears and all he was is a distant plume of smoke. The station was almost empty now, but the silence weighed heavier. A thousand goodbyes still lingered in the air, but for you, that silence will be what haunts you for the coming months. 

Time was a fickle thing. Occasionally, between the haze of a dream and reality, you could almost imagine you were still living in the time before the war. A Saturday afternoon after a day's work at the small corner store favoured by the school kids down the block. 

Azriel would stroll in 10 minutes before the end of your shift, manning the tray of 50 cent chocolate bars at the checkout station because he’d never crack his sweet tooth. He’d pester and distract you, reminding you of when he’d trek across town to buy a sweet treat because he wanted to see you but was still too shy to ask you out to dance.

Saturdays on Azriel’s deployment seemed to drag on longer, days only brighter when a mailman came with a letter in your lover's handwriting. The last one came two weeks ago—two pages written front and back. Azriel was never one to wane poetics, but somewhere deep in the English Channel, something changed in him. 

In the late hours of the night, you’d flick a lighter to life, reading through the small stack you’ve created. 

My dearest, it would start, and you’d imagine his rough drawl. 

I hope this reaches you. Some of the men have been saying mail sometimes gets lost or unaccounted for in these parts. But if this does find you, I can only dream of your face as you hold this letter in your hands, hoping that my words lessen the true distance that has been cleaved between us. It’s been far too long—a lifetime it's starting to feel—since I held you. I’m ashamed to admit the ink of your photograph is already starting to fade with how much I reach for it.

I’ve flown seven aerial missions at the time I’m writing this, and thirty tours are starting to feel more daunting each day.

I don’t wish to impose the things I’ve seen onto you, as they are my burden to bear. But I will say the skies are just as beautiful as they are on the ground. It’s clear above the rolling stretches of cloud, the sun lasting longer up in the air. It’s beautiful in those peaceful moments before battle. It makes me think of you. 

Everything makes me think of you, really. My heart grows fonder at the thought of when I can finally come home to you. Yet, unfortunately, I believe it’s also started to grow selfish with want.

I know I said I’d ask you properly when I came home to you, and that still stands, yet I can’t shake not telling what I wish for outright. The lads still call me daft for not asking. 

So, will you marry this poor soul?

You don’t have to answer in your next letter; this is me merely releasing the weight on my heart. I miss you more than any words could conjure to explain, but hold onto the promise that soon—soon, my love—I will return to you. You are my reason to remain strong.

My only hope is that you feel the same, that when you close your eyes you think of me—always and forever. 

And his, you were. 

I will marry you, Azriel. You’d send that letter off an hour after you received his. 

When chocolate bars became a rationed luxury alongside butter and sugar, you had to pick up another job at the new factory. You never imagined yourself working alongside mechanics to build aircrafts—Azriel would’ve had a right laugh.

For every plane your crew of ladies helped complete, they’d take photos of you all on the wings, a good luck charm for the soldiers that would later fly it.

Your new colleagues would drag you out to pubs on nights you’d permit, and they’d try to shack up with the men that remained home. A few tried their luck with you, but you’d claim you were taken even without a ring as evidence. 

You’d have to tell Azriel about all the men trying to take you dancing. Perhaps, selfishly, you imagined his jealousy would bring him home faster—take you to that courthouse and make it all official. Or maybe make him respond to your letter faster. It had already been close to a month. 

It had been two months since Azriel’s last letter. 

Each time the mailman came down your street, you’d anxiously wait for him by your family’s box, and each time the old man reached you, his expression mellowed into a knowing pity. 

You could no longer stomach reading the newspaper or listen to the latest information on the radio. Anxiety rattled your system, ripping any small enjoyments you had left to take your mind off of the war. You were left to the mercy of your unforgiving imagination—mind conjuring the worst of tales. 

Until the tale became a reality. 

It was a Thursday afternoon; you were helping your mother hang laundry in the backyard, stealing the benefits of clear weather. Summer was finally arriving, and the cicadas sang with a loud force, much to your house cat's frantic bemusement. 

Your father called your name from the open kitchen window, saying there was a soldier at the door looking for you. 

You hardly waited a moment as your heart lept into your throat, racing back into the house to the front door. Ripping open the piece of wood separating you and—it wasn’t Azriel.

Who stood at your front porch was a soldier you didn’t recognise. The man was tall, shoulders broad yet stiff, expression pallid and gaunt. His eyes were heavy with a burden he didn’t want to relay. 

“Good afternoon, ma’am,” the officer began, voice a little hoarse. “Does this house belong to Major Azriel’s fiancee?”

You swallow thickly, dropping your hand away from the door to step out. “It is—I am, his fiancee,” you stumble over your words, a chill shooting through you. “Is—is everything alright, sir?” You falter, hardly noticing your mother stepping to stand beside you. 

The officer removes his beret, holding it over his heart. “Ma’am,” he begins, his words heavy with emotion. “I wish to extend my condolences. The Major was involved in a raid that resulted in many casualties two weekends ago,” he pauses, his jaw tightening. “He was lost to the wreckage.”

The world around you begins to burn—the silence so wholly suffocating, the air too thick to breathe in. You stumble back into your mother’s arms, the tears blurring your vision. 

You could see the officer apologising once again, knowing your mother was thanking him for his time. You couldn’t recall the moments between being on the porch and being moved to the living room. 

Life was a fickle thing. It was always assumed you’d have it again tomorrow—you assumed you’d have Azriel forever. 

You quit your job at the factory, unable to bear the looks from colleagues and the sight of aircrafts that will be used by soldiers like Azriel. You sometimes blame yourself, no matter how foolish it was to blame yourself through the grief—but you couldn’t help but wonder. Did you help build a faulty aircraft, the cause of his death?

You remained working at the corner store, not just because your family needed the money. It was the little daydreams you began to fixate on when the sun began to set in the late afternoon 10 minutes before your shift ended. 

He would stroll in with those unbuttoned shirts that were tucked into loose trousers and a grin that could rival the moon and stars. He’d tell you about how his friend’s cousin was singing at the bar tonight as he leant over the tray of chocolates, tell you that he’ll get you a front row seat if you joined him. 

A very convincing proposition, you’d respond, brightening when he would flash you another smile—this time with rosy cheeks.

Azriel would pick up a chocolate bar and slide you a 50 cent piece. I aim to be, he’d drawl back, so, is that a yes?

You’d return his abashed grin. To keep my favourite customer coming by? I would. 

On the later nights when your traitorous mind kept you from sleep, you wondered if Azriel read your final letter to him. 

Did he die knowing you shared his wish of forever? Or was he left to wonder how much you truly returned his sentiments? You told yourself that he knew, that he was comforted with the final thought that your forever would just have to be another life, somewhere across the cosmos. 

You just had to hope he’d wait for you. 

When the leaves turned brown and orange, the tidal waves of grief began to lessen their attacks. You were finally able to sleep for a consecutive five hours, and just late last week, an old friend managed to convince you to go dancing again.

You worked at the corner store; you helped your mother with the laundry and your father with his home projects; life is starting to become bearable even with the gaping hole that remains. 

The kettle was boiling water on the stove for the morning tea, and your father was reading the newspaper at the dining table as your mother rationed butter on toast, when a sharp knock came to the front door. 

Your father glanced up from over the edge of his paper, the glasses on his nose sliding down the bridge. 

“Would you get that, darling?” Your mother called from the kitchen and you shared a look with your father. 

The mailman must’ve forgotten some letters.

Smoothing your hands down the fabric of your skirt, you head for the front door. Pulling it open, the greeting and joke you had prepared for the mailman fell dead on your tongue. 

Your shattered heart awakens and you falter at the ghost standing on your porch. Before you can say a word, hands gnarled by burn scars reach for you.

[saltnsugarbear]

and I can go anywhere I want (just not home)

summary: winter in DC is cold! but you have a loving girlfriend to warm you up

title from: "my tears ricochet" by Taylor Swift

word count: 0.7k

content warnings: none! soft, warm day today!

side note: starting a small collection of gifts with Emily Prentiss and my beloved Ruby! I'm so delighted to call you my friend, you're soso sweet <3 this one is for you, my beloved

divider from @/tsunami-of-tears! who did the original one that I use but I'm using her winter themed ones for today!

Living so close to the water in winter is a nightmare. Winter in D.C. can be a blessing or a curse, depending on the weather.

That's why you're so glad Emily's apartment has heating.

How she manages such a nice place on a government salary in downtown D.C. is a mystery to you. But she manages. A place to the both of you.

And Sergio...

Sergio is a blessing of his own, a miniature heater that can be carried from room to room. Despite Emily's willingness, you're incredibly conscious of heating in the house. Favoring blankets, bundling and Sergio over turning on the heater.

Georgetown prices were not something you favored.

However, Emily knew this habit of yours, setting the heating to go on when she needed. She was more willing to make the apartment comfortable instead of nesting in one spot all night. You supposed it was easier for her to rationalize as the person who paid the bills for the apartment.

But Emily also had a habit of keeping her windows open at night. Except for the obvious safety hazard it caused, the cold from the waterfront sneaking in.

Maybe she did it on purpose. So that you had no option but to cuddle up next to her. Face buried in her sleep shirt, arms wrapped tightly around your stomach under your sweater. Sergio is tucked in the notch of her legs, cozying up to both his parents.

A blessing from the cold air is it makes Emily sleep like a log. She's hard to wake after a cold night.

That makes it easier for you to sneak out of bed. Replacing your body with a pillow under her arm before slipping away.

Your rustling, however, wakes Sergio. He's a silent cat, following you out of the bedroom like a second shadow. You're both silent as you pad into the kitchen, starting up the coffee pot and grabbing the sugar from the pantry.

Emily's started this bad habit of feeding Sergio on the counter top, causing you to conform to this habit. Grabbing his food bowl from the dish rack and the container of wet food from the fridge. He's graceful in his jump onto the counter, sitting politely in his designated spot on the counter. You put his breakfast in his dish before serving it to him.

The machine is done by the time Serge is fed, coffee carafe ready for you to pour. You collect your and Emily's mugs from the cabinet, setting them down and pouring them. You know how Emily likes her coffee so you're quick to prepare both cups and stirring them thoroughly.

Sergio chirps at you when he's done and you know it's time to set out his water for him. Once he's set up again on the counter you collect your cups, walk steady back to the bedroom.

Emily is still asleep when you enter the room, setting your cups down on the nightstand on your side of the bed. The bed is cold when you climb under the covers, wriggling you way over to Emily. She stirs when you slip cold fingers against her skin.

"Y're cold.." She mutters, face half squished against her pillow. You can't help but grin as you kiss her cheek, then her shoulder, then her nose, teasing her until she glares at you for avoiding her lips.

"Good morning.." You say softly before appeasing her, kissing her gently. She's pliable in the mornings, melting into your touch, a much different version of her than the one you see after work.

"Good morning," she sighs before pushing herself up. You're quick to follow, reaching for her mug and giving it to her with a kiss on the cheek.

"It snowed last night.." You tell her, nodding your head towards her windows. You can't see it from the bed, with how high up her apartment is, but the reflection is obvious.

"And I have the day off.." Emily reminds you quietly, watching as your face lights up. "So we can stay in bed all day.."

She's teasing you, leaning in close enough that it would be easy to close the gap.

"I like the sound of that..." You whisper and she smiles.

"Me too.."

[cherry-leclerc]

so long, london ☆ ln4

genre: angst, toxic relationship traits, fluff, humor, established relationship, one-sided, smut

word count: 7.3k

You've never been read so easily by someone until he entered your world. All is good, all is true love, but realistically, that all comes crumbling down. Leaving you with a series of doubts. The kind you ignore because why not?

nsfw warning under the cut!

18+...penetrative sex, m!receiving, f!receiving

inspired by london boy, taylor swift , so long, london, taylor swift !

To be completely fair, the accent wasn’t all that familiar to you. It’s odd, then alluring, then it makes you curl a brow. Australian? British? Irish—no, that’s too far off, ridiculous, really. 

It’s the end of spring, which means it’s also the start of summer, which also means your job is in full force. Which is good if you’re still considering transferring to London to study abroad. You were, thank you very much, which is why you needed a shit load of money. 

Being a waitress isn’t all that bad; the view was breathtaking. Laguna Beach has always been and always will be. It’s impossible to take away its charm. 

The diner is small, yet crowded, so it’s hard to get through with a stack of breakfast plates atop one another. A piece of bacon slips past you as you let out a curse, mentally noting to clean it up on your way back. “An order of pancakes, french toast, two hashbrowns, bacon, four freshly squeezed orange juice—shit. I forgot, it was grapefruit, wasn’t it?”

Setting down the plates as carefully as you can with their assistance, you let out a sigh. “I’ll be right back—”

“It’s fine, mate. Orange juice is just as good.” His voice is soft and rough, all at once. 

You halt, fixing your apron, awkwardly. “No, it was my mistake, I’ll fix it—”

Mmm, delicious, his friends chime in as they take a sip from the fresh beverage. The blue eyed boy signals with his dark brows. “Told you. Don’t worry about it.”

“Cool,” you mumble. “Enjoy. Oh, and let me know if you need anything.”

They don’t, which is quite upsetting since you were slightly curious to find out if you were right. Smoking a joint, you hear a loud cough. The mysterious brunette waves. “Tough shift?”

“Of course not, I love it.”

He nods. “I’m sure you do, but I’m also sure that’s not the complete truth.” He sits. “You’re on your break, I presume, which means you're not on the clock, which means I’m no longer a customer, but rather just a stranger. A stranger whom you will most likely never see again, so…”

A puff expands through the blue sky and yellow sun. You squint. “I’m worn out. Down. Worn down? Both.”

“You’re good at hiding it.”

A chuckle. “But you were able to notice which obviously means I’m not much of an actress.”

He motions over to the cigarette. You hesitantly hand it over to him as he sucks sharply and releases. Bemused, you make a face. “I was because I go through the same thing, oftentimes. More like all the time.” Another hit. “I understand.”

“I’m not sure whether I should feel seen or scared…” Humor laces your soft voice as you quirk a brow. He laughs.

“Seen, definitely.” A beat. “I’m Lando. Foreign visitor.”

Shaking his hand, you ease up, smiling, gently. “Nice to meet you, Lando—foreign visitor.” A pause. “Resident.”

“Really, now?” He plays along, teasing. You can hear it. 

“Lucky, I know. Been here my entire life. Can’t complain.”

“I bet.”

“Yourself?”

Lando winces. “England. Bristol, specifically. Ever been?” Nope. A toothy grin. “Don’t—rains all day long, gloomy all year. It’s depressing, but…” He relaxes. “It’s home.”

Staring off into the waves, you cover your face from the strong breeze. Salt air splits your tongue in half as you wipe your mouth. “Your accent. It’s captivating. As soon as I heard it, I grew jealous.”

The Brit frowns. “Your accent is much better. Clean,” he adds and you let out a snort. Accent—what accent? He rolls his blue eyes. “That one. You might not consider it one, but it is. Very…pretty.” A rosy tint flourishes onto his cheeks. Summer heat, summer breeze, perhaps. 

Retreating the roll from his hand, you stomp on it, letting the light die. “Thank you, Lando from England. You made my day.”

-

That’s the end, really. Just a nice encounter that still doesn’t make much sense, but you’re glad it happened. Normally, after a tiring shift, you borrow Benny’s surfboard and rush towards the killer waves. The soothing water releases a lot of the built up tension that lies between your shoulder blades. 

Today isn’t much different. After getting yelled at for— “getting the fucking order wrong, bitch” —and— “my toddler just threw up, yes, oh, nevermind, had a…teensy accident” — you don’t second guess it. As soon as your skin connects to the warm temperature, you sigh in sweet relief. 

“I need to get out, I need to get out, I need to—”

“You just got here, though. Plus, the water feels nice, don’t you think?”

Startled, you sit up on your board, rocking back and forth. With what looks to be a painful tan, Lando smiles, sheepishly. “Hello…again.”

“Are…” You look around, but the ocean is practically empty. “A-are you stalking me?”

His smile drops. “W-wh—no! Of course not! I saw you from afar, and I just thought…” He grimaces. “I should go.” Except he can’t. Every chance he tries to tread away, the waves only push him back. It’s comedic. “One sec…crap. One more—shit. Okay, two, two sec—”

“Ah, forget it, stay. Land of the free, no?” Rubbing your nose, you pull his paddle closer. “What brought you out here?”

“Heard it was a good day to attempt to surf. Tell you what—it’s not.”

A giggle escapes, then lessens. You furrow your brows. “Hold on a minute; are you teaching yourself? As in, no instructor? Just you? Alone? Solo?”

“Yeah, what about it?” he grumbles. “I can do it.”

You’re wheezing at this point, stomach clenching. “That’s nearly impossible! I’m mean, sort of, sort of not.” When his eyes don’t switch from being offended to getting the joke, you quickly snap your lips shut. “Can I teach you? It’s not that hard.”

He gapes, curls grow more and more. They’re cute, the way they bounce when he shakes his head. “And if it’s so easy then why can’t I just do it myself?”

“How long have you been trying?”

He burns up. “That’s not the point.”

“No, that’s exactly my point. You need a mentor, and lucky for you, I’m a surf instructor on the weekends. Come on.”

The twenty-four year old is not sure he even wants to be here, suffering from an overdose of embarrassment. Every single attempt ends up with him splashing straight into the clear water. He groans for the millionth time, clutching into his board. “I think I’m done for the day.”

You don’t fight him on it. His bruised nose makes you feel bad, and his chipped lip makes you want to giggle, so yeah, that’s enough. He can taste the salt water as he smacks his lips, trying to get rid of it. You click your tongue. “That doesn’t really do anything. Not until you bathe and brush your teeth. Or rinse. Either or.” 

He invites you to the mansion he’s rented for him and his friends, declaring that there would be endless amounts of alcohol, but when you decline, he rubs his jaw and grimaces. “Yeah, I’m not in the mood, either. Craving tacos?”

So, that’s what you two do; converse over an amazing meal. You can already note his skin shedding, but for some reason, it’s endearing. You even spot a couple of moles. Chewing rapidly to try and forget about the spice, he pants. “London, eh?”

“England,” you correct. He deadpans you.

“That’s basically the same thing. It’s along the same lines. Just like Monaco and Paris.”

You shrug. “London—yes.”

Sniffling, he reaches for his can of Coke. Gasping left and right, he winks to the best of his ability. “You’re a smart girl…I think. And you’ll get in…I think.”

“Gee, thanks, I think.”

He laughs. “I hope you get in. I really do, Laguna Resident.” You roll your eyes. “You won’t miss all of this, though?” The warmth, the people, everything. A bittersweet feeling runs through your veins, momentarily, before you wave him off.

“Nothing is holding me back, forcing me to stay. I’ll be just fine.”

Finally, he calms down, occasionally sneezing. The way he excuses himself makes him look very polished. Lando licks his lips clean, drumming his long fingers against his lap. Later you would find out this would be his nervous tick. A teller. A good one, at most. 

“Call me? When you get there, I mean—if you want to, of course. No pressure.”

And while you may not have a reason to be a part of SoCal anymore, something else seemed to tug you to the other side of the world. “Might have to take your word for it.”

“Good.”

You grin, looking down onto your lap. Later he’d know this was your way of avoiding his stare. Butterflies, for the meantime. “Good.”

-

“No, no, no! You were supposed to—forget it, nevermind. Did you at least—” The stream flatlines and Lando is left speechless, headset drooping down, inch by inch. The way his eyes furiously twitch is enough for you to peck his cheek. 

“It’s late anyways. Come on, let's go to bed.”

There’s utter nonsense, and mumbo-jumbo that he spills as he reluctantly follows. If Max had done this, and if Max had done that. Pouting, you cradle his face, forcing him to look at you. “You’re telling me you wish you would still rather be playing than spend time with me?” You gently slap his face and he smiles, sheepishly. “I’m hurt.”

“No, no, you’re right. Of course I want to spend time with you.” When you peck his nose, he sighs. You can faintly smell the cheap beer, courtesy of said Max, so you let out a screech, creating a distance. 

“Never mind. I don’t want to spend time with you, you reek.” His smile drops and you pinch the tip of your nose. “Reek, I tell you. Go brush your teeth!”

The McLaren driver snarls, then makes his way over to your shared bathroom. “I remember when you used to be fun. Seems like a decade ago.”

“And make sure to floss!”

-

If you’re able to remember, you could openly admit that you did make that call. Actually, text. You got cold feet and sent a text last minute. You met up at the pub just around your dorm, the one that is only busy during the weekends, so is practically empty during the week. Hence, Wednesday night.

Wow. Your tan is gone, is the first thing he says when he sees you. It’s true. Being away from the California sun has completely changed you. A bit, but it did. Giggling, you accept his hug, finding warmth. London weather. “How was the move? I want to hear all about it.”

Oh, the move was as good as it could get. The airport lost two of my luggages, but it’s fine, I didn’t really need many dresses, because yes, you were right, it’s always gloomy. I miss Benny like a baby, but we always keep in touch—I’m actually going to visit him for his birthday. Which is in January? Yes…yes! January third. 

“What about you? Work?”

First of all, can’t really consider it work when it’s fucking fun. Second of all, it’s quite swell. I’ve got a new teammate, which sort of sucks, but he’s nice. The car is a bit wonky, but I’m sure that’ll change throughout the course of the year. Guess we’ll just have to wait and see. 

Conversations switched from having them on a steady stool in the pub, to having them in the comfort of his flat. Plus, you two were more open and honest with one another. 

Benny, yeah, it’s pancreatic cancer, and no, I’m not okay. 

The team is fucking shit. My arm still hurts from last week's crash, but I’ll be fine. Please, don’t you worry, love. 

Lando is an absolute angel. He pays for your tickets back home, along with Benny’s treatment. He declines the help at first, but as soon as he meets your smiley boyfriend, he accepts. I’ll pay you back. Once I’m better. Lando laughs with a muppet dive. Of course—of course, Ben.

You take care of him and his injuries. Follow doctors orders. Ice at least twice a day. Don’t forget to take your pain meds. No, for the love of God, they’re not candy, sweetheart.

It’s the best and the worst. And it’s all yours.

-

He’s very much obsessed with Mila as soon as she’s born. He congratulates his brother and his sister-in-law once, and off he goes, straight to the newborn. It makes you fall in love even more, which you didn’t know was possible, but here you were. 

“I say give it a year or two.”

“More like five. Come on, honey, be realistic.”

“I am! Can’t you tell he adores her?” Oliver scoffs. “He’s my brother. I would know.” His wife rolls her eyes, then moves on to snap a few pictures of Lando and Mila, then a thousand videos. 

“Crap. I want one,” he mentions on the drive back home. He gently rubs his thumb over your leg; you shudder. “You saw me, you were a witness, I was a good enough babysitter!”

“Babysitter? You’d be a dad, not a babysitter,” you retort, though your wobbly grin is a dead giveaway. A long finger pokes at your ribs as you laugh, scooting as far enough away as the McLaren allows you to get. “One day. Just not now.”

And he knows that’s true. He’s busy with racing, you’re busy with school; it's irresponsible. Your confirmation was sweet though—it was enough. The Brit hums, continuing the drive with a bright smile. 

“One day, then.”

-

Baby talk was a fun thing to dream about. To think, daydream. Marriage talk? Now that’s serious. 

It started on a Sunday morning; a non-race week. He’s finally back home and you're ecstatic. He was too, but that slowly goes out the window when you rush him to the room. I like where this is going, he starts when you drag him along. You bite back a smile, waiting for his noise. “What the shit?” he yelps, pulling on his curls. Spinning to face you, your boyfriend groans. “Where’s all my gaming—sweetheart,” he softened his voice, softened his eyes. “Sweetheart…”

“It’s gone! Bye-bye, adios!” You twirl around the empty room. “You don’t need it, Lando. It was rotting your brain.”

The color from his vibrant face fades, leaving him to let out a delirious laugh. “No, no, it wasn’t. Wh-why would you do that?” He doubles over. “I’m going to be sick.”

After a while of letting him drown in a puddle of self-pity, you snicker. Blue eyes look up at you; furrowed thick brows. What? “They’re in the guest room. I just needed us to paint the walls.” Releasing a scream, Lando plunges for you, picking you up and spinning you around until you flop against his arms. 

“Asshole!” you yell, smacking his arm. After a series of instructions, you both fall into a pattern. He focuses on the left side of the room and you focus on the left and the right. It just makes sense.

“Stick to your side,” he mumbles, pushing you away. You burn a laser to the back of his head. “I can feel you killing me—stop it.”

“Then quit drawing, you’re ruining it!” There’s a cat, a dog, a house, his racing car, you—you presume— and Mila for good measure, but he serves her no justice as she appears to be more of a blob. Going over it with a thick layer of paint, he curses to himself. As soon as he picks up the thin brush once again, you immediately set your foot down. “No, Lando, think before you commit.”

But he must not hear you—or ignores you—because suddenly he’s drawing something unrecognizable. You almost laugh when you guess it must be a donut, but when he draws the familiar rock, you come to a halt. “Stellar, no?”

“Hardly. Looks like more of a neck guard—next!”

But he pushes you away as soon as you reach over to cover it up. “I’m being serious. I’m mean, not now, but someday. Are you…” His voice drops, slowly, and he drums his fingers onto his thigh. Your lips turn upward. “...open to it? Getting married?”

“Well,” you start and his breath hitches, nervously tapping, awaiting for your response. Pressing your lips against his, you breathe out, and he groans. “I love you, Lando. I���m more than open to it.”

He sighs in relief, kissing you harder this time, with more emotion. “Good.” A beat. “Thank you.”

-

Slowly, but surely, you’re celebrating your three year anniversary—in Japan, a race week—but still. Yuki specifically gives you two a list of places to visit, so it makes everything a thousand percent easier. Fifth, he grunts, throwing his helmet onto the tiny bed in his motorhome. Screw it, I’m blowing my brains out.

“Hey now, quit talking like that.” A kiss. “I don’t care if you’re upset, I happen to be super duper proud.”

“It’s Super Trouper,” Oscar yells from the other side of the wall. “Don’t disrespect ABBA like that.

“Yeah,” Lando hums, pulling you in. “Don’t.”

“I’ll pull the trigger,” you warn. 

He gasps, theatrically. “You wouldn’t dare…”

“Try me.” 

“I already have—sweet.” His dirty implications makes you heat up and the Australian groans as he turns up his music. Lando snickers, changing quickly. “Happy Anniversary. It’s not everyday, you know?”

“I know,” you cheer, playing with your promise ring. You beam up at the bubbly Brit. “I just wish we were home. Celebrating in the comfort of our own place.”

He doesn’t mention it, but you considering London your home—despite not growing up there—makes him crush on you harder than ever before; it's sickening. Clapping loudly, he stands up, reaching for your hand. “Then let's go back home. What’s keeping us here?”

“Yuki,” you grunt, taking his open hand. “We’d be breaking his heart, Lan. We need to do these twenty-one things.”

“Ah, he’ll understand.” A pause. “If he doesn’t then we’ll just buy his next meal to make up for it.”

Cackling, you peck his face, over and over until he pushes you away in a jokeful manner. “This is why I love you, Lando Norris!”

And he’s content, admiring the way you pack happily. He’s never seen someone so giddy to spend fourteen hours on a plane just to curl into the comfort of their bed. He’s just never seen or met anyone like you. 

It was perfect.

-

As soon as he picks up his own digital camera, he’s in love. Part of you would be jealous, definitely, if it weren’t for him stopping to take a thousand pictures of you. One in the McLaren garage, next to his car. One where you balance yourself on a swing, eventually falling straight onto your face. One of your newly bruised nose, due to the fall. One where you’re sleeping, drooling like a—

“Delete that, I don’t even want to see it!”

Shaking his head full of curls, he runs away. “No! I happen to love it!”

“Lando!”

“You look adorable.”

“Fuck you, I’m leaving. Spend the night alone, loser.”

You don’t end up keeping your word. You get your revenge, eventually, when you pie him in his sleep. He nearly chokes, but it’s all in good fun, according to you. 

But neither of you would have it any other way. You just happen to be his muse. 

-

His greediness starts to show overnight, nearly. It catches you off guard, leaving you like a lost dog. The worst part is that it’s not directed directly at you, per se, but it felt like it. Most of the time, you’d deal with this by talking to him until he calms down, by making him a cup chamomile tea, because—

“It doesn’t help!” He paces the small room, throwing his gloves harshly against the wall. 

“Studies prove—”

“Studies my ass.” An angry huff. “I just need to be alone. For a while.”

And it also catches you off guard how you don’t fight him back on it. Instead, you’re glad, fleeing out the door, straight to God knows where. Strolling, you twist and turn the thin band. 

Where are you going?

“You said you wanted to be…” Except it’s not Lando. George quirks a dark brow. You gulp, forcing a smile. “I’m sorry. I thought you were…” A painful pause. “I thought you were Lando.”

“Must be the accent.” He laughs. “Don’t worry about it. Carmen actually made me chase you down. Said she wants your opinion with something about the wedding. You know her—perfectionist.”

“Oh. Yes. Of course.” Throwing your hair over your shoulder, you beam brighter this time, though it doesn’t quite meet your eyes. “I have plenty of time.”

He’s rude when he finds you. Well, not really, but even your friends notice it. I’m telling him to wear a simple black and white suit. A bow or a tie, he can decide, but he’s insisting on wearing white and I’m like hello? You giggle, orbs moving to find George with a playful glare. 

“Why can you be the only one wearing white? It’s this some kind of rule or?”

“No, but it’s weird!” Carmen turns to face you, desperate eyes begging for backup. “Come on! Tell him it’s weird.”

Plump lips flicker upward. “I don’t know, George, it is a b—”

“Awful. You’re going to steal all the attention away from Caren and you’re going to look horrible. Just go with a traditional suit.”

The Mercedes driver doesn’t pay any attention to what was just said to him, but you and Carmen do, and that’s probably worse. You can tell she’s bothered by your boyfriend's unwanted opinion and for him going after her fiancé, so you briskly stand up. “Sweetheart, are you, um…ready to go?”

The Brit nods, fixing his bag that lays over his shoulder. “That’s why I’m here, no? Could have let me know you were leaving, too.” There’s tension in his voice; annoyance. “Also, I forgot your bag. I’ll wait for you here.”

His implication makes you queasy. You blink hastily. “Of course.” Turning to the older couple, you smile politely. “Um…text me, yeah? Let me know what you two decide on.”

Once you rush off, Carmen narrows her usually kind eyes, hard. George is quick, placing a steady hand onto her lap, and clears his throat. “You know, just because you didn’t place a podium for once doesn’t mean you get to act like a jerk. Seriously.”

Lando chooses to ignore his comment, bidding goodbye, and strolls over to find you, flustered. “Now I’m ready,” you confirm with a weak smile. The Brit laces his fingers through yours and brings it up to his mouth, pressing a warm kiss. 

“You know I love you, right?”

“I do. I do know.”

-

He’s trying to be more gentle, you can tell. With his words, with his actions. It reminds you why you chose him. He had apologized after a quiet night, settling with what he had done. How he had treated you and his friends. George is quick to accept his apology, and you were too.

“I didn’t mean it,” he groans quietly, chest pressed against yours as you ride him. “I s-shouldn’t have—fuck.” The way you clench around him tightly makes his head spin. A whine escapes your swollen lips as you nod, fast, then slow, then staggered. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you pant, finally opening your eyes to find him already looking up at you. He squeezes your hips harder, keeping you firm. “You were upset, that’s all. I get it.”

She gets it, he remembers thinking, considering himself lucky for having a girlfriend who understands. His highs. His lows. His wins. He loses. This—this is why you were the one. 

But once again, his lack of display is what reluctantly pushes you away.

Then back in.

-

It’s been three months of him not even picking up his camera. Maybe he’s just too lazy to develop his pictures, so you do it for him. There’s really no excuse. That’s what you say with light humor when you push it towards his chest, but he only cocks his head to the side. “I never asked for you to do that.”

Your stomach churns. You lick your chapped lips. “You don’t need to. I just…did it. Thought it might help get you out of your slump.”

This pushes something in him as he narrows his brows like a set of sharp knives. “Slump?” A scoff. “What? Because I haven’t been able to get a win?”

“What?” You’re dazed. “No.” You’re confused. “No, why would you say that?” 

“I don’t know—why would you?”

“I mean it because you’ve been down, that’s it. Not because…” When his eyes don’t change, and your heart continues to pound, you flip him a smile. “You’re right. My choice of words weren’t the best. I’m sorry.”

The blue eyed boy clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth once, then sets the camera to his side. “Whatever, it’s fine, I guess.” And suddenly he’s making his way to his gaming room, leaving you with wide eyes and a bruised heart. 

“Wait!” Carefully, you pick up the small camera, extending it out towards him. “Wh-what do you want me to do? Should I pack it into your suitcase? Or maybe I could—”

“Pack it, yes, but into a box and put it in the attic.” He continues his march. “I lost interest a long time ago, either way.”

You’re not dazed. You’re not confused. 

You’re broken hearted.

-

You would think that you would have learned by now. He loves you, damn it. He’s just having a tough time proving it, but it’s fine, stuff like this happens all the time.

“Hello, darling,” Carmen greets, pulling you away from your trance. The camera  pans over to Lance, Carlos, and Lando. She gingerly takes the spot next to you. “Feeling alright? Lost a bit of weight and color.” Her concern can’t be hidden behind even the tallest mountain. 

Been working out. London is gloomy all day long. Haven’t gotten proper Vitamin D. Looking down onto your lap, you twirl your fingers. Over and under, over and under, over and un—

Her hands feel warm against yours and you can’t help but flinch, instinctively needing to pull away, but she holds on tighter. Not even your boyfriend's hands have felt as warm as hers; not in a very long time. “You can talk to me. Anytime.” Eyes remain downward, watering, so, like most nights before bed, you blink them away. Hard, fast, and cruel. 

“Have you chosen the song you want to be for your guys’ first dance?”

She remains still for a second, focuses directly into your soul and you blink faster before she has a chance to decode you. She always did. “We have. My Funny Valentine. Hear this, Daniel wants to sing it. With a band and the whole thing. Nightmare.”

And you’re glad for having her stories to distract you from your feelings, because silly is what they are. Childish. False. It’s only until the end of the race where you two realize you hadn’t been paying attention. As soon as George walks in through those doors, he jumps up and down. “Hey. Top five!”

“That’s my boy!”

You feel like a creep watching them kiss with sweet emotion you can’t help but miss and crave. Your eyes flicker over to the flat screen T.V. and you’re shooting up from your seat. “Shit! I have to go!” 

He’s in the middle of a speech of some sort when you rush in gasping for air. Sheepishly, you wave, then scoot closer to Zak who gives you a quick side hug. Everyone claps and then he’s making his way to—

Not you. 

First it’s Zak, then he squeezes by. Then it’s his entire team. Then it’s Oscar. Then it’s Carlos, which is the last straw because he’s not even supposed to be here. “Mind if I squeeze in?” you squeak. The Spaniard shakes his head.

“Be my guest. I should leave anyway.” “Are you sure?” Lando quips. “Why don’t you stay?”

Brown pity eyes dance over to where you look down, then settle with a wobbly smile. “I, um…I actually have a few emails to respond to. Stay, Carlos.” It’s pathetic and embarrassing how he’s the only one who convinces you to stick around. Not even your own boyfriend. Though his hand remains by your side, it feels all for show, which it is because as soon as a few fans take a couple of pictures of you two, he finally retreats his arm.

Once the Ferrari driver finally jogs away, Lando turns to face you. “Where were you?”

“I was watching the race.” Your heart beats faster.

“Liar. Your lips just did the thing.” A halt. “What thing?”

“There! There it is again! You didn’t watch it, did you?”

Taking his palms into your own, you kiss them, feverishly. “I was, but then Carmen came over, and we started to talk, and then one thing led to another and…” Blue eyes stare down, empty. You grimace. “I’m so sorry, Lando. You got second place and I wasn’t there to celebrate. I’m so sorry.”

And perhaps he feels he already made you suffer enough with his ignorance, or maybe he was still high off his accomplishment, but it surprises you when he leans down to peck your forehead. “Just don’t let it happen again, yeah?”

You let out a breath of relief. “Pinky swear.”

He laughs, ruffling your hair. “Ah, see, I don’t believe in pinky promises.”

“Take my word for it then.”

He winks. “Good enough.”

-

I can’t believe we haven’t had a sunny day in weeks! Flipping over to face him, you pout. Weeks! That’s bonkers.

The Brit hums against his blankets, against you. It’s officially been a year since you two have been dating and it honestly felt surreal. Especially in moments like these. The kind where he was just yours. 

I tried to warn you.

You groan, pressing your cheek against his firm chest. His heartbeat is slow and steady, indicating he’s half asleep, indicating you were too awake. Indicating you should probably go to sleep, too. 

Guess I’ll just have to learn to live with it. 

Guess so.

You know…I sort of love it.

You say so because you haven’t lived here your whole life.

I could easily, you want to confess. If it’s with you, then yes, I can. But it’s too soon and you don’t want to scare him off. Not when things were a dream. Cloudy, sunny, rainy, sunshine—I don’t care. I have a good enough reason to stay. 

He vibrates due to his chuckle and you giggle due to his chuckle. Look at you being all cute.

Not trying to be cute, just speaking my truth. 

In one motion, he flips over you, hovering. You love it? Like truly? 

I love it. I truly love it.

Make me believe it.

Are my words not enough?

He grins, eyes crinkling. I’m more of a pinky promise type of guy.

You lift your small finger and he’s fast to wrap his own around it. Pinky swear. I love you and London.

And it was true. It was true for a while.

-

It all came crashing down on you, really. It was alarming, yet you had expected it. It was lonely, but survivable. It came in phases. You first noticed the doubt a bit after your third year anniversary, but no, he loves me. I know he does. 

But you were good at pushing it all away; far, far, and further. Until you couldn't think about it anymore, even if you tried. His acts were a suck punch, though. Everytime you started to heal and stand up, he only sent a new one. A stronger one. But, hey, no—he loves me. He only says it every night.

Like last Monday night. When he fucked you in his hotel room.

Or last Thursday. When he went down on you under the table.

Or Friday. When you sucked his cock in the shower.

All right before bed.

God, I fucking love you so much. Hot cum shoots down your throat and he groans like a madman. Love you so, so much. You can’t even begin to imagine. 

So, when your friends ask and check up on you, that's what you say. Yes, he reminds me everyday. He means it. Don’t worry, we’re doing better than ever.

The second comes in like a slap to the face. He had just done what you consider a low blow, but no—he’ll make up for it. He always does.

“Bullshit.” You blink your hot tears away. Carmen never—ever—curses. She’s too classy for any of that, so it’s almost funny to hear it now. But it’s not, not really. She sighs, rubbing her temples. You and your problems were stressing her out, God, how could you be so selfish?

“Forget I said anything. I’m being a fucking crybaby—”

“No. You’re not.” It seems like she’s choosing her choice of words, delicately. “You have every right to be upset. Every. Single. Right.”

And for the first time in a while, you feel completely seen. Heard. Understood. And that was a lot, but it must have been what you needed, because suddenly, you were spilling the ugly truth. The reason why you didn’t attend the last race. Or the one before that one. 

The reason why she and George found you clutching onto your chest that night in Vegas. Forgot my keys, you giggled. You two have fun! Don’t worry about me. 

Carmen is older, wiser, and so fucking mature. You love it. But you hate it because now that you sit here with more of an open mind and less defense, you blink like a lost kid at the grocery store. “You love him.”

A whimper. “I adore him.”

“A lot?”

“Infinitely.”

“But?”

Another whimper, louder this time, more wet. “He makes me sad sometimes. Is that normal?” “It is—” And it’s the delusion that always makes you stay. You’re quick to swallow it down, eager and fast. It’s all you need to hear. Carmen shakes her head. “But not to this extent. You get sad over them forgetting your favorite drink order, or when they forget to pack your heels.” An unwanted pause. The kind that gives you the room to overthink. “Not because they locked you out. Or because they forgot your anniversary.”

And she won’t admit—not when you were already so broken—but Lando hadn’t forgotten. 

She likes wine, fuck, she’s obsessed with that sparkly shit. Wine testing! We could go wine tasting and I could do it there. He twidles with the ring box. Is that good?

George raises a playful brow before releasing a laugh. It sounds great. As long as you have a nice place to take Instagram pictures, then you’re set to go. Chicks love that. Isn’t that right, love?

But she pinches her lips, forcing a smile to the younger Brit. Lando lets out a shaky breath. It’s about to be our four year anniversary—it’ll be perfect. I’ll make sure.

So, yes, she knows he loves you. But that still doesn’t make the way he treats you right. What kind of love was that? Sobbing loudly, you push your hair back. “But you don’t get it! When he’s good…” Her eyes soften and yours grows more glassy. “...he’s so good.”

“Is it worth the pain, though?”

-

The third one is the breaking point you had been avoiding for so long. The day started out gray, either way, and not just because of the dark London weather. Dragging your feet to the end of the bed, you tremble. You got the call at four a.m. and those are never good, so why were you shocked to hear from Benny’s son?

“Oh, baby…” He pulls you atop his lap, kissing your temple. “I know how much he meant to you.”

“I still owe him a surfboard. The expensive kind, too.” He quirks a confused brow, but you continue staring off into space. “They stole the last one. The one he always lent to me. His mom had gifted it to him.”

“When did this happen?” he questions, trying to keep you talking because that sounds like a good idea. To get your mind off things. 

You hum. “Last January; his birthday weekend.”

“Birthday weekend? I don’t recall—” “You weren’t there.” He doesn’t have to remember to know that’s true. It's become a habit of his nowadays and now he’s feeling guilty. Another hum, this time sadder than the prior. “He was going to teach you how to grill steak, just the way I like it.”

His stomach churns. “And how do you like it?” A beat. “I don’t remember. Ask Benny.” Then you’re crying like a newborn.Worse, actually. But he holds you through it all. So maybe this was do-able. He was nice, after all. You could stick with him forever and you’d be grateful. After what seems like a decade, you finally calm down, though your nose keeps runny. “The funeral is later this week. Are we going?” You were, with no fucking doubt, but you just wanted him to say it. There— on the tip of his tongue. You can spot it and he could taste it.

“Sweetheart…you know I have a race.” You didn’t expect him to drop everything and venture off with you, but this cut deep. Still, you understood. Plus, the proposal was ditched the moment you got the eerie call. So, yes, everything was unbalanced, but it wasn’t your guys’ fault. It was just a twist of fate. Nothing you couldn’t handle; you’ve dealt with worse.

“Right. I can go by myself.” He feels bad—you know he does—but anything, really? “You can write a letter, maybe? Just a couple of words for his family. I know it’ll mean a lot.”

He chuckles. And you should have known at that very moment because it wasn’t one you’ve heard before. “Why would I? I barely even knew the guy.”

“Excuse me?” 

The Brit continues tracing shapes onto your thigh. “I’m just saying! It sounds a bit weird coming from someone who spoke to him once. Twice at best.”

And you’re no longer dazed, no longer confused, no longer heartbroken. 

You’re just angry.

Pushing yourself off him, you glare coldly. “Barely even knew…the guy? We Skyped with him over dinner! You paid his bills! You fucking attended his sons wedding! How could you be so…fucked.”

“Sure… He was a sweet lad, but do you really think they want to hear from me?”

“Maybe not, maybe they don’t give a flying fuck, but I do. Remind me why I loved you!”

He’s up now. His heart quickens, pierces through his skin. “Loved?”

You sigh, clutching your chest. “Love. I said love.”

A huff. “No, you definitely spoke in past tense—do you not love me anymore?”

“Lando…” “No. Just be upfront with me, I can handle it. Tell me now so I don’t waste my time any longer.”

Every uncertainty you ever had, every word of advice Carmen has given you comes crashing down. She was right. He’s keeping you around for good fun. For his benefit. “Your time? What about mine? You’re the one who’s been blocking me out these past couple months!” “That’s not true—”

“Fuck, you’re right—this past year. God Lando! Haven’t you noticed how good I am at apologizing now? My zombie appearance? You left me out in the hallway! All because of what? Because I didn’t tell you I was going out with the girls?” A sour laugh. “Wake up—it’s 2024. Since when are you a shitty masochist?”

His jaw clenched. “I was worried about you! It was fucking Vegas, what was I supposed to do? And for the love of God, this again. I. Didn’t. Hear. You. Knock.”

A peach seed forms onto your chin. Skin is flushed and tears stream down your face. But he’s fine. He’s tall and firm Hard headed. Without an ounce of regret. And you want to do it. You want to make him feel what you’ve felt.

“I got my degree…”

“Woo-fucking-hoo, we’re not talking about that right now.”

“I lived a few good years, filled with pure happiness.”

He pauses. 

“But I see it now. Past all the gray clouds, I see it.” He can feel it coming and he’s desperate for you not to say it aloud, but you shrug it, face downward. “Nothing is holding me back to stay.”

His tone washes away like the Laguna waves as he gets closer to you, cradling your face. “Yes. Yes you do. You have me…”

“Lando, quit lying—I haven’t for a while now. I was just a trophy you didn’t want. One you got bored of.”

“That’s not—” “True?” A beat. “It is. And you know what also is? I don’t love you anymore.” The light in his eyes gave out, pitch black. He feels as if he’s going into cardiac arrest and you…you look at ease. Peaceful. Free. With a soft smile, you push his hands down. “I don’t think you love me anymore, either.”

“Don’t say that,” he pleads. “Please, don’t say that. Of course I love you.” Rushing over to his nightstand, he pulls out a box you only ever dreamt of. “You want proof—here! Take it! It’s yours anyways.”

“Where was this a year ago?” Opening the velvet box, you’re left with an inaudible gasp because of course it was gorgeous. And he feels a gist of hope when you place it onto your ring finger, but he slowly pales when it doesn’t fit.

“No. No. That’s your size. I know it is.” He takes it from you, analyzing it in an accusing manner. “I swear it was, I pinky…” The heater kicks on. “I swear.”

“It’s alright. This is the right ring…just not for me.” It shouldn’t affect you to see his cheeks grow splotchy, to hear his voice tremble like a kid who just skinned his knee against the pavement. But he was once your other half, so it does. 

“I don’t want you to go…”

“I don’t either. I loved being here.”

“Then stay.” You purse your lips, then scrunch your nose. “It doesn’t love me, though. And I can’t go unwanted.”

If we start saving enough money then we could buy the house—you know—the one close enough to drive to your parents? Sweet, no?

Won’t they hear us fuck? 

Ew, gross. No. I’d tape your mouth before I let that happen. You pinch his ear. This is your home.

And SoCal is yours, so why don’t we move there?

Because I don’t want to. I want to be with you and the people you love, in the place you love. Because I love you and I love the people you love, and I love London. 

You’re quite literally perfect. I hope you know.

You make it clear everyday. 

And I won’t ever stop. Because you deserve to know.

“This place is cold, the way you said it was. This place is gloomy, the way you said it was. But this place isn’t a home to me anymore…the way I once thought it was.”

Should he have been more careful—more caring—then he wouldn’t be here. This wouldn’t be happening, but it is. And it’s no one’s fault but his.

Sniffing, you rub your swollen eyes. “I’m going to pack my things and go to Benny’s funeral.” It's a declaration. He nods, attentively. “And I’m not coming back. Is that okay?”

No. It wasn’t okay. You’re tearing him in half, you’re stabbing his heart over and over again. You’re telling the truth and putting yourself first. Something he was awful at doing. What brought you two to this very moment in time.

“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I treated you the way I did.” I love you. “But if that’s your decision, then go on. Do what you need to do.” I love you. 

“Good.” I love you. But I can’t say it aloud if not I’d stay forever. 

You smile and he smiles back.

“Good.”

taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm @weekendlusting@chanshintien @brune77e @myownwritings @timmychalametsstuff @milasexutoire@alesainz @c-losur3 @darleneslane @togazzo @urfavnoirette @namgification @lpab @d3kstar @anniee-mr @nebarious

[darknight3904]

Picture to Burn

Tommy Miller x Fem!Reader, Handsome Mystery man (in tags) x Fem!Reader

Summary: After getting ghosted by Tommy Miller, you're in the market for a new man. The perfect hunting grounds? The loud, overcrowded dive bar, of course.

Warnings: Language. Reader's age isn't stated, but is legal to drink in the U.S.

Inspired by Taylor Swift's Picture to Burn.

Word Count: 1.6k

Austin, Texas

To be blunt, you hated Tommy Miller. 

From his deep southern drawl and dark curly hair to the brown leather cowboy boots he always wore, you hated him more than anything else on this planet.

Of course, it wasn’t always like this. 

You’d met him one night at the Travis County Summer festival under the neon lights of the funnel cake stand. He’d charmed you, made you laugh about how over priced the food was and then proceeded to buy you a twelve dollar funnel cake and a coke to wash it all down. Then, he proceeded to slip his number into your back pocket of your jean shorts, giving you a wink to go with it. Three days later you were laughing over a margarita while he sipped at a beer at the local Olive Garden. 

Then came a two month whirlwind of nothing but Tommy Miller. You spent so much time with him, you barely saw your own family, always rushing to kiss your mom and dad goodbye in the living room before happily skipping out to the old red pickup your handsome boyfriend drove. 

It all seemed perfect, long country drives with the windows down and the radio turned up, Tommy’s hand resting on your thigh as you talked his ears off about anything and everything. 

Of course nothing good ever lasts forever and one day he just ghosted you. Poof! It was like he didn’t even exist at all and you’d made him up entirely. You waited longingly at the phone, staring at it like you could force it to ring. Then, you’d lay in bed, wrapped up in your misery as you shoved down another bite of your favortie ice cream. Eventually, your mom get fed up with her child moping around the house like the slugs that lived in the garden out back and sent you out for a girls night with friends. 

“He’s a boring old redneck heartbreaker! There’s plenty of fish in the sea!” 

“Remember how you hated when he wouldn’t let you drive his truck? That thing is like 20 years old and he wouldn’t even let you sit in the drivers seat!”

You sniff and nod, disgesting your friends words as you lean against the bar top. You did hate that stupid old pickup truck Tommy drove around, swearing that you couldn’t drive it for fear of you wrecking it.

“We should totally burn those pictures you have on your wall of him! Bet your dad would even light a campfire for us if we told him, he hates Tommy.”

Your friend was right, your dad did hate Tommy for dissapearing from your life. In fact, you were sure that if Tommy showed up on your front porch, your dad would be chasing him off the property, shotgun in hand. 

“Enough moping around! You need a rebound. Which is why, I took some liberties and got in contact with the hottest guy ever and invited him here.” 

Your friend motions to the crowded bar around the three of you, her hand patting your back with a wide smile. 

“But, aren’t you a lesbian?” Your other friend blurts out, the drinks making her bolder and chatty.

“Pssh” She waves her off, “Trust me, this guy is hot. Hot enough that even I can tell he’s every straight girl’s dream...and probably every gay man's. Anyway, I met him after I rear-ended his car out on I-53.” 

You roll your eyes and groan, “You invited a man whose car you hit to a bar to what? Charm my pants off?” 

“If a one-night stand is what you want, I’m sure he’d be down for that. He looked like he definitely fuc—” 

You cut her off with a gasp, eyes fixed on the other patrons of the bar. Just a few feet away, Tommy Miller was leaning across the bar, ordering a drink with that boyish grin of his. They follow your wide gaze, instantly recongizing you from the little polaroids you kept pinned up on the cork board in your room

“You got to fucking kidding me.” 

“I’ll kill him, hold my purse.” 

You grab both of your friends by the arm before they can jump a man that probably has a good 60 pounds on both of them, “Stay. Put.” 

The three of you watch closely as Tommy is handed his order, two drinks in his hand as he spins around to hand one of them to a girl, one with pretty brown hair, all dolled up in a nice face of makeup and a cute outfit. Just a few weeks ago that had been you. A pit opens up in your stomach not because you’re jealous of the girl, it’s not her fault the fucker who was smiling at her was a piece of shit. Oh you were so going to rip him apart before this night was over. 

“Oh my god! He’s here!” Your friend gasps, smacking your arm a bit too hard as the lumbering figure of a guy, or well, man, walks in. 

She waves and he nods, weaving around the other patrons as she slowly makes his way towards you. 

“You didn’t tell me you invited a fucking mountain man to this!” You groan 

The mystery man was as handsome as your friend said. A nice green flannel that was rolled up to his sleeves and dark blue jeans to match. A beard adorned his face and his hair was a perfect mess of curls and what looked like a hint of greys. He was certainly older than you but fuck, he was really hot. 

“Oh please, don’t act like you’re not into him.” 

Just as the stranger reaches you your friends conveniently disappear into the bar, abandoning you on your stool. Christ you hopped they weren’t going to run off and kill Tommy. That was your job afterall. 

“So you’re the heartbroken girl m’ supposed to cheer up tonight.” The flannel clad stranger says smoothly as he slides onto the stool beside you. 

“Guilty.” You hum, sipping at your long island ice tea, “Sorry about my friend, she said you rear-ended you.” 

He waves you off, “My truck didn’t even have a scratch, that little car of hers though…dunno what she called it but it’s probably totaled.” 

“The car’s name is Barry.” You laugh, “Barry the Beetle. That car was an actual shitshow on wheels, your truck did it a favor.” 

“Yeah Barry is out the pasture.” The guy jokes a nice smile adorning his face

You’re about to ask him his name but the bartender interrupts and your mystery man orders a rum and coke. 

“How’s the long island?” He asks 

“Not bad, kinda watered down now.” You say honestly, staring at the condensation thats slipped down the glass and onto the bar top. 

“Let be buy you a new one then. Pretty girl like you deserves a fresh drink.” 

Before you can stop him, he’s ordering you your drink, and the bartender is placing it in front of you, a pretty red straw sticking out of the top. 

“So, tell me about this guy that broke your heart. Must be a fuckin’ idiot leaving a sweet thing like you.” He hums, sipping his drink 

Before you can help yourself you’re spilling everything about Tommy. Telling this stranger about how perfect everything had been before you’d been ghosted, not a word in the wind since. 

A low whistle escapes the man next to you, “Whatta piece o’ shit. What was his name again? Y’said it at the beginning but I didn’t catch it.” 

“His name is Tommy.” You huff in annoyance at just the thought of him. 

The man nods, “Young guy I presume.” 

You nod sadly sipping at the fresh drink. He was right a fresh one was better than your half water one. 

“Figured. Younger guys, they don’t know how t’ treat girls like you. Bet your daddy is real pissed with this guy.” 

“You have no idea.” You laugh, “I’m pretty sure he’ll shoot him down if he ever sees him again.” 

“Wouldn’t blame him. I’d do the same if I had a daughter.” 

You flirt the night away with this man, Your friend was right, another guy was just what you needed to get Tommy out of your system. And this guy? Or well man, was something else. He practically exuded the term southern charm. And Jesus was he the definition of eye candy. Tanned skinned and muscular forearms, broad shoulders that brushed yours when he leaned in to hear you a bit better over the loud music that had started playing. 

“Ah shit,” He suddenly says, “Forgot to give you m’ name, what kinda gentleman am I, sweetheart?” 

You laugh, leaning in closer, “It’s fine. Well not fine, tell me or I might think you’re secretly an axe murderer.” 

“Not an axe murderer.” He chuckles, a deep sound leaving his pretty lips, “My name is—”

“Joel?” 

You whirl around, your brain seething at the fact that he’d interrupt your evening. You’re ready to rip into him, really give you a piece of your mind and then maybe invite this handsome man beside you for ice cream.

“What tha’ hell are you doin’ here?” Your mystery man asks gruffly, “Thought you’d be at your home.” 

Tommy scoffs, “Could say the same thing about you. But I think the real question here is for her.” 

Two pairs of eyes turn to you as the men look at you. You’re confused as you look at both of them, not understanding what Tommy was trying to say. Your prospective new man also looks confused as Tommy speaks again, 

“Why the fuck are you going out with my brother?” 

Oh. Shit. 

Part two comment to be tagged

@freythecrazyfae @keseqna I offer you both, new Joel content from me.

When I wrote this a few days ago, I had no idea Taylor was going to buy back all her own music. The timing of this is truly impeccable. I feel like a fortune teller.

More Tommy and Joel Here

[taeyongdoyoung]

say yes (fearless)

summary: you're tired of being broke. so, when your rich bestie suggests something shocking, you are compelled to say yes... pairing: seok matthew x reader genre: best friends to sugar daddy/sugar baby to lovers, smut, light angst warnings: swearing, themes of wealth/poverty, money-related insecurities, sugar relationship, they have a whole contract, reader is older than matthew but he has an oppa kink 🤷 kissing, neck-biting, dom!matt, blowjob, praise kink, strength kink, spanking with a belt, established but not used safe word, bondage, unprotected sex, possessive!matt, FEELINGS author's note: happy belated matthew day! 💗 evidently, this was heavily inspired by matt's amazing song say yes and it also has some references to taylor swift's songs bc why not word count: 3k

Your best friend's driving you down the road as you wonder if he knows you sneak glances at him every once in a while. But he's just so damn cool when runs his hands through his hair, absent-mindedly making you want him…

"Wanna check out this new bookshop I told you about?" Matthew suggests casually.

"Oh, sure!" you agree. You've always been a sucker for books and Matthew knows that weakness of yours all too well.

He parks the car and you two go inside the cozy bookshop. After browsing through the shelves for a while, you find a book that strongly catches you interest. You really want to get it. Discreetly checking your wallet, you sadly realize you don't have enough money for it. Sighing to yourself, you are about to put it back on the shelf where you found it when Matthew grabs your wrist.

"Why are you putting it back?" he asks. "I can tell how bad you want it."

"It's nothing," you're embarrassed to admit the truth.

"You can tell me anything, you know?" Matthew insists.

"I…don't have enough money in my wallet right now," you confess, looking away.

"Let me get it for you."

You shake your head, trying to refuse. You know that Matthew's considerably more well-off than you and it's never been a problem when it comes to the solidity of your friendship. But in moments like these when he offers to buy you something so nonchalantly, it serves as a reminder of just how much money has affected the majority of your life.

"I don't need it," you respond but Matthew doesn't listen to you and hurries to the cash desk to get the book.

A part of you feels pathetic about not being able to afford a book. But a part of you is grateful that he's so chill about it. It's not like he gets anything in return. He's just…so nice to you for no reason.

Back in his car, Matthew hands you the book triumphantly. You accept it shyly because you would be crazy to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"If you feel uncomfortable, just consider it as a birthday gift."

"There are months until my birthday," you remind him with a chuckle.

"Not yours, my birthday was recently."

"What kind of logic is this? You're supposed to be receiving gifts for your birthday, not giving them."

"I genuinely feel better giving people things," Matthew shrugs.

"Can't say the same," you laugh. "I love receiving things. Sometimes I even debate signing up for one of those sugar daddy apps just so I could get my fill of being spoiled."

"Don't," Matthew scoffs seriously.

"What?"

"Don't go on those apps," he barks the order so easily it sends goosebumps down your spine.

"Why not?"

"They're probably filled with weirdos and scammers. You could just…" Matthew lets his thoughts trail in a dangerous direction.

"Just do what?" you curiously urge him to finish his sentence.

"Use me. You could just use me. I have so much money I don't know what to do with it all.

"Matt, no, you're my best friend, it doesn't feel right."

"In what sense?"

"In that…you are worth so much more to me than money."

"I know that," Matthew insists. "Do you have any other concerns?"

"Yeah. It sounds one-sided. You are not getting anything in return."

"Would it make you feel better if I came up with something?" he raises an eyebrow mysteriously.

What exactly does he have in mind?

"It would," the words are out of your mind before you can think twice about the whole proposal.

"Great, it's settled, then. I'm your sugar daddy," Matthew announces happily.

"But…I'm older than you," you blink in shock.

"It doesn't matter to me," he explains. "Do you want to go to mine and discuss things in further detail?"

"Erm, okay," you agree, even though this is all happening so fast you can barely process it.

Did your best friend whom you've been crushing on for ages just become your sugar daddy?!?!

When you arrive at Matthew's place, you are once again overwhelmed by a feeling of inferiority. You rarely go to Matthew's because the house is ridiculously large for one person. Everything is so sleek and white, the rooms practically smell like money. Secretly, you wish you could live with him. No, a part of you wishes you could be him. You know it's kinda a toxic thought to have but the truth is it's not even the financial thing. The way Matthew carries himself, his kindness, his sense of humour, his beauty, his intelligence, everything about him is just so appealing you can't help but admire him hopelessly. Until it doesn't seem so hopeless anymore.

"You want coffee? Tea? Water?" he asks politely, ever the welcoming host.

"Water's fine," you reply meekly. Even though you don't know what you're so nervous about. He's your best friend. There's nothing to be afraid of…Right?

As you take a couple of sips of water in the hopes it will calm you down, Matthew opens his laptop and starts typing something. Once he's finished and shows you what he came up with, you feel like you're about to pass out. Oh, he's serious about this.

Matthew wrote a wholeass sugar daddy/sugar baby agreement. Contract?! Detailing how rather than giving you money, he would prefer to take you shopping himself or buy you the things you want himself. And in return he just wants at least three dates per week. That hardly seems fair, you think.

He clears his throat, signifying the urge to say something.

"Feel free to raise objections or offer suggestions-"

"Isn't the traditional sugar relationship sexual in nature?" you inquire.

"Sometimes, but there are sugar daddies who simply seek companionship."

"I'm literally your best friend, you can have all the companionship for free."

"Exactly because we're best friends, I didn't put a clause about…well, sex."

"So, you're not interested in sex?"

"I didn't say that."

"You're not interested in sex with me?" you keep growing bolder with your questions.

"It's not my lack of interest in you that you should be worried about," Matthew whispers darkly.

"Then, tell me. What should I be worried about?" you tilt your head to the side.

"Fuck it," he mumbles quietly and crashes his lips against yours in a rough, almost violent kiss. You accept his advances a little too eagerly, letting him fuck your mouth with his tongue. God, this is insane. He bites your lower lip harshly, as you dig your fingers in his hair. He's so beautiful you feel like you're being consumed by him. Matthew suddenly grabs you by the hair, tilting your head backwards so that your neck is exposed. Biting and sucking onto your skin, leaving marks as if to mark his territory. It drives you mad. But you can't get enough. Pulling him closer to you and wrapping your legs around his lower back as he pushes you into the couch. This is crazy.

Tragically, Matthew breaks the passionate spell just as suddenly as he started it. He stands up abruptly and runs a hand through his messsy hair.

"Apologies," he blurts out, sounding so prim and proper. You hate it. "This behaviour wasn't very…gentlemanly of me."

"Oh, shut up," you roll your eyes. "You want this. I want this. What's stopping you?"

Matthew sighs and sits down next to you again.

"I don't want to ruin our friendship," he confesses. "Sex complicates things."

"And being in a sugar relationship doesn't?" you scoff sarcastically. "I think our friendship is strong enough to withhold anything. Don't you agree?"

Matthew nods, deep in thought.

"Instead of adding a sex clause to the agreement, how about I add that no matter what we do in the course of our sugar relationship, we swear to remain friends?"

The suggestion is so wild and requires so much confidence in the other person that Matthew stuns you with the sincerity in his voice.

"Okay. You're never getting rid of me," you promise.

Matthew hurriedly types it on the laptop.

"I'll go print it-" he says, delaying the inevitable.

"It can wait," you interrupt him. "But I can't."

You kiss him again greedily. Once you've had a taste, you can't be satisfied. He unlocks a part of you that is so fearless, so confident that you barely recognize her as yourself. But the feeling is so addicting you can't afford to lose it.

"Get on your knees," Matthew orders you so easily you immediately comply. But even that is enough to increase your confidence. It's so strange.

Not waiting for a second order, you take matters into your own hands and unbutton his jeans. You've daydreamed about this moment a lot. As you wrap your lips around his girthy cock, you wonder if this is what heaven truly feels like.

"Taking oppa's cock so well like the good little slut you are, huh?" Matthew speaks about himself in the third person.

Oppa???

"Need I remind you I'm older than you?" you release him from your mouth momentarily to speak your truth.

"Shhh, just play along, will you?" Matthew looks down at you with his big, beautiful eyes. How could you possibly say no?

You envelop him with your mouth once again, refusing to waste any more time.

"You feel so good, baby," he moans, getting lost in the feeling. "So good for oppa."

Oh, well, you could get used to it. As you keep trying to take him deeper, you feel his words becoming more and more unrestrained.

"Where do you want oppa to come? Should I do it on your face? Should I pull out?"

And ruin your makeup? Not a chance. You wrap your arms around the back of his legs, trying to signal the fact that you just want him to cum in your mouth. Lucky for you, Matthew is smart enough to figure it out and does just that, spilling ropes of cum down your needy throat. You swallow most of it to the best of your abilities and lick him clean of the rest.

Matthew picks you up from the floor and hugs you in a tight embrace.

"Did so well for oppa, my sweet girl," he whispers softly.

Damn, it feels too nice. You're going to have a hard time pretending you're not falling in love with him.

From then on, your life completely takes a turn for the best. Spending time with Matthew now goes hand in hand with him spending money on you. All the books, dresses and food you've only dreamt about are now a reality. The sugar rush you feel is so intoxicating, so addicting that the more you get from it, the more you crave. It feels so good. Too good. Until it doesn't.

Because you can deny it no longer. You're in love with your best friend. And the fact he spoils you so easily is incredibly dangerous. Even though you've done a couple of sexual things, with each encounter, your feelings grow and you are beginning to worry about it ending. So, you do something stupid that won't solve the situation. You disobey the agreement.

It's now been two weeks of you ignoring Matthew's messages. You feel terrible. Not because you miss the new things he gets you. But because you miss him. However, the contract specifies that you owe him like…six dates. Even though he hasn't gotten you anything new, the mere fact that you signed this silly paper is troubling you. Then again, there is the clause about remaining friends no matter what... And developing feelings for your bestie turned sugar daddy definitely doesn't go well with maintaining a normal friendship.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the doorbell ringing. You go to open it in a daze, not even considering the possibility that it might be the very person you've been avoiding.

"Matthew," you gasp in surprise as he storms into your apartment. Oh, he looks…angry? No, it's not that. He looks upset. You hate to be the one to cause him such negative emotions. He's been so perfect and only deserves to feel happiness.

"Why have you been ignoring my texts and calls?" he asks directly.

"I wasn't-"

"Don't lie to me," Matthew replies, disappointment clear in his voice.

"I think we should dissolve our sugar relationship," you answer without thinking.

"Why? Are you not satisfied with the terms? I could buy you stuff more often. Or go down on you more. I could do anything, just say the word."

You shake your head, feeling overwhelmed by the desperate look in his eyes.

"I don't want this anymore," you cry out.

"Tell me the truth. Tell me how to fix it. I can't lose you," Matthew begs.

"You won't lose me. I'll always be your…friend," you say the last word as if it's venom. But it's the truth. No matter what, you promised. "I just need some time."

"Did you meet someone else?" Matthew asks a bit possessively. "I'll do you better than him."

"There's no one else," you swear. "There's just you. There's always been only you. And that's the problem, Matt."

"Why is it a problem?" he steps into your space, closer to you.

"Because I'm in love with you," you admit the feelings you've been keeping bottled up for so long. "Because I'm so afraid of fucking things up even more. Because I'd rather be your friend than be nothing at all."

"Oh, baby," Matthew murmurs gently and pulls you into a hug. "You will always be everything to me."

"But I disregarded the agreement…You don't hate me?" you sniffle.

"How could I hate you?" he speaks sincerely. "I only suggested the agreement hoping it'd help you see…that you don't need any sugar daddy apps to be happy. You just need me."

"I'll always need you, Matt."

"And I'll always love you," he replies, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. "But you owe me six dates."

"And eternal friendship," you remind him playfully.

"I'm still mad at you for ignoring me," Matthew scolds you. "Do you have any idea how I felt?"

"I'm sorry," you look down guiltily.

"Sorry's not gonna cut it," he sighs. "Oppa needs to punish you so you'll learn your lesson."

You blink in shock. But the truth is, whatever he has in store for you, you'll gladly accept.

Matthew grabs your wrist and drags you to your bedroom.

"On your fours," he barks a command.

"Yes, oppa," you answer dutifully, assuming the position.

You can hear him shuffling behind you but you don't dare turn around to see what he's doing. You don't want to make him even more upset with your behaviour.

He tears up your leggins with his strong hands and the mere sound is enough to make you shiver. Your poor panties follow the same fate. Then, Matthew smacks your ass once with his belt. Hard. Fucking hell, that hurt. But then again, you ghosted him for two weeks…He was also hurt by your actions. So, you bite your tongue to prevent curses from slipping out.

"Count for me," Matthew demands.

"One," you mumble.

"One, what?"

"One…thank you, oppa," you cry out.

"Good girl," he chuckles darkly and repeats the actions fourteen times. One for each day you ignored him. Serves you right, you suppose. Once he's done punishing you, he turns you around and scoops you up in his strong, comforting arms. "Was it too much?"

"N-no, it's f-fine," you stutter. "I could have said the safe word."

"You could have. But I'm not sure if I would have stopped," Matthew replies cruelly.

"You would have," you insist. "I trust you."

"You shouldn't," he strokes your hair gently but there is nothing gentle about his words. "I can't restrain myself when it comes to you."

"Then, don't restrain yourself. Restrain me," you beg.

"Careful what you wish for," Matthew laughs.

"I'm serious," you respond and hold out your wrists for him. "You can do anything to me."

"You're crazy," he kisses you, though, and does as you suggest, wrapping the belt around your wrists.

"You love it."

"Too tight?" he checks.

"Just right," you try to chase his lips again, but Matthew pulls away from you.

You blink sadly at being denied your favourite thing. Kissing him.

"Please?" you beg prettily, pouting.

"Later, baby," Matthew promises and easily slides inside of you without warning. "Fuck, did my little slut get so wet from a little spanking? Are you like this for anyone?"

"Only for you, oppa," you play along, letting him use your pussy as he pleases.

"It better stay that way," he grunts, as he fucks you from the side. Even though your wrists are tied, he uses his strength to push your head deeper into the mattress. "You're all mine."

"All yours, oppa, I promise," you cry and plead, already missing the ability to touch him. How you survived two weeks without this is a whole mystery.

"So close. Where should I come?" Matthew asks, forever the considerate angel.

"You can do it inside of me, it's okay," you give him the green light and he doesn't need to be told twice, already spilling his seed inside of your warm pussy. Your release follows soon after, so addicting.

"Feels so good, wanna stay like this forever," he can't help but voice his thoughts out loud.

"What a heavenly idea," you chuckle.

Matthew, however, is quick to recover, and removes the belt from your wrists. Then, he rushes to bring some water for the two of you. Sitting in comfortable silence, you stare at his hands and wonder if he ever had any suspicions about how you felt for him.

"You're not subtle, you know?" he suddenly breaks the silence.

"Huh?" you whisper, almost in a daze.

"I've noticed how you look at me when you think I'm not looking. At my hands, nose, eyes…I notice every little detail."

"And how is that? How do I stare at you?"

"Like you're mine."

The End

[xitcantlast]

Gold Rush

Tom Riddle x f!reader

Summary: Inspired by the song Gold Rush by Taylor Swift.

Word Count: 1k. English is not my first language.

Divider Credit: @uzmacchiato

Perfect Grades. Perfect Reputation. Popular, but not in the common sense. More like someone who lives in solitude and is the centre of attention at the same time. Girls who threw themselves at him. Boys who desperately tried to get close to him just to get a glimpse of the attention or power or what ever it was he had. You couldn’t really name it.

You always scoffed about all the admirers but internally you were torn. Was he handsome? Yes. Were you attracted to him? Judging by the feeling that bloomed in your stomach each time you passed him in the hallway: Yes.

But there was always the feeling that there was more behind the shiny facade of Tom Riddle, and you seemed to be the only one who noticed.

There was something dark about him and it wasn’t the usual darkness each Slytherin possessed. It was like thick smoke that curled around him everywhere he went. Mysterious, like it was protecting a secret. Nobody knew about Tom Riddles past. Rumours arose frequently but they felt more like old tales than an actual life someone lived before Hogwarts.

That darkness felt so alluring that you started to observe him. It didn’t take long for him to notice. While your frequent glances were fleeting and barely noticeable to a stranger, his stares were so heavy you could feel them across the great hall.

Days passed and the situation became more and more tense. Then one evening you two were the only ones left in the library. Curfew would begin in a few minutes and that essay you wrote was due tomorrow morning. Scribbling down the last few words, you folded the parchment and got ready to leave. You were about to put the last book in your bag when you felt it again. That stare. You slowly turned around and there he was. Arms crossed. Eyes so dark you could think they were black. This time you didn’t look away. You locked eyes, a smirk making its way in your face. The slight tilt of your head almost seemed teasing, and then just like that you turned around and left the library, leaving him slightly confused and intrigued at the same time.

From that day on, you started to analyse every single thing about him. Which books he read. How he acted when he thought no one was watching. His interactions with professors and students. How his hair always seemed to fall perfectly in place. In the few classes you had together, you noticed how much different he was compared to the rest of the time.

It was like a completely different person took his place. Confident statements replaced the quietness. How nobody even dared to question these statements, even though they were quite controversial sometimes.

One particular boring potions lesson, the lack of sleep seemed to catch up with you. The potion that was assigned to brew long finished, you watched how your classmates still tried to fix theirs before Professor Slughorn made his round around the classroom to inspect the results. The only other person not moving was Tom and instead of letting your gaze wander further it stayed. He was hunched over a book. Eyebrows slightly furrowed. A pose of utter concentration.

In the afternoon, you still couldn’t get that image out of your mind, staring into your tea like it had the answer to all the questions in the universe. Your friends didn’t even try to talk to you, leaving you alone.

Your cloak left forgotten on his bed because in the morning the weather finally seemed warm enough to go to class without them. A lipstick mark on his mirror that you left there weeks ago just to annoy him. He had just left it there because it reminded him of your lips. Always painted in that exact shade. A deep red, dark like blood. A hair tie left forgotten on his desk next to one of his many notebooks. A spare toothbrush in the bathroom in case you forgot yours. The scent of your perfume mixing with his and the scent of fresh parchment.

Later you would move to a small costal town. Living in a cosy house with floors made from wood. You could picture yourself padding across them barefoot in the morning. The evenings either filled with that comfortable silence only a few people could share or dinner parties with close friends. Tom still stating his controversial opinions, nobody dared to question. Except this time you called him out about it every single time. Starting a heated discussion that had everyone holding their breath. He didn’t get angry, more like the opposite. A small smile replacing the normally quite neutral expression. It always felt like he welcomed it. Like he hated that everyone always agreed.

The chatter in the great hall finally broke the charm that daydream had wrapped you in. The colourful pictures of your imagination now fading into the same grey as your tea, that was cold by now. You glanced at your watch at saw that it was time to start your homework for the day. Even on the way to the library, that daydream held a grip on your thoughts. Your mind was on autopilot, not paying attention to your surroundings at all, leading you to accidentally bump into someone. You turned around to mutter a quick apology, but that person was no one else than Tom Riddle. You locked eyes and the world around you seemed to stop. Eyes you felt like you knew, even though you never even exchanged a word with him. His smile seemed genuine, so inviting…

“I’m sorry” you mumbled. He just tilted his head down. An acknowledgment. He didn’t ask for what. He knew it wasn’t just for bumping into him. He knew it was for all the unspoken words. For not giving him a chance.

Turning away felt final. Too final for something that wasn’t even real.

Deep inside, you knew that giving in would feel like flying. Flying till it would destroy you.

You decided to keep these feeling locked away. So deep, you yourself had to search to find them. The only thing that stayed was the faint blush that adorned your cheeks each time you saw him or someone mentioned him.

Masterlist

Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed it.

©2025 xitcantlast . Please do not translate, copy, or take credit for my work.

[cuteandhughesy]

Let It Happen ╰┈➤ ME94

summary: fighting for the best seat in class with mark wasn't your first choice - neither is having to tutor him in the midst of it.

[word count] 18.6K

warnings: SFW! academia! tutor x jock | enemies to lovers | angst | umich!mark | college!au | suggestive comments + themes | unwanted touching + harassment | read at your own discretion

🎵 let it happen by gracie abrams, read your mind by sabrina carpenter, style by taylor swift, dead of night by orville peck, down for you by midnight cosmos & ruel, I love you, i'm sorry by gracie abrams, can't get you out of my head by kylie minogue, + fool by cosmos

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row 5, 10 seats in: your ideal spot in any lecture hall. you've found that during your time at the university of michigan, that exact seat always proved to be the most practical. the viewing angle of the board was always perfect - not too close to the front to be picked on, but not too far back that you needed your glasses. not many people chose that area in a lecture hall - either opting for the first three rows or the very back, meaning you typically weren't bumping elbows with anybody while taking notes.

so in your junior year of university when you noticed your psychology class was in room 293 (a room you'd had classes in previously) that first day, you took your seat proudly in row 5, 10 seats in. you knew you'd get your perfect seat - meaning you'd have no problem in succeeding with a productive academic semester.

that is until you walked in on the second day of classes and a head of dirty blonde hair, accompanied by broad shoulders and big hands was found sitting comfortably in your seat.

you slow in your steps, feeling your facial expression fall as you take him in. he's looking to his right, not even paying attention to you - legs outstretched and books spread out in your seat.

it's fine, you think, tomorrow you'll just get here earlier to take your desired spot. today, you decide, you'll settle for a different seat.

then, the mystery boy turns his head in your direction and you think your face falls even more. mark estapa was in your seat.

you knew of mark through mutual friends. you weren't friends with him or anything, but you're sure you've probably smiled in passing before.

seeing mark in your seat made you feel....irritated. because even if he didn't know it was your unassigned assigned seat - wouldn't he much rather dick around in the back with his teammates? why did he need to be in the perfect academic position when he probably couldn't care less about the class.

"is this your seat or something?" marks deep voice has you blinking hard, snapping yourself out of your head.

your brows pull together, and you tug on the strap of your book bag laying heavy on your shoulder. "what?"

he shrugs, "you're looking at me all weird - like I just kicked a puppy or something. so I just assumed i'm in 'your' seat." mark air quotes the word your, and it has you squinting at him irritatedly, lips forming into a pull of disgust.

"why'd you say it like that?"

he laughs slightly, and it makes your stomach swirl unpleasantly. mark shrugs, toying with one of his ink pens between two thick fingers. "you just look like the type to have some weird thing about where you sit."

you scoff gently, taking a step closer to the wolverines forward. "I'll have you know, that seat 10 in row 5 is quite literally the perfect spot for learning - there are studies that prove it. I take great pride in my grades - so yeah, I guess you could say I have 'some weird thing about where I sit'" you use air quotations to mimic his earlier ones, which makes mark breathe one quiet chuckle, eyes meeting the ceiling quickly before finding yours again.

you're looking at him expectantly, arms crossed and brows raised.

"is that right?" mark questions.

you nod, "mhm."

"looks like I beat you to it then."

your mouth falls and that makes mark's cheeky smile widen. "might as well just sit there," he gestures to the empty chair next to him, "because today, i'll be getting the benefits from sitting in the perfect seat for learning."

you bite your tongue, wordlessly (and rather aggressively) taking the empty spot next to your seat. "mhm yup." you hum quietly, eyeing the professor as he makes his way into the classroom, "enjoy it today -because it will be the last time you sit in that spot."

you feel marks eyes on the side of your face. "we'll see about that," he smirks, slowly turning his attention back to the front of the classroom.

tomorrow, you think, you'll be back in your seat - mark be damned.

class 2

the next class day - you do get your seat. if that wasn't a sweet enough victory in itself, you also get to watch mark tongue his cheek in annoyance at the sight.

he slows in his steps in the aisle, eyes very much on you in the desired seat. you send him a teasing smile, watching his irritation grow - it's practically radiating off his large body as he tosses himself down in the seat you had to painfully endure last class.

when he roughly pulls everything out of his book back, your victorious smile grows.

throughout the lesson, you make a show of spreading out your books with enthusiasm and making sure you sigh with content whenever you shuffled or moved in your seat.

all mark can do is smirk to himself, barley looking over towards you when you move or make a noise. his smirk is evident though, and you can't help but catch it.

you're surprised that mark even chose to sit beside you after he'd seen you in the seat. you assumed after rightfully taking back your seat, he'd move rows completely - choosing the back of the class with luke hughes and ethan edwards - but no.

you know now that he was trying to take your spot again - purposely this time. the thought has you angry and you have to grit your teeth anytime mark shuffles around - the urge to curse him out for being an idiot threatening to spill out.

you're determined now to not back down from keeping your assigned unassigned seat - your academic well being depended on it.

when class finally ends and the professor dismisses you all, mark turns towards you - looking smug in a way that has you snaring. you think he may say something about the seat, or perhaps even apologize for destroying your peace all class. but instead, "game on," mark deadpanned, grabbing his book bag and hauling it  over one shoulder.

you laugh sarcastically, gathering your laptop and slipping it into your own bag. mark doesn't get too far away from you before you decide to respond. "can't play when you can't compete," you hum.

mark stops walking, eyeing you over his shoulder with that same stupid smirk on his face.

you don't stick around for him to say anything else, your shoulder brushing his sweater covered chest as you move past him.

class 3

the night before, you make sure you're alarm is set half and hour earlier than usual - and you check it at least 4 times before going to sleep: you were getting that damn seat even if it meant waking around like a zombie from loosing that extra bit of rest.

you woke frantically that morning, rushing through your brief morning routine so you could ensure you'd get out the door as quickly as possible - determined to get to class before mark - get to your seat before mark could wrongfully take it.

you walk through your psychology lectures door way with a victorious smile already on your face - happy that you will once again be more academically inclined for your class.

you look over to your row and slowly, and your smile fades as you resist the urge to scream.

mark is already there.

in your seat.

nobody else is in the lecture hall yet, and fair enough, you think, because it's still too early. you thought it was too early for anybody else besides yourself to get there....but you were wrong.

mark has all his books out on the small table infront of him, laptop open and ready on a blank document. there's a half drunken cold brew on his desk as well, meaning he's been awake long enough to not only beat you to class but get a drink on the way.

worst of all, mark is already looking at you - his body turned towards the entrance of the lecture hall like he's been waiting for you to arrive and watch the joy fade from your eyes.

you grit your teeth in irritation, slowly and with as much calmness you can manage, make your way to him.

"good morning," he chimes happily, eyes not leaving your face as you approach the seat.

you let your bag slip off your shoulder, hitting the floor beside his sneakers. sourly, you take the open seat right next to him.

"thought i'd get up early today." mark continues, picking up his coffee and taking an obnoxiously loud sip.

your glare at him before taking out your books.

two can play at this game, you think.

class 4

you've underestimated the michigan athlete once again. showing up that next week, 20 minutes earlier that the previous time - only to see mark there in your seat... again.

he's taken a more theatrical (and blood boiling) approach this class, with his long gangly legs propped up on the seat of the desks to his left and his arms behind his head - leisurely resting on not only your seat but the one you'd be stuck with beside it.

you scoff as you get close, eyeing his long legs on the desks, "must you look so proud?"

"oh, I must." mark says.

class 5

you can barley keep your eyes open because of how little sleep you've had, but the exhaustion is so worth it.

the morning of your class, you woke up ridiculously early - so early that your roommate sabrina was barley just asleep. so early you're sure mark wouldn't even dare think of waking up.

and yeah, you had to skip over the hair brushing, make up and the presentable clothing step in your morning routine, but you didn't care. all you cared about was getting to your lecture hall before anybody else could.

when you hear shoes squeaking to a halted stop an hour or so after you arrived to class, your tired eyes snap open. mark is looking at you with a shocked expression, his eyes processing the sight you in your seat already.

quickly, his expression changes. mark makes his way to you, squinting curiously at you as he analyses your pale skin. "you look tired." he states, sitting down.

you shrug nonchalantly, flipping your very much unrbushed hair over your shoulder. "you must be mistaking my victorious expression for one of fatigue."

mark hisses through his teeth, eyeing you once more. "careful, what good does the perfect seat have if you can't even stay awake to bask in its greatness."

class 8

in your last few psychology lecture races, you beat mark 2 wins to 1 in your shared seat debacle. you're still surprised he got his one win with how early you'd been waking up and getting to the classroom.

the feeling of victory has not gotten old though, and you have to picture marks face full of disappointment when you're feeling exhausted from your lack of full nights.

the look of pure irritation on the wolverines superstar player anytime he realized you'd beaten him to the lecture hall - the way you wiggled your fingers in a gentle wave in his direction as you happily occupied your seat - it was really fulfilling.

when you told sabrina about your and marks little tiff with your seat, she expressed how she thought it was dumb idea. sabrina said waking up early and loosing sleep over a seat in class wasn't going to help anybody's academics. as well, she says that arguing and taunting somebody as popular as mark estapa wasn't a good decision on your part because there was no good to come from it.

but you couldn't seem to care about any kind of consequence. you didn't care how popular he was, or how much he liked you - all you could think about was marks irritating smirk and big body plopped in your seat - tainting its essence.

the seat war would continue until mark gave up - you were determined.

it was another successful class morning of beating mark. your and mark's arrival kept getting earlier each time, but somehow you kept managing to just be that little bit earlier than him.

you're sipping your redbull delicately as he walks into the lecture hall, hiding your growing smirk behind the rim of the can as you watch mark deflate at the sight of your in the seat.

he curses quietly to himself before he makes his way towards you. "are you sleeping here or something?" he huffs annoyed, sitting heavily in the chair beside you.

you shrug nonchalantly, dusting off the imaginary debris from the hardcover of your psychology textbook. "no," you hum. then in all seriousness, you pause, directing your gaze towards him as you continue, "- but I wouldn't hesitate sleeping outside this classroom for this seat, mark."

slowly and with disbelief, mark puts his notebook down infront of him, eyes not leaving yours as he analyses you. "...you wouldn't dare."

"oh," you laugh once, "I'd dare."

he squints suspiciously at you before shaking his head once, breaking himself out of your mini staring contest. he straightens his back out, falling back against the seat - the dull thud echoing in the empty classroom.

you watch his suspicious expression change to one of curiosity and that has you feeling a bit nervous. you watch as he eyes you again, a raise to his one brow.

a beat passes.

"how do you know my name, y/n?" mark asks, a slight tug to the corner of his mouth. he sounds almost...impressed, and truly curious.

which you think is a bit odd, because who doesn't know mark estapa? not only was he on the schools hockey team and friends with some of the most popular athletes at the school (nhl stars included), but he was quite literally famous online. one time you got a tiktok edit of him...on your foryou page. you don't think you've scrolled past anything faster - the feeling of seeing clips of your classmate over a flo milli song was just too much.

instead of spewing out that inner monologue, you reach over yourself, pointer finger tapping the top of his dark green notebook - touching his name that was written out in black sharpie.

briefly, you wonder if its handwriting or somebody else's, but you also don't know why you would care, so you quickly tell your intrusive thought to get lost. you pull away, hands coming back you yourself.

mark nods in understanding, shrugging like it's an acceptable answer. "ah," he breaths, crossing his arms over his broad chest, his muscles moving under his compression top.

you blink hard, scolding yourself for letting your eyes wonder. what is wrong with you today, girl? you think. "annnnnddd how do you know my name?" you drag out, brow raises in question as you eye him.

wordlessly, mark uncrosses his arms so his hands are free. with a slight smirk, he taps the side of his head, mimicking your earlier point on his note book.

class 9:

"I should've brought you a neck pillow." are the first words your hear when you walk into room 293, marks voice making itself known as soon as your converse covered feet past the threshold of the classroom. "you know," he continues, "In case the early morning catches up to you."

you breathe out a sarcastic laugh, walking sluggishly to the dreaded 11th numbered chair beside him.

one of the worst things about waking up earlier to try and beat mark to the lecture hall was that he never even looks like he's tired - where as you looked like you just crawled from a bat cave. in the earlier mornings, mark is always smiling and looking bright eyes and bushy tailed - which has your annoyance spiking.

you choose to not say anything and you keep your tired eyes trained on the front empty hall. now you wish you stopped for a coffee, knowing it wouldn't of mattered anyway - mark had you beat. thankfully, mark doesn't say anything else, and scrolls tiktok quietly beside you. the noise is a nice distraction, and it has you feeling rather relaxed as the two of you sit together in the early morning silence.

an hour later when your classmates start arriving, you start to get your things out of your bag. reaching in you're immediately humbled feeling nothing in there. the night before, you had spilt a smoothie in your bag, and emptied everything out  to let it dry. this morning when you were rushing to get to class to beat mark to your seat (which proved unsuccessful), you had only grabbed the empty bag - leaving all your belongings at home.

you're left with no laptop, no textbooks, no notepad, not even a pen. you feel like you could cry. as the professor made his entrance, you're left with no choice but to borrow from your seat mate.

the thought of having to deal with him in the morning is already exhausting. you inhale deeply and look over at mark. you plaster on the best exaggerated grin you manage this early. "mark, can I have a pen and some paper?"

suprised, mark looks over at you. once he sees your faux smile and lack of supplies laid out, he mimicks your expression, the sarcasm of it all is practically oozing off him. "ahhhh - so now you want to talk to me."

he was trying to push your buttons, that much was obvious. you don't give in, only deepening your faux smile, even giving your head a little tilt. "well, technically I forgot my stuff because I was too preoccupied trying to get here before you could steal my seat - the least you could do Is let me borrow a pen and piece of paper because, after all, you did steal my seat."

mark tongues his cheek, the corners of his mouth tugging up in a victorious manner. a beat passes before he digs through his bag, emerging with a pen - holding it in his palm out to you. you pluck it from hand aggressively - making his smirk grow.

class 12

your psychology class has been pushed back an hour after your professor sent out an email the night before, offering his apologies after he needed to extend one of his meetings with the department.

you weren't complaining though. you were looking forward to that little bit extra sleep before getting up and trying to once again beat mark to your seat.

knowing you had that little bit of extra time, you chose to take your time walking towards the lecture hall building, sipping on your apple cider as you enjoyed the fall weather. the fall season at the university of michigan was always your favourite. there was something so magical about being away at school when the leaves were turning that resonated with you.

not too many students were around while you walked. just the odd group or individual as they made their way to their own lectures. that being said, it made spotting people very easy, as they weren't yet common.

so when you lock eyes with mark as he approaches on one of the side paths, you can't help but to curse yourself - walking too leisurely to the point of running into him.

mark slows in his steps only a few feet adjacent to you, swallowing thickly. you slow down as well, eyeing him suspiciously as he stares down at you. he clears his throat as you both come into step with one another, now walking side by side to your lecture building.

"mark." you greet quickly, eyes forward as the building comes into sight.

he nods, "y/n." mark begins to walk just a little faster at the sight of your destination, leaving you a step behind.

so you follow suit, taking quicker and bigger steps in order to keep up with mark. his legs are long and he's way more fit than you, so you're practically in a breathless jog trying to get in front of him.

"beautiful morning," you hum nonchalantly.

"the most," mark's step increase in speed as he answers you.

you curse to yourself, falling behind once again. you feel like your running at this point, desperately trying to beat mark without full on sprinting into the lecture building. you panick, knowing marks stupid long legs would have you beat in this foot race - and to your seat.

quickly, you conjure up a plan of attack. you groan behind him, crouching down and grabbing ahold of your sock covered ankle. you hiss loudly like you're hurting - loud enough for mark to hear.

he stops walking at the sound of your pain, turning around to see you bent down, nothing but discomfort on your face. mark starts walking towards you, the shiny dark oak doors to the lecture building long forgotten as he bends down to your level.

softly, he places a warm palm on your back, eyes searching yours. "hey, you okay?"

momentarily you feel guilty. he looks truly concerned for your well being and the feeling of his hand on your back isn't helping your act.

but then you remember how he quite literally stole your seat and the guilt washes away.

rather wobbly, you stand back up to your full height with the help of marks arm. you balance your weight on the ankle you were nursing, wincing as you do so.

mark still looks concerned. his brows are furrowed tightly as he watches your facial expressions, waiting for any further signs of discomfort and pain. you're pretty sure he was about to offer you a damn piggy back ride.

you sigh deeply, and then a smirk begins to pull at your lips. "nice guys finish last marky." you deadpanned.

"what?" he frowns, confused.

you take off, sprinting past him and up the stairs of the lecture hall. "the seat is mine!" you call out, pushing open the heavy doors and disappearing into the building.

class 14

you were running a little bit more behind than you preferred this morning, and you were practically running by the time you walked into psychology.

it's quiet in there, and you notice how mark isn't present. nobody is the lecture hall and even better, mark isn't in your seat. 

you let a triumphant smile overtake your bare face, and you adjust your bag so that it can finally still comfortably on your shoulder - your rush to class having your bag left to rub your shoulder raw.

then your momentary joy fades as you take in the note on the big whiteboard behind the teachers desk.

class moved to room 278.

you groan to yourself, immediately spinning on your heels to head back in the direction you had already walked through.

you can already picture mark - his smug face tucked into that beloved 10th seat in the 5th row. picturing that has you walking faster as you hope that mark wasn't too far ahead of you - or ahead of you at all.

you all but slide into the new lecture hall, slightly breathless and exhausted. you're confused, brows pulled taught as you also see this classroom empty. although it's still early, it was unlikely for absolutely nobody to have arrived.

quickly, your eyes dance around the room, finding the smaller dry erase board near the front. your lips form into an involuntary snare, your anger bubbling up as you read the note left.

would a nice guy do this? is written in blue, accompanied by a terrible drawn emoji - blowing you a kiss.

mark.

"you're fucking kidding" you whisper. you can feel your face flush with anger, deepening your irritation as you re-read(what you now realize) is marks handwriting - matching his name printed on that stupid green notebook he always uses.

you take a shaky inhale to keep yourself as calm as possible, leaving the classroom in an annoyed march - quickly making your way back to the correct classroom.

you can't even be bothered about how sweaty you've become or how your feet are beginning to ache from walking across campus three times before your first class - all your thoughts are focused on mark and his stupid prank and how he's definitely lounging in your seat - waiting for you to get back so he can bask is his prank.

most of the students are piling into the room when you arrive, but you aren't one of patience today. you weave through bodies as quickly as possible, pushing up the stairs.

there's a momentary pause on the incline and that's when you finally land your sights on his head of blonde hair, his eyes watching you in amusement.

immediately, you send him an accusing glare from your stopped position on the stairs, shaking your head in disbelief as you look at him.

mark just winks back at you - which sends your stomach turning in every possible way.

'idiot' you mouth at him. people start moving again, allowing you to finally get through the group of students and down the 5th row.

mark smirks happily, resting his chin in his large palm as he watches you sit wordlessly beside him.

class 17

you're almost out of the row of seats, your book bag slung over your shoulder -  your professor had dismissed you all for the morning. it isn't soon after making your way down the stairs, your professor says your name.

"y/n," he calls out, affectively grabbing your attention and stopping you in your tracks. "do you mind having a word?" he questions, adjusting his black framed glasses to sit higher on his nose.

you frown slightly, especially when you catch sight of mark, who seemingly has been asked to stay behind as well. mark isn't looking at you, but rather at the floor, nervously fiddling with his hands.

"sure," you hum gently, walking over towards them hesitantly. "everything okay professor?"

you can't rack your brain for anything that your professor needed to discuss with you and mark - unless, mark decided to be a total asshole about the whole seat thing, which would just be ridiculous.

"actually," the older man sighs, "there's a favour I need to ask of you." your professor eyes mark, who is standing just a few feet behind him.

"okay," you draw suspiciously, eyeing mark as well. he is still looking sheepish, eyes not meeting yours - which was, from what you gathered, very unlike mark.

in the few weeks you've been battling with mark, you've learned he is stubborn and determined - on top of that, he was very confident. the nervous act he was currently displaying had you feeling nervous.

your professor clears his throat, "mark here is having a hard time keeping his grades up in this class. obviously, it's still early in the year but his coach and I have discussed and decided it needs to be dealt with now, rather than later in the semester. this is an important class to mark's education here at the university of michigan, and he cannot have his grades slipping."

you nod slightly, your brows pulled together in confusion as you take in his words. "right, sorry, i'm just confused what that has to do with me." you admit.

the professor nods once, "yes. well, so far you have preformed excellently in my class - not only this semester, but in previous classes as well. that's why coach and I decided that you'd be the perfect choice to help mark and tutor him this semester."

neither you or mark speak, too shocked with the situation to register thoughts. the professor continues. "not only are your grades excellent, but it seems that yourself and mark happen to enjoy each others company - sitting together every class."

you face falls slightly. "seriously?"

"oh, seriously," mark finally speaks, an unreadable expression on his soft face. your professor turns to mark, a little wide eyed as if to tell him to smarten up.

mark sighs gently, "please tutor me, i'd really appreciate your help. I can't play with the team if I slip."

"i'll do it." finally, you agree, nodding a hesitant yes in their direction. immediately, your professor is joyful, giving you and mark the schedule and the study room bookings.

it was all a bit nerve wracking. knowing that you'd have to spend designated time with mark after the two of you had been purposely pushing one another's buttons was making you uneasy.

you don't show the true emotions you were currently battling - only nodding with a faux smile as the professor goes over what lesson plans you'll both start with and providing you with the upmost material you'd be needing.

you leave the classroom soon after your professor says he will email both of you with a more detailed schedule. as you walk back to your building, your mind is occupied with thoughts of tutoring mark and how you'll manage being in the same space with him without wanting to smack him.

and with your first session only a little more than 24 hours away, you'd hope to come up with a solution quickly.

tutoring lesson 1

"that makes no sense."

"that's because you're not even paying attention."

mark breaths deeply at your words, an exaggerated inhale echoing throughout the room. he runs a hand through his thick dirty blonde hair, tugging slightly at the root before releasing his grip.

you had received a text from mark only an hour before your designated study time. immediately, you frowned, because you didn't give him your number - but he had quickly followed up his initial text telling you that your professor gave it to him: invasive but you'd live.

he told you he had a game that night, so the study session would have to be fast and cut short. you gritted your teeth in irritation at his bluntness, but decided rather than telling him to fuck himself and pass the class by himself - you choose peace, responding with only the thumbs up emoji.

fast forward to right now, with you and mark in one of the campus study rooms with your class material from two weeks ago all spread out on the table infront of you.

although you could tell mark wasn't really trying to understand you, you could see true frustration behind his eyes - an indicator that he was at least trying is some capacity.

you take a deep calming breath and try again, "all you need to do is pick out the significant points of this paper and then with that information, you will write your own summary about its importance to the course."

across from you, mark is looking like a lost puppy, mouth slightly agape as he watches you explain the material for the 3rd time. it really wasn't a difficult concept to grasp, in fact, it was the easiest out of all the material you'd be going over.

you sigh gently, "listen, it should be relatively easy," you side eye him gently, his lost expression still very much present. "for some." you chime quietly.

marks mouth snaps shut, and he squints accusingly in your direction - your remark echoing in his ears. "for some," he mocks your words back at you, his voice turning all high pitched and squeaky in a way that makes you scoff.

"are you done?" you deadpanned, brows raised his his direction.

"no," mark groans for the hundredth time, his body falling back in the plastic chair. "that seat shit you read about is clearly crap - I'm not learning at all sitting there. considering it's 'the perfect spot for learning', I haven't learned shit." he air quotes your words from that second day of classes - the first time mark had stolen your seat.

"it's not crap." you state with a glare, "you have to believe it for it to work - clearly you think it's phoney. if you did believe in its natural greatness, you'd be fine - like me."

"whatever." he deadpanned, leaning back over the table - propped up on his elbows.

you bite your tongue for what feels like the millionth time since knowing mark - choosing to not snap back at his attitude.

slowly, you push the reading closer to him, slotting it between his arms, "read this again - slowly - and start with getting your significant points. that way you have that portion done before your game tonight."

wordlessly (and with another sigh, of course), mark drags the paper closer towards himself, sighing deeply as he begins to silently read.

a few minutes pass, both of you deep in school work - you creating lessons plans as well as catching up on your other classes work, while mark reads the assigned reading, occasionally jotting down points in his notebook just like you recommended he do.

your mid sectioning of a grid in your schedule, eyes squinted as you concentrate (you had already cursed yourself for forgetting your glasses). the gentle silence is interrupted, marks much too loud voice interrupting your peace.

"what's your favourite colour?" he questions, tone full of curiosity.

you can hear his pen hit the table, and slowly, you look up, eyeing mark through your lashes. your fingers pause on your laptops keyboard, "what?" you breath.

"your favourite colour. what is it?" he asks again, more firmly.

"how is this significant to our tutoring?" you question curiously, your pen resting on your bottom lip as you ponder at his sudden questioning.

"I'm trying to keep my mind active here," mark says in a tone that makes it sound like you should've known his intentions, "and if you're at least talking to me, then i'll be more inclined work."

you tilt your head gently, squinting playfully at the tall wolverines forward. "are you saying my voice is more boring than you doing your work?"

he gives you an annoyed look, mirroring your tilted head. "just...tell me your favourite colour. and don't say orange - I hate orange."

"what's wrong with orange?" you frown, "orange is the colour that beat communicates fun - It expresses frivolity and playfulness, connecting people back to inner child."

"of course you'd know that." mark says in disbelief after taking a momentary pause at analyze what you just spewed at him.

you choose to answer his initial question, not bothering at attempting to explain your knowledge on a colour - he probably wouldn't understand anyways. "my favourite colour is pink," you answer, back to working away on your laptop, keyboard clicking rhythmically as you talk.

"pink huh," mark hums with interest, "and what's the weird reason for that?" you can feel his eyes on you, boring into your face as you type. knowing that has you feeling slightly nervous, wondering how hard he is analyzing your expressions or features.

"it's just pretty." you say gently, a blush adorning your cheeks. you hear mark stifle a gentle laugh, and you look back across the table at him. he's not looking at you, but rather writing in his notebook, eyes darting between his writing and the reading.

you clear your throat quietly, getting back to your own work. "what's your favourite colour?"

mark eyes you gently once more. you aren't looking at him, so you can't see the way his lips tug up in a smile or the way he's focused on your side profile. "yellow." he answers after a beat. "it's the colour of most of my favourite things."

you hum, "like what?"

"the sun, my jersey, pineapples....baby ducks," you giggle softly at his last remark. finally, you look away from your screen, seeing that mark is already got his eyes on you. he continues softly, "the list goes on really." he is smiling at the sound of your gentle laughter, your eyes squinting naturally without your glasses - ones that mark has only seen you in a handful of times and he thinks you must forget them often.

he shakes his head slightly, eyes finding the clock on his phone. the time has him clearing his throat and he pushes his notebook towards you across the table. "i've got my points here, if you want to check them over before I go."

you blink hard, "right, yeah." you take the outstretched green notebook from him, making quick work of the little blurbs he took note of. "this is good, now you just have to compile it into a summary - in proper format obviously."

"obviously," mark teases. "i'll do it later, kay?" he begins to pack up his things, which only consisted of his notebook, a pen and his closed laptop. "i've gotta get in my suit and head to the rink."

"okay, just..don't forget. and please, send me the final product before turning it in."

mark is practically already out the door. "will do!" he says over his shoulder, shutting the glass enter ace of the study room and jogging away.

you sigh gently, packing away your own things.

11:37 p.m.

mark

just mailed you the summary. should be in your inbox

y/n

yeah, i'll go over it quick

y/n

how was your game?

mark

ehhh, it wasn't great. we lost

y/n

damn. does that happen a lot?

mark

not always

mark

have you never watched one of our games?

y/n

no. i've never watched hockey period

mark

WHAT

mark

i'm sick to my stomach hearing that

y/n

dramatic

mark

you're coming to watch a game

y/n

no i'm not

mark

you are. you'll like it

y/n

how do you know what i'll like ?

mark

i'm smarter than you think y/n

mark

you'll be at a wolverine game soon. promise you that

y/n

whatever helps you sleep.

y/n

sent you back an edited copy with a few tweak suggestions. after that you're good to send it in

mark

yes ma'am

tutoring lesson 7

"new plan," you say, slightly breathless from the jog over to the library. you drop your bag on the dark oak table, the sound thumping in the quiet room.

mark looks up from his phone surprised - your sudden appearance catching him off guard. he raises a brow in question, urging you to continue.

you nod, "you said keeping your brain active is good for you and helps you stay focused, yeah?" he nods for an answers, and you smile before continuing. "right okay, so instead of talking - which can be distracting, I thought -" pausing, you tug on the zipper of your bag, digging through your belongings until you locate your airpods. you pull them out, displaying them like a trophy - mark bites back a teasing smile at your theatrics.

"we can listen to music." you ta da.

his brows pull towards the bridge of his nose, a frown overtaking his face as he thinks about your suggestion. "how is listening to my music going to keep me focused? - I get way too pumped up listening to my playlists."

"your palylists," you state, sliding into the empty spot beside mark. he watches you curiously, eyes following your every move as you start to connect your earbuds to your phone. "that's why we will listen to my music. listening to music you don't care about helps you stay focused on your work because you're not actually dissecting the song."

"and what if we listen to the same kind of music?" mark says lightly, taking the airpod from your outstretched fingers, nestling it in his ear.

slowly, you eye him - looking him over from his head to toes. "we won't." you put your own airpod in, leaving the ear closest to mark free in case he had any questions.

a few tutoring sessions before this one, you gave mark the detailed outline of what you'd be helping him with. you provided him with the names of all the textbooks and materials he'd need, as well as a detailed list of all test and due dates.

you had told him that you wouldn't spoon feed him anything, and that if he wanted to get his grades up, he had to try his best. you were there for clarification on anything he deemed difficult, and for when he is struggling and to edit his notes: the way you believed tutoring should be.

seeing as mark clearly had his notes out before you arrived (late) to the library, you pulled out your own notebook, along with your textbooks, preparing for your hour long session.

"you can change the song whenever," you tell mark quietly, setting your iphone between the two of you face up on the table.

"sounds good." he nods once, fingers toying his his pencil in a way that has you feeling a little bit fuzzy.

you clear your throat, looking away as the soft melodies of gracie abrams filter through your ears. flipping open your psychology textbook, you decide you'll start to get a head start on your next assignment- not knowing when you'll have any other time to do it. between your part time job at staples, tutoring mark and your other classes: your schedule was pretty full - you didn't want to fall behind.

you just begin to read into the second paragraph of the text blurb, your highlighter moving slowly along your page - the song abruptly changes. the music pauses in your ear for only a moment and you look over to see mark as he skips the song.

he catches your stare, giving your a quick nonchalant shrug. "sorry," he mutters, going back to his notes as a new song starts to play through the mini speaker tucked in your ear.

you sigh calmly, focusing back on your textbook.

watermelon sugar doesn't even reach the chorus - harry styles' voice is cut short as the the song stops once more. you bite your tongue, choosing to ignore mark as he skips another song. but then he does it again as a lana del rey song starts to play and you grunt annoyed - turning to face mark as he skips through your phones music library completely unaware of his own annoyance levels.

"what the hell," you question firmly.

mark pulls a face, unbothered by your clear distaste, "I'm not into these songs." he says nonchalantly, skipping over shawn mendes.

you scoff, "yeah that's the whole point. just-" you push his hands away from your phone quickly, stopping him from skipping any more songs. "let the music play," you tell mark gently - reminding yourself of a mother telling her toddler to behave.

he grunts like you're the one being annoying and that sort of makes you want to punch him in the gut. obviously you don't, and you choose to ignore mark and get back to your assignment.

a good 20 minutes pass without the song switching unnaturally, and anytime you take a curious peek towards mark out of the corner of your eye, you can see that he looks focused on his work. you gloat to yourself, happy with the success of your music studying idea.

mark only nudges you to ask for clarification twice, which is another small victory. since your professor appointed you to be marks tutor, you and mark have met up a handful of times for lessons. it seemed like he still likes to tease you just like he always has and that can make teaching him and spending time with him very challenging- but you've gotten used to his antics now (for the most part).

mark has gotten better with understanding the readings you've been giving him over the past few weeks of tutoring as well. not only that, but his essays have needed less editing.

your professor is very happy with the success, and is very adamant to keep working with mark until he reaches a B average. he's brought his average up to a C rather than a D+ so it was very much a work in progress still but he was getting there.

your thoughts are halted when the music pauses once again - an abrupt change to silence from the soft melodies of the music. irritated, you turn to give mark an earful for stopping the song once more, but you pause.

mark looks a bit starstuck - giving you a perplexed look with his brows raised in questions. his plump lips are agape as his eyes dart between you and your phone.

"hold on..what did taylor just say?" he questions curiously, still looking very much shocked.

"mark, you're not supposed to be listening to the music." you tell him tiredly, exhaling deeply as you look over at him.

he gives you another look of perplexity, "how am I supposed to ignore lyrics like that? run that part back."

"no," you laugh once, pushing away his hand once he tries to reach out to rewind the song, "we are not dissecting taylor swift lyrics." you tell him.

"but i'm bored," mark all but whines, head falling as he rocks back in the wooden library chair. just when you go to scold him for his dangerous seating position, mark continues, "and im done all my work that you planned for today! so tell me what the hell dear john is about."

you give him one more look of unsureness, knawing on your lips as you glance briefly at your work and textbooks infront of you. one more look at marks soft features has you breaking, your shoulders deflating as you exhale a deep long breath. "fine," you say highly, "but buckle up - because it gets crazy."

1:54 a.m.

mark

I can't stop thinking about john mayor

mark

like what an asshole

y/n

it's almost 2 in the morning

mark

I didn't know taylor swift went off like that in her songs. are there more like that?

y/n

yes

mark

you gotta send me them because i'm getting into this

mark

wait, why are you awake?

y/n

why are you awake

mark

I asked you first

y/n

can't sleep yet

mark

why?

y/n

are you always so nosy ?

mark

always.

y/n

i've got a english lit test tomorrow and im still studying for it. idk if im prepared or if I will pass

mark

you're kidding right ? you're like the the smartest person I know. you'll ace it

y/n

maybe

mark

you will

mark

I think you should take a break and make me a taylor swift playlist

y/n

you're so bossy

mark

you love it

mark

don't stress about your test seriously. you do the best when you believe in yourself

mark

and if there's a 10th seat available in the 5th row...they better watch out

y/n

who are you and what have you done with mark estapa ?

mark

ha ha

mark

send me the playlist as an apology for that comment

tutoring lesson 11

you knaw on your lip, feeling the skin you've shredded between your teeth. your eyes dance over the white paper, marked with red pen once more, skimming the notes and numbers.

you release your lip, a small sigh coming out of your mouth. "it's okay."

mark groans at the sight of your face, very much indicating that it was indeed not okay. "I flunked it." he says disappointed, eyes drooping with what is no doubt exhaustion.

you knew that last night mark had a game, only after he had asked you to come watch what he claims is the 'best sport to watch live' - to which you declined...again. that combined with his busy schedule left him little to no time for the extra studying you suggested he should do before the test. clearly- that didn't happen.

"you didn't flunk," you remind mark again, placing his test down on the white table top in your booked study room, the shiny red C on the top right corner staring back at you. "it's a C. your grade won't change."

"but it won't get better," mark sighs, running his hands through his hair. "I studied as much as I could, I swear." he looks at you wide eyed and panicked, and you feel a pang of guilt all the way down to your toes.

"I know you did," you reassure him, "but sometimes in order to retain the information better, you need to switch up your study methods. for the next test we will change it up, and we can study extra. don't stress."

he sighs sadly, dropping his head backwards so his view is of the crisp white ceiling of the secluded room. "fuck, I don't want to fuck up and not be able to play." he admits with defeat, blinking heavily.

"we aren't going to get to that point, not when you got me - the smartest person you know - tutoring you, right?" gently, you nudge your elbow into his side, teasing him.

mark looks back at you, smirking softly at your attempt to get him out of his momentary slump. "right."

"okay, so let's just forget about this test for now, we can go over it another time." you push the paper away and off to the side of the table, hiding it from his line of vision.

mark watches you with a fond expression, that same smirk on his lips you've grown to learn is almost always present in your presence.

"today we will go over this new material first, sound good?" looking over, you find mark already looking at you - your eyes meeting softly.

ever so slightly, you feel your face fall - inhaling sharply at the fond expression on marks face. he is closer than you expected, and you don't think you've ever been this close to mark. at this proximity, you notice how prominent the freckles on the bridge of his nose are and how rich his eyes are.

"sounds good." mark says gently. you snap out of your head, and you clear your throat, turning your attention back to your textbook and the lesson plan that you had pulled up on a word doc on your laptop.

throughout the rest of your lesson with mark, you'd often find yourself admiring his face, weather it was his side profile or full frontal. you'd watch the way mark's tongue would dart out when he was writing and the way he'd roll his eyes anytime he had to read something boring.

you notice how his nose is perfectly shaped for his face, and how his stubble is starting to grow in, giving his usual baby face a more rugged appearance. you take notice of how often he runs his hand through his hair, and how when he was trying to understand something, he'd knaw on the skin around his thumb.

you also see how he was solely focused on spending this time working on the new material. mark never sighed with impatience, and he never once picked up his cell phone for a distraction- even when it was buzzing crazy on top of the table. 

the only time he stopped working was to annoy you - of course.

8:21 p.m.

....incoming facetime from mark

....missed facetime from mark

8:22 p.m.

mark

sorry didn't mean to call you

y/n

that's okay

mark

fuck. yeah I did

mark

I wanna talk to you

y/n

are you okay? what's up?

mark

nothing bad. i'm just bored

y/n

what do you want me to do about that ??

mark

entertain me obviously

y/n

oh my apologies your highness

mark

apology accepted

mark

what's your favourite movie ?

y/n

why..?

mark

don't be weird and just answer the question

y/n

okay fine

y/n

confessions of a shopaholic. what's yours?

mark

fast & the furious

mark

only the first one though

y/n

are the others ones bad?

mark

not the best

mark

wait...have you never seen fast & the furious ?

y/n

no

mark

omg. you have to ! like no i'm actually making you

y/n

okay then i'm making you watch confessions of a shopaholic 😗

mark

i've already seen it babe

y/n

did you just call me babe ? 🫣

mark

oh yeah i did. you love it ?

y/n

omg no stop 😭😭

mark

in fact it's going to be your new name in my phone ! bc you love it so much

y/n

you're annoying

"what's so funny over there?" your roommate sabrina questions - her voice full of amusement and curiosity. she pulls one of her earbuds out, eyeing you from her spot on the small love seat.

you look up at the sound her voice rather quickly, adjusting your position on your chair to seem natural. "nothing really." you're not sure why it feels like you've been caught doing something you shouldn't - but you can't help but feel guilty. you laugh once, running a hand through your loose hair. "nothing worth repeating."

sabrina quirks an eyebrow at your odd actions, and she eyes you over suspiciously. it doesn't take long for her brain to come to a conclusion- you can practically see a light bulb flick on above her head of blonde hair. her eyes widen and she springs up from her lounged position, her other earbud falling into her lap. "are you talking to a guy?" she squeals.

you scoff roughly and definitely too loud, giving your friend a perplexed look. "what? no."

"you so are." sabrina says giddily, covering her cheeks with palms. "only guys can get you smiling like that. spill - who is he?" she leans further forward on the couch, closer to you and your spot on the adjacent chair.

"sabrina," you sigh gently, a small laugh nonchalant following, "it's nothing like that...it's just mark - he's just annoying me like usual."

she hums once, leaning back into an upright position, "right. how is that going by the way?"

you feel your stomach swoop and your cheeks threaten to burn red. "how is what going?" you question nervously, toying with the string of your pyjama pants.

"the tutoring....obviously." she chimes, something between an amused smile and a confused one settled on her round face.

obviously she means the tutoring, you think. there is no other relation between yourself and mark estapa that warrants any type of questioning. but then why do you feel the way you're feeling - your brain questions you.

"fine," you answer quickly, dismissing the annoying turmoil in your own head.

if sabrina thinks your acting weird she doesn't say anything, only watching you as you tug on your string and answer her question. you continue, cheeks flushed at her curious stare, "we are really making progress."

she hums, "this is still the same mark estapa that was fighting you for a seat in class - right?"

you purse your lips, "mhmm."

her lips tug up in a way that's unfamiliar to you, but she looks happy so you don't question her "well, i'm glad there's no more hostility then."

you pause, tilting your head as you think. "not as much." you correct her.

sabrina just shrugs, tucking one of her earphones back in. "who knows," she chimes, giving you one last look, "maybe the two of you will become friends after all this." she doesn't give you a chance to respond, putting her second airpod in and continuing her netflix show.

you exhale, head falling back against the chair with exhaustion. "maybe," you whisper to yourself.

your phone buzzes against your thigh, and you pick it up, your text thread with mark still up on your screen.

mark

i've changed it! too late

mark

okay now you have to ask me a question. that's how this works

mark

oh so you're ignoring me

mark

ur gunna make me cry

you smile and begin to type a response.

—

mark had always loved street parties. the atmosphere of everybody gathered outside gave him a sense of belonging and comfortability - the fresh air combined with unlimited space to move around and mingle always trumped a cramped house party.

often, mark as well as the wolverines roster found themselves mingling with their friends and classmates at any and every street party they managed to catch wind of. after all, with their busy schedules, it was sometimes the only time they got to mingle with one another.

tonight was no exception. mark was nursing his second beer of the night, the condensation dripping down his hand and off his wrist anytime he brought the neck up to his lips for a gulp. beside him, ethan laughs loudly at something luca points out, and mark finds himself joining in - even through he's not sure what's so funny.

suddenly, luca turns his attention towards mark, a mischievous glint in his big eyes. "I think papa estapa should find dylan and get us some more drinks."

"what? why me?" mark groans unimpressed.

"because," ethan sing songs, crushing his empty can and tossing it into the trash bin that, conveniently, was near the trio. "I got them last time."

"right, okay." mark sighs, eyes already squinted as he searches the mass of bodies gathered in the street, trying to find their social butterfly best friend, dylan duke.

"you'll find him," luca says, "hard to miss dylan with that embarrassing cooler backpack."

ethan and luca laugh loudly once again, and mark even chuckles along at the thought of dylan's prized bag he wore at every party. it was a sunshine orange coloured cooler, with frayed straps and liquid stains all over - because yes he refused to wash it in case it would 'take away its magic' - whatever that meant.

the thought of dylan's weird superstition has mark thinking of you as he walks through the sea of people. he thinks about just 48 hours ago during a tutoring session - mark remembers how your hair had been slicked back into a braid, and how shiny and soft it looked as you moved around. although, he thinks he prefers your hair down because he likes the way you hide behind it like a curtain when you're writing - or the way you constantly fiddle with the ends.

mark has been suprised with how well you have managed to take to him - especially with his constant pestering and the way he knows he pushes your buttons. he was also suprised with how smart you truly are - but then again what else did he expect with all your random facts and weird superstitions.

mark takes a moment to glance behind himself to make sure dylan hasn't slipped passed him unknowingly, but as he does so, mark bumps into something - or someone rather.

immediately, he turns and finds you.

he blinks once hard, making sure his mind wasn't playing tricks on him. when mark realizes you were in fact standing there, his lips tug up, peering down at you with suprise. "oh shit it's you."

you giggle lightly, head tilted so you could look at him. "it's me." you say highly, swaying in your stance.

your blinks are a little lagged and your flushed under the street lamps - that combined with the scent of fruity tequila on your breath has mark squinting suspiciously, "are you drunk?" he questions.

you scoff and look like your going to deny his accusation, but you stop yourself - pursing your lips and slowly nodding. "I may be a little tipsy."

mark smirks slowly, eyeing you teasingly, "a little?"

you nod confidently, bringing your arms behind your back so you are holding onto your own wrists. the new position has you loosing your balance and you stumble forward, barley catching yourself before falling into marks chest.

mark looks like he's holding back a laugh at your tumble and immediately you eye him irritated. "don't start." you huff, standing back to your full height.

"I didn't think this would be your sort of thing," mark admits, stepping closer to your smaller frame so he doesn't have to yell over the sound of people laughing and music blaring - allowing you to hear him more clearly over the noise. "thought you'd maybe be home - studying or something scholarly." he teases.

"i'm not into it," you admit with a slur, "i'm actually heading home. my roommate - sabrina, she said if I didn't come out with her tonight she'd put nair in my shampoo." you thumb behind your shoulder, even though sabrina wasn't there.

"brutal," mark hisses, "so where is sabrina?"

you shrug gently, looking around quickly to see if you could spot her. "don't know. she wants to stay."

he quirks a brow at you, "so you're going alone?"

you nod.

"no, i'll walk you." mark says adamantly, already patting his pockets to make sure he has everything before leaving, "you're drunk and i'm not in good conscious letting you go alone - i'm a gentleman." he still manages to teases you even when he's telling you what to do.

"i'm tipsy, not drunk. remember?" you say matter of factly, crossing your arms over your chest and turning your nose up.

"right. my apologies," mark teases you again, pulling out his phone, shooting a quick text to ethan that he'd not only be leaving the party but he didn't find dylan and couldn't yet their drinks - fend for yourselves boys.

"alright," mark hums, slipping his phone back into his jean pocket. "let's go your majesty." he holds his arm out for you to take, the gesture over exaggerated and embarrassing.

you roll your eyes, dropping your arms so you're able to grip the crook of his elbow - regardless of his teasing. after all, you were very much drunk and were happy for the stability on the walk back.

when mark finally gets you both towards the direction of the student dorms and away from the bustling crowd is when he next speaks - his hoarse but still sweet voice pulling you from your own thoughts. "I think you'd like fine bald."

you slow in your steps, looking at him inquisitively. "what?"

"you know," mark shrugs, pulling you further along the sidewalk with a gentle tug from his elbow, "in case your roommate would've actually put nair in your shampoo."

it takes your intoxicated brain a moment to register his words but once you come to, your laughing loudly, right into marks strong shoulder -  your weight pushing onto mark as you lean into him.

"liar." you accuse him once your laughter subsides.

"never," mark says back. you don't say anything back, too busy trying to walk straight beside him. after a few moments, he continues, "so," mark smirks teasingly, nudging his elbow into you - the action momentarily squeezing your arms. "what's your favourite thing about me?" he questions.

you gasp with despair, your free hand coming up towards your exposed neck - clutching your imaginary pearls as you look up at the tall boy. "you're taking advantage of my drunkness," you slur accusingly, "people can't lie when they're drunk."

"thought you were just tipsy." he chimes, brow quirked at you knowingly.

"boooooo," you give him a thumbs down as you voice your opinion, which makes mark laugh, his bicep bumping into your shoulder at the movement.

you sigh loudly, deep in thought as you and mark continue further down the sidewalk, the sight of your building coming into view. "my favourite thing about you," you start soon after, "is that you're very determined, especially in your school work. it's a good quality to have."

even with your slurred speech and wobbly walk, mark can tell you're being genuine - your intoxicated state a clear indicator that you've lost any chance you had at a filter.

mark has never thought himself to be determined academically. on the ice - sure, but not with school - especially not when he was failing. clearly, you see something in him he doesn't see himself. that has him wanting to work even harder to not only improve for himself - but for you.

instead of just thanking you for the compliment, he chooses to faux frown, knowing teasing you when you're this drunk was an opportunity he wasn't going to pass up. " it's not that i'm devilishly handsome?"

mark expects you to roll your eyes like always - or even sigh all high and mighty how you tend to do when he gets on your nerves but you want to pretend your unaffected. but instead, you smile all dopey up at him, and the words that come out of your mouth are definitely ones sober you would never say. "well that definitely doesn't hurt."

"you're such a flirt tonight, y/n/n," you don't bat an eye at mark's new nickname for you, shrugging lightly at his remark. mark continues, a sarcastic sneer on his face "makes me a little sick to be honest."

"hey!" you screech, pulling away from the warmth of his muscular body, your hand unwrapping from where it was still resting in the crook of his elbow "i'll never do it again, wouldn't want little marky to feel sick from a compliment from y/n y/l/n!"

he laughs loudly at your teasing outburst and he reaches out towards your stumbling body, grabbing onto your arm and slowly pulling you back into him. "you know i'm kidding y/n."

you look up at him softly, feeling the way his breath fans across your hairline as he stands above you.

mark continues quietly, "if i'm being really honest, I want you to compliment me all the time."

you clear your throat once, breaking your eye contact. nonchalantly, your shrug. "we will see about that - depends how well behaved you are." you tease him, the two of you nearing the entrance of your building. at the end of your sentence, you burp just a little, a soft but slurred apology spewing from your lips immediately as you giggle at yourself.

it's a harsh reminder for mark that you are in fact hammered, and that you would probably have little to no recollection of the conversation in the morning.

you start walking up the three steps to your front door but pause at the first one, glancing back over at mark. "why did you take my seat from me?" you hum in question, swaying as you spin around to fully face him again," that second day of classes, why don't you just sit in the back like the first day?"

mark hisses through his teeth gently, eyeing your blissful flushed face. that day many weeks ago flashes through marks head as you stare at him - awaiting for an answer. even though mark knows you won't remember what he says anyways, he doesn't tell you why. "ask me that when you're sober." he says.

you make a fart noise with you tongue at his response, giving him another thumbs down - clearly unimpressed with his answer.

mark reaches towards you and flips your hand right way up so that it's turned into a thumbs up. you slap his hand away.

the sight of his smile and the sound of his laughter has your belly feeling funny - similar to the swoop on a drop of a rollarcoaster. you turn away from him, key in hand as you take the final two steps up.

you plunge the key into the door lock, jiggling it around until the door unlatches itself for you.

"need help upstairs?" mark asks from behind you.

you glance over your shoulder at him once again, passing the threshold of the doorway. "thought you were a gentleman, marky." you tease him knowingly, eyebrows raised in his direction.

mark tongues his cheek at your remark, nodding once at you. "goodnight y/n." he chimes.

"night night." you sing song, shutting the door gently.

tutoring lesson 18

mark jostles on his bed, sighing loudly as he shifts around. the movement has the pen gripped between your thumb and forefinger slipping -  accidentally drawing a long harsh line down your homework.

slightly aggravated, you take a deep calming breath, moving around the line and continuing your work silently - cross legged on top of mark's bedspread.

after your last study session, mark complained about constantly working in the dusty library or a hospital white study room and told you he needed a change of scenery - told you his brain was going to explode if not, which made you roll your eyes at his over exaggeration.

although, you had to agree with him that the repetitive scenery was becoming tiring, and a change of location would be nice and would help benefit mark's learning.

so ahead of your current tutoring/study session, mark had texted you asking to meet at his place - he sent his address and stated his place was empty for working.

that's how you ended up on his plaid navy bedspread a few hours past his text messages - all kinds of class work laid out in front of you and mark, both of you finishing up some assignments.

once again, mark sighs loudly, flopping around his bed like a fish to try and further get your attention - his previous exaggerated sigh not working in his favour.

you take his very obvious bait, looking over at him with a quirked brow.

mark was already watching you, waiting for you to give him the attention he was wanting. "can we take a break?" he asks in a whine, similar to a naughty kid who wants to get their way, "I might throw myself off a cliff if I have to read anymore articles." he warns, flopping around some more.

you sit up, stretching the ache in your back that formed from being hunched over your studies. you roll your eyes at his dramatics, but you don't think a break is a bad idea. your back is sore and your hand was cramping from all the writing, both are practically begging you to relax.

you break, "okay, let's take a break."

the puppy dog look mark was previously sporting in your direction turns into one of relief, that same smirk he was always wearing making its much anticipated return. "alright, let's get rid of these books, i've got something in mind." he waggles his eyebrows at you, giving you a wink.

that combined with that smirk you're growing to love of his, has some inappropriate thoughts running through your head - dirty ideas increasing as mark quickly gathered all books a loose papers to clear the bed.

thankfully mark doesn't catch your flustered expression because he is too busy placing all your stuff of the floor. "we are watching a movie." he tells you happily, sitting back up on the now clean bedspread.

clearing your mind of its contents, you crawl up towards the top of the bed, joining mark. you let yourself follow suit and lean back against the headboard, supporting your torso. "what movie?" you question curiously, eyeing mark as he clicks through streaming apps on his small tv.

finally he gets to his desired one, searching through the app's favourite list. mark smirks, glancing over at you. "fast & furious obviously."

the opening credits start to play through the bedroom, the film illuminating the dim bedroom.

you groan, looking away from mark in favour of letting you head fall back against the headboard with a thud.

"don't groan yet," mark laughs gently, his thick thigh nudging against yours. "it hasn't even started."

"thank god for that," you tease him, head lulling to the side so you are able look at mark once again. you watch as his lips tug up from your teasing, a small breathy laugh leaving him as he watches the tv.

softly, you smile as well, head turning back towards fast & the furious.

a beat passes.

"wait," mark suddenly alerts, "there's not some weird science thing about a certain side of the bed for movie watching, right?" his lips tug up towards the end of his question, an obvious indicator that he was trying to make fun of you and your weird statistics and knowledge about seats.

in all seriousness, you answer. "oh not for a bed - only the movie theatre."

"oh my god" mark deadpan, turning his attention back to the loud cars on the screen and away from you. "you're such a weirdo."

you giggle to yourself, grabbing one of marks throw blankets from the end of the bed, and pulling the fuzzy material up and over your body.

-

slowly, your eyes flutter open. the warmth of the sun on your face working as a natural alarm clock, waking you from your sleep. your surroundings are unfamiliar in such a sleepy state - noting the navy sheets and patterned bread spread.

then, you take notice of how your cheek feels hot, and how the scent right under your nose was seemingly very familiar. your eyes widen, and under your cheek, marks chest rumbles with laughter.

you were in marks room...in his bed...sleeping on his chest.

"well, hello, sleeping beauty." he says gently above your head. "was the movie really that boring you had to fall asleep on me?"

you roll off marks chest rather quickly, ending your impromptu cuddle session. it is clearly morning based on the sun streaming in his window, meaning you had accidentally slept over at mark's -  falling asleep sometime during fast & furious.

you wipe your eyes, cringing at the thought of the mascara you never had the chance to remove. you cringe harder thinking about the consequences of not washing your makeup off period. you hope sabrina isn't worried about you and you quickly shoot her a text of your location to end any sort of panic.

for the first time since opening your eyes, you finally meet mark's gaze. he's still lying down, hands behind his head as he looks at you from his spot half under the covers. the position has his biceps flexed perfectly, bulging under his tshirt - you feel yourself get warm from the sight, your body tingling pleasantly.

he quirks a brow at you questionably, still awaiting an answer to his earlier teasing.

clearing your throat, you hum. "well," you begin, your voice groggily and still thick with sleep, "wouldn't watch it again."

slowly, marks lips tug upwards into a lazy smirk. "you missed all the best parts," he tells you through his grin.

you scrunch your nose up in distaste. "I doubt that."

his mouth drops as he laughs. gently, he takes one of his pillows, using it to hit your side. before he can pull back, you grab onto the corner. mark doesn't fight you as you pull it from his grip, hitting him once in the chest with it as you laugh.

"are you guys coming to eat or what?" a voice calls from downstairs, their deep tone muffled through the bedroom door.

your brows pull together in confusion, eyeing mark.

he sits up, "ethan asked if we wanted food like 30 minutes ago, told him we'd be right down." mark whispers to you nonchalantly before shouting out a response to his roommate.

"you should've woken me," you insist, getting out of bed as mark does the same. "don't want them to think i'm rude."

mark shrugs, wordlessly tossing you a hoodie to wear. you pull it over your head immediately, the scent of mark invading your nostrils.

"couldn't wake the princess," he teases.

"shut up," you tell him.

you had only met ethan, marks roommate and teammate in passing the night prior as mark lead you upstairs for your tutoring lesson. the rest of his roommates though you had yet to meet. so breakfast (which consisted of scrambled eggs, bacon and questionably burnt toast courtesy of dylan) was spent chatting and getting to know them.

you found it rather amusing at the way all the boys kept asking you question after question - rather random ones at that. but you enjoyed it nonetheless - serving as a good distraction from the fact you woke up cuddling mark estapa because what the hell.

you shove move eggs in your mouth and ignore thinking too much about your morning surroundings, listening contently as luca fantilli asks what your favourite dinner condiment is (specifically dinner).

you don't notice all the teasing looks mark's friends were giving him when you were distracted. mark pretends he doesn't see the looks either.

the only looks he focuses on are yours - when you meet his eyes over the rim of your mug of orange juice. everytime mark has to fight off a smile.

3:28 p.m.

mark

I think my friends really liked you. definitely more than they like me

y/n

thank god :)

y/n

I was worried the whole being late for sophomore house breakfast would turn them off

mark

nah they don't give a fuck about that

mark

luca even said you were hot

y/n

really 😳

y/n

maybe you should give him my number then

mark

fuck that

mark

no way

mark

I said you're off limits

y/n

why?

y/n

are you jealous little marky?? 🥺

mark

yeah because then you'd tutor them and they'll be smarter than me

y/n

don't worry. i'll only ever tutor you 🫶🏻

mark

atta girl

tutoring lesson 21

"this isn't doing what you think it’s doing." you deadpanned, eyeing mark from across the small table.

mark’s boyish pout doesn’t waver, and he gently tilts his head. "really?" he pushes, groomed brows raised curiously and with amusement. your only response is a firm shake of your head— definitively.

marks lip pulls up into a smirk, “what about convincing? c’mon, at least give me that.” he hums, cheeky grin still playing at his lips as mark begins to lean even further forward.

you just squint at him. unbreaking.

mark sighs dramatically, leaning impossibly closer towards you across the table - so close that if you leaned forward you could kiss him. "please, y/n, you have to come to my game." he pleads.

once he sees you're not budging, mark clasp's his hands together in a loud prayer motion, "pleaseeeeeeeeeeeeee-"

quickly, you place a hand over his mouth, eyes wide. "stop whining," you interrupt his plea. "my ear drums are going to start bleeding."

underneath your palm you can feel mark snicker to himself, his eyes twinkling with nothing but mischief as he looks at you.

you blush, removing your hand from his face. you can still feel the way his stubble tickled you skin and the heat of his face on you. it has you blushing deeper, wiping away the tingles.

immediately, mark starts to ask the same question he's been asking you for months. ever since your and mark's relationship has grown from strictly academic agreement to a friendship,  he has been asking, begging and telling you that you need to come watch a hockey game.

every single time, you tell him no. the idea of men skating around and bashing into one another didn't sound that inviting. the way mark is looking at you now though, you can feel yourself wanting to break.

he continues, "how about if I get a B or higher on the midterm, you have come to one game."

"mark..." you sigh gently, eyeing him softly.

"just one." mark stresses again, "i'll even get you the ticket. I just want my friend there to watch me play - especially because she's never seen a hockey game." as he speaks, marks forearms falls flat on the table, reaching out so he can grab ahold of your wrists that were resting on top the desk - his thumbs stroking your skin soothingly.

a beat passes.

"okay," you sigh, "but only if you get a B."

mark smiles in victory, giving your wrist one gentle squeeze before releasing you. "you'll love it." he states.

you shrug nonchalantly, "you'll never know how i'll feel about it if you don't get back to studying." your eyes dart between him and his open textbook knowingly.

in all seriousness, mark nods, getting back to his notes as you both study from your early morning test for following day, the dim lights of the study room providing a calming atmosphere as you both concentrated on the task.

mark finds himself focusing on you a little while later- lost in watching you study the material. the way you twisted your hair around your finger, gently sucking on the end of your pen as you intently read the article laid in front of you.

he shuffles in his seat at the sight, clearing his throat and looking down towards his notes quickly. it isn't a moment later when marks eyes gravitate back towards you, his mouth opening slightly as he watches you pull your hair into a yellow claw clip, small wisps falling out to give you that hot librarian look that fulfilled all of marks childhood fantasies.

feeling marks stare, you look up to meet his eyes, raising your brows at his suspicious expression. the pen falls from your lips as you question him. "are you okay?"

"yeah - no," he huffs, "you sucking that pen, fuck - you're kind of turning me on." he admits shamelessly, wiggling in his seat again in a way that has you gawking wordlessly.

"what?" you think you've turned permanently beat red at his confession, eyes blown wide and brows raised towards him.

"you gotta stop before I have to leave," mark laughs gently, rubbing the back of his neck, "it's been awhile since I got laid so that's not helping."

"mark!" you screech, dropping your pen in favour of covering your ears with your palms, blocking out anymore things mark felt the need to admit. "I don't want to know that!"

your loudness has mark laughing, the sight of you getting so easily flustered is just too good. he nudges your foot with his own under the table, a subtle signal that he wasn't going to say anything else to embarrass you and that you could uncover your ears.

slowly you release the press from your palms, the humming of the air conditioning unit coming back to you.

mark doesn't move his foot away, letting it rest between your two under the table. it has you unable to focus for the rest of your booked study room time.

10:59 p.m.

mark

so do you need to borrow one of my jerseys to wear to the game ? 😉

y/n

don't get ahead of yourself cowboy. test hasn't happened and there's a week before we know the grade

mark

it'll be a B

mark

not sure if you know this but I have this really smart tutor

y/n

oh yeah ? tell me more

mark

well...

mark

she tried to seduce me today by sucking off her pen

y/n

i'm blocking you

—

it wasn't often that you'd go out the bars, but you and your two closest friends preferred it over roudy frat parties and nightclubs. after taking your first midterms of the year, you all planned on celebrating with a couple drinks at the local bar.

a place you'd been before, but for some reason the night felt....off. you told sabrina and your other mutual friend, taylor, that you'd get the next round of drinks after using the bathroom but you had an uneasy feeling as soon as you stepped up to the bar alone.

you hadn't yet got the bartenders attention, so you were just waiting off towards the end of the bar, that same weird feeling in your belly.

"hey," a voice said to your left, that unsettling feeling growing as a person joined you - there voice husky and breath too warm against your face. "pretty lame bar right?"

you turn your head to see a guy around your age - in fact, you're pretty sure you've seen him around campus. which would make sense considering the bar was only a 5 minute uber ride from student buildings.

you smile politely, shrugging your shoulders nonchalantly. "eh, all bars seem to be the same anyways." you turn your attention back to the bar, trying to grab the young female bartenders attention so you could get back to your table and leave the presence of this guy. your belly swirls with discomfort once more.

the guy doesn't get the hint, and moves closer to you. "I think i've seen you around campus, it's y/n, right?"

you furrow your brows but nod anyways, "yeah, that's me."

"i'm Landon," he says. "hey, think we should get out of here? talk somewhere quiet?" you feel his hand graze your side and immediately you push away, trying to create a sense of distance between you.

"i'm okay."

"c'mon," he laughs, "it be fun." his lingering touch turns into a harsh grip on your waist, fingers squeezing your ribs through your flowy top.

your brows raise, and you try and push him off of you once more. unfortunately, it's an unsuccessful attempt and your face drops with numbness and panic starts to become unbeatable. "let go of me," you manage to hiss, elbowing his ribs as you try and get him off you.

just when you think you may have to scream out for help, somebody calls out somewhere in the bar. you briefly see a familiar tall figure with soft blonde hair, and you feel like you can breath again.

"hey!" like an angel, mark appears beside you, removing landon's hands off and putting his much larger body between you and the creep before you - making the space you were desperately needing.

mark looks angry - which you didn't think golden retriever mark was capable of. his eyes narrow towards landon, "stop touching my girl like she's a piece of meat, fucking prick."

landon laughs disgustingly as he eyes mark back - a sound that has your skin crawling. although mark has never looked very intimidating, this new found anger makes him seem anything but.

landon doesn't seem to agree as he bites back. "she can do better, bud" unfortunately, he isn't backing down from the confrontation. you become even more nervous than before, quickly searching the crowd to see if you can spot of of marks teammates for a helping hand.

"I can make you look worse," mark threatens, stepping closer. his broad chest practically pushes landon back, and he stumbles once.

landon snickers, pushing him away. you watch him eye mark once more, and then hesitate. thankfully, he finally chooses to back down, stepping away from mark. "whatever man." the creep sends you one more disgusting look as he backs away.

you feel yourself relax immediately, a breath you weren't aware you were holding finally coming out. once landon is no longer in eyesight, mark turns his body fully towards you, eyes rather frantic as he looks over you. "are you okay? he didn't hurt you or anything?"

you shake your head, running a trembling hand through your hand. "I'm okay," you take a deep breath, meeting marks concerned gaze. "I didn't know you were here."

"I'm glad I was," mark says in a tone of something similar to disbelief - disbelief of what he just has to stop assumedly. "what a fucking dick."

you look down at your shoes with embarrassment. you can't believe you were in such a terrible situation in which you felt defenceless. you were embarrassed with yourself for not fighting back stronger. "i'm sorry," you mutter gently, meeting marks eyes again.

his blue gaze is still swimming with worry combined with a million other emotions. marks brows pull together, creating a little divot above the bridge of his nose. he shakes his head slightly, hands reaching up delicately before holding your cheeks in his warm palms, cradling you in his hands. "don't apologize." he tells you gently, a thumb stroking once over your cheekbone.

you swallow thickly, nodding at him. "thank you. you didn't have to go that."

"it's least I could do after everything you've done for me." mark says sincerely and you feel like melting into a soupy puddle right at his feet. then, like he's done it before, his hands travels to the back of your head, using the leverage to pull you into his broad chest, his other hand wrapping around your shoulders.

it was...new and rather nice and you heat up in the best possible way. you let yourself relax into his body, closing your eyes and inhaling his scent as you try and calm your erratic heart rate. immediately, your earlier embarrassment and upset stomach fade away until all you can feel is marks steady heartbeat and his head on top of yours.

"you sure you're okay?" mark pulls back slightly, keeping his hands on you as he dances over your face again. it's all very endearing and overwhelming in the best way.

you nod again, face heating up under his intense gaze, "yeah but i'll probably head out now, not really up for drinks anymore."

"I was actually on my way out before I saw you," mark tells you, "was gunna go to denny's for some pancakes if you wanted to come with."

your stomach rumbles at the thought of fluffy pancakes and sweet syrup with mark. "you sure?"

"I want you to come," mark says gently. "gotta make sure you're okay and not lying to me."

"okay," you say lightly, a smile beginning to blossom at marks sweet words and evident concern for your wellbeing. it was....really nice.

hours later, after a belly full of food and a night of once shock and discomfort turning into one full of laughter with mark, his roommates, and your friends do you register what mark had said to landon.

stop touching my girl.

tutoring lesson 27

your eyes danced over you computer screen as you read over your lesson plan for mark. you were currently waiting for him in the booked study room, the glass door still open for some white noise as you waited for his arrival.

suddenly, the steady sound of students talking amongst themselves and shoes squeaking on the aluminum tiles become more chaotic - an all too familiar voice invading your ears as it splews apologies.

you look up just to see mark weaving through students, making his way quickly towards the study room, apologizing to people as he bumped into them. your brows furrow at his sense of urgency as he approaches.

"mark?" you question once he passes the threshold of the open door, "are you okay?" you quickly give him a once over, checking him for any injures or threats - he looks fine (too fine, your brain reminds you).

mark doesn't answer you question - he can't with how big the smile on his face has grown. he takes two steps towards the desk you're sitting at, giving you a victorious look before slapping a booklet down.

you look down just as mark removes his large hand from the top of the paper, and a shiny B+ grade stares back at you - as well as a ticket to the next michigan wolverines home game.

"not just a B," mark says joyfully, breaking the silence, "but a B+."

you meet his eyes once more, and you can feel your lips beginning to tug upwards. finally, all of marks hard work has payed off and this grade would bring his average up to a B - which was what he was required to have in order to stay in the athletic department at the university of michigan.

"i'm so proud of you," you say truthfully, rounding the table quickly until you are standing in front of him.

mark hugs you - his hands sliding under your open jacket to hold onto you closely. you stiffen slightly at the feeling of his warm palms against your body, but he doesn't seem to notice.

you hug him back just as tightly.

you two pull away from one another shortly after, smiles on both of your faces as you bask in the successful feeling hanging in the air.

like gravitational pull, your eyes wander back over to the test booklet and hockey ticket abandoned on the table.

you purse your lips, reaching out to pick up the thick ticket paper - toying with the edge teasingly. you look up at mark once more, and still he's eyeing you, one brow quirked as he watches you curiously.

"so," you hum, "what does one wear to a hockey game?"

—

5:11 p.m.

y/n

wait where do I park??

y/n

oh wait you're probably not on your phone right now

mark

i'm here. you're good

mark

anywhere is section A

y/n

and you said any entrance right?

mark

that's right 🙂‍↕️

y/n

i'm a little nervous. is that stupid ?

mark

no not stupid. i think you're just excited to see the real men play a real sport 💪

y/n

omg 🙄

mark

i've got you a seat with kayleigh - rut's girlfriend. you'll like her

y/n

and how would you know that ??

mark

c'mon y/n/n. you should know how well I know you by now

mark

stand at the glass for warmups. I want to see you

you do really like kayleigh - which, of course you would because as much as you hate to admit it, mark does know you by now. all the months of knowing each other plus the hours upon hours you and him had spent together - it was bound to happen.

something else you should've known was bound to happen was the feelings you've encountered spending so much time with mark. you can't ignore the way your heart rate changes when you see him, or the way you flush when he stares at you all soft. you've become infatuated with the way mark smells and how he pushes your buttons and how kind he is.

the you at the beginning of the school semester would've never expected this from mark estapa. you assumed he was stuck up, and didn't care about his academics or peers. but the real mark was determined and caring and only wanted to make your tutoring experience fun. no wonder you felt like you were falling for him.

kayleigh's small elbow nudges your side, affectively pulling you from your daydreaming.

"looks like you've got an admirer coming your way," kayleigh teases quietly beside you, her perfect sweet smile nothing but comforting.

although your brows furrow, you can't help but smile back instinctually, turning your attention back towards the ice through the glass infront of you - just in time to see mark skate over to the boards where you and kayleigh stand.

he smiles big, coming to a fast stop - ice sliding up and off his skates blades so the glass becomes snowed. mark pushes away any lingering flurries, making your view of him once again clear.

"are you having fun?" he asks you, one of his gloved hands smacking against the glass between you to keep your attention in the loud arena.

his voice muffled the the pane, but you can hear just how happy he is. you nod wordlessly, your own smile making mark's grow bigger.

"good," he says.

you finally notice mark is holding a puck in that hand he used to hit the glass only moments before. you quirk a brow at him, but marks too focused on tossing the puck on the air, signalling to you that he wanted to throw it over.

once he knows you're paying attention and aware of his intentions, mark tosses the puck over the glass, the rubber biscuit falling right into your awaiting hands.

with the most teasing enthusiasm you can manage, you hold the icy puck to your chest, fanning yourself with your other hand. "always such a gentleman."

mark smirks at your remark and then he winks at you - skating away from the glass to continue his warm ups.

you flutter all over.

-

watching the wolverines play turned out to be really enjoyable. the sport itself was better than you expected - it was fast paced and aggressive. it seemed like something was always happening, which kept you interested and focused. you were even more focused on mark though. anytime he was on the ice, you felt yourself slip into a trance. he moved so skillfully and played so aggressively and motivated. you could finally understand to the full extent of why staying on the team was so important to him.

after the game, kayleigh said her and some of the other girls would stay around and wait for the guys to come out of the locker room to greet one another after a win. you weren't going to protest, and blindly followed her through the wolverines area and down towards the players tunnels.

when mark had seen you there, he lit up - greeting you in a warm hug and keeping you in within arms length as you all chatted after their win. when mark insisted he would drive you home and bring you back the next morning for your car - well, you obviously gave in and agreed.

that's how you ended up in mark's car, enthusiastically asking him a million questions about hockey - even the questions that you think seem stupid and are positive he's answered a million times before. mark lets you though, answering you questions with just as much excitement as you have.

mark flicks his blinker on, signaling his pull off on the night lit streets. he expertly parallel parks right infront of your building, turning towards you with a smile still on his face once he turns the car off. "so safe to say you'd come again?"

you let your head fall against the headrest gently, a tired grin taking over your rosy lips. "I would."

mark mimics your position, turning his body towards you in the driver's seat. "seeeee," he drags out with a gin, "I knew you would like it. I said I was smarter than you thought."

you frown slightly, "I knew you were smart."

his smile changes, a more earnest one taking over. marks teasing eyes turn soft as he eyes you in the dark car. "really?"

you nod once, "yeah - well, expect for when you tried to beat my to my seat everyday. I didn't think that was very smart of you."

he chuckles breathily at your teasing, tucking his lip between his teeth to try and contain his grin. "maybe," his voice is quieter, almost a whisper as he leans closer towards you, resting on the middle console. like gravity, you join him, leaning in. mark continues, "I had a reason."

"oh yeah?" you inquire breathlessly, brows quirked in his direction. "and whats that?"

he shrugs and continues to whisper. "maybe I wanted to sit near this pretty girl who sat there."

the air in the car morphs into a thick syrup, turning your skin hot and sticky. your lips tug up in a small but timid smile. "just maybe?"

marks tongue darts out, wetting his bottom lip in a way that has your toes curling and stomach filling with butterflies - bashing against your insides and tickling at your desires.

"most definitely," he shrugs nonchalantly, but the smirk that follows his words are anything but. mark leans in impossibly closer before you can form any thoughts or words. "can I confess something?"

"mhm," you hum, eyes fluttering on instinct.

his voice is deeper than normal, and he sounds so sultry that you may just pass out. "I really want to kiss you right now."

"i'm okay with that," you whisper after a beat of happily thick silence.

the last thing you see is marks beautiful smirk as he reaches up and grabs ahold of your face - nudging his nose against yours once, gently, before resting it against yours. finally, after weeks of wanting him to, mark leans in, pressing his lips to yours.

mark kisses in a way we weren't expecting. his lips were soft but he was rougher in his movements - confident in the way he held you and slotted his lips with yours. you're coming to realize that everything about mark is unexpected in the best way.

by the time you've pulled away, you're both breathless. the press of mark's forehead on yours helps keep you grounded, and you laugh lightly.

"can I confess something else," he breathes, that teasing smile still staring back at you.

"if it's as good as the last thing you confessed i'm all ears." you smile, brushing the tip of your nose across his.

he laughs once as you pull back again, shaking his head slightly as he admires you. "you're still turning me on." mark grins boyishly.

you squeal with laughter, smacking his chest gently. "mark!" you drag out, "you're so gross."

"yeah." he whispers, half and agreement half a question. he leans back in, connecting your lips again. you blush, hands resting against his neck as you reciprocate the kiss.

—

all night, you couldn't stop thinking about mark. which was inevitable considering he had slept over at your place, both of crammed in your tiny twin bed -laughing and talking (and making out) until the early hours of the morning.

he drove you back to the arena the next morning and on the ride there anytime you thought of how mark's gangly feet hung off the end of your bed, you'd enter a fit of laughter - and everytime mark knew you were making fun of him, so he would tickle your side quickly to annoy you.

it was all so domestic and tooth rooting levels of sweet your stomach hurt in the best way.

mark kissed you gooodbye before he had to go home and shower before his afternoon classes, and all was good and perfect and you really like him.

then the evening came, and you hadn't heard from him since he dropped you off. you didn't think too much of it though, assuming he was probably exhausted. a hockey game as well as a shitty and short sleep was bound to have him passed out for the night.

but then the next day was also radio silent. no pointless texts or facetime calls. no memes in your direct messages or unfunny tiktok's waiting on the app.

the third day, the day of your shared morning class, you spot him. mark doesn't look sick or tired and you can see his phone in his pocket meaning he still has one and it's working - every and any excuse you've made for mark about his sudden silence is no longer plausible. he was just simply ignoring you.

you march over, grabbing his forearm before he can walk into class. he looks confused at first, but once mark sees that it's you touching him, his eyes widen ever so slightly, face pale as he takes in your angry and confused expression.

"have a second?" you ask with faux sweetness. you don't wait for a reply, gripping his arm tighter and dragging him away from the entrance of the class. you march down the hall until its quieter, releasing his arm and turning to face him once the coast seems to be clear.

you raise a brow in his direction, "you're ignoring me."

"am I?" he asks awkwardly, running a hand through his hair nonchalantly.

you roll your eyes. "don't play stupid mark - we both know you're not stupid." you grit out, arms crossing over one another as you stare him down. "I don't understand what happened. I thought we were friends? I thought..." you trail off, swallowing thickly as emotion starts to scratch away at your throat.

a beat passes.

"thought what?" marks asks you harshly. his tone of voice has you confused, and you shuffle backwards, putting some distance between you. tears start to claw at your eyes, stinging you.

he laughs slightly, "I mean, listen, thanks for tutoring me and all but we're good now. we can go back to just classmates or whatever."

"are you being for real?" you whisper. your once angry crossed arms have turned into ones of defence, wrapping around you like a soft hug.

"yeah," he clears his throat, eyeing the floor "we're done now, I don't need you hanging around anymore and telling me what to do."

he couldn't even look at you. you purse your lips, nodding in a disgusted understanding. "fine," you say, "we're done then."

you ignore the way your voice cracks, turning heel and waking away from mark. you pass right by the open door of the lecture hall, not having the emotional capacity to be in the same space as the guy who just broke your heart.

—

you spent the following day wallowing in your own tears and self pity. you can't help but think that you've read his signals incorrectly. you think mark was only being civil to make your arrangement easier. he didn't want to be friends with you or date you - maybe he just wanted to hook up with you and then dump you. that thought is the worst of them all.

when you told sabrina the short conversation you last had with him, she was of course angry because, in her words, 'who does he think he is? fucking with you like that!'

she quickly assured you that you didn't do anything wrong and if his intentions weren't to pursue anything but friendship with you - he failed miserably.

a week after your brief fight with mark outside your shared lecture hall, you sit in your sweats on the living couch. still very much grumpy and angry with the wolverines player.

you were waiting for sabrina to get back from work before turning on the previous nights episode of the bachelor - munching on oreos and scrolling your phone aimlessly when you hear a knock at the door.

without thinking much of it, you make your way over. sabrina, as much as you love her, is a very forgetful person and it was often you had to let her back into your shared place after she'd forget her set of keys.

expect it's not sabrina, and your teasing remark dies on your tongue.

"i'm sorry." mark breaths as soon as the door opens between you. "I fucked up."

your momentary shock subsides and you laugh in disbelief, "yeah. you did." you shut the door in his face, walking away. if mark couldn't even find it in himself to look you in the eye while he broke your heart and told you that you were nothing more than a tutor - why should you let him look at you now.

"please, y/n/n," he pleas through door. softly, his forehead hits the wood, a dull thud echoing through your home. "i'm here to apologize."

you wouldn't let yourself cry - you've done enough crying the past week for years and years to come. you've done plenty enough crying over some stupid hockey player.

without a response from you, mark takes a deep breath, momentarily closing his eyes as he tries to gather his scattered thoughts.

"I said stupid things to you," he starts against your closed door, "stupid things I didn't mean. you are more than just my tutor okay? I do still need you because you're important to me. I only pushed you away because - fuck - i've never felt these feelings before and you made me nervous. honestly, you still make me nervous."

mark can't find it in himself to care that your neighbours - possible classmates of his even, could be and are most likely listening in as he talks to you through the door you shut in his face.

he sighs again, silently cursing to himself.

"awhile ago...when I walked you home after we ran into one another at that street party," he pauses, wetting his lips. the action feels useless, all moisture in his mouth feels gone. "you asked me why I took your seat that second day. y/n, I took that seat only on the pure hope you'd sit in it again. when I saw you that first day of classes, I thought you were the most beautiful girl i'd ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on. so the next day, I took it because I wanted any excuse to talk to you.

when you started going on about the importance of that seat that day, I knew you'd try and get it back....so I took the opportunity and tried to take it before you because I wanted you to interact with me...even just a little. and I would do it again if it meant I'd get to know you the way you've allowed me to."

mark is still alone in your buildings hallway. he listens intently against the door, but he doesn't hear any shuffling. it's silent - you're not coming back to him. his eyes close with disappointment - not with you but himself.

he pulls out his phone and opens your text thread.

your phone buzzes against the counter top and you look over quickly. the skin around your thumb is probably thanking you as you drop it from between your teeth - a nervous habit you'd always had.

you use a shoulder to wipe the tears that had leaked from your eyes, opening your phone to see a text.

a pre-made playlist from mark estapa is staring at you.

"I fucked up, i'm so so so sorry."

you sniffle quitley, scrolling through the few songs he'd curated for you.

mark speaks again, "I made you this. its okay if you don't want to talk, okay? fuck, I just needed to apologize -"

his voice becomes clear as you pull open the door that separates you from him and his apology is put to a halt. he looks shocked and nervous at the same time - the top of his cheekbones flushed and the rest of his face pale. you've never seen mark look so distraught and immediately, you know he is feeling guilty.

"you know you fucked up, right? like you're not just saying it so that ill forgive you and you can get into my pants?"

marks brows are pulled tight and he frowns roughly, "no, definitely not. I really fucked up and i'm really fucking sorry. you don't even need to forgive me but I just need you to know that I didn't mean any of that bullshit last week."

you still look hesitant, eyeing him as he stands before you. mark sighs gently, taking the smallest step towards you. "I need you, y/n. I need you like I need hockey and need the sun. you've become one of my best friends and I can't imagine not sitting beside you in class anymore. you're the reason i'm still playing hockey." he pauses. "I need you because I'm falling for you, y/n. and I can't go another day of hiding it."

"can I confess something?" you whisper waterly. you don't wait for a reply and continue, "I really like you and have for awhile now. I'm falling for you even harder - and," you take a deep breath, your body falling limp as you stare up at him. "...I really want to kiss you."

that smirk you love oh so much is back, and so is the colour in marks face. you smile with him just as he kisses you. the feeling so warm and familiar and right.

you've always loved statics and facts. one you've always found fascinating is how only 28% of college relationships end up marrying. now, logically speaking, that's isn't very high but as you stand in your doorway, mark estapa's hands in your hair and his lips on yours - you think that you may be apart of that statistic.

thank god for your seat war.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

[hockeyluvrr]

Lover || nh13

MASTERLIST

word count : 2,795

summary : snapshots throughout your relationship with nico (based on the song Lover by Taylor Swift)

gif isn’t mine!

We could leave the Christmas lights up 'til January And this is our place, we make the rules And there's a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you dear Have I known you 20 seconds or 20 years?

It was cold, quiet evening in New Jersey, and Nico was sitting by the fireplace with you. Both of you were cuddled up in a soft fuzzy blanket, a comfortable silence surrounding you. Christmas had come and gone, but the tree still stood proudly in the corner of the living room. You both knew that you should probably take all the decorations down and pack them away, but neither of you wanted to. The soft glow provided by the lights filled the room in such a warm way made it feel almost impossible to want to take them down.

“Are we leaving the lights up ’til January?” Nico questioned with a soft smile.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Until January?” You teased gently. “It’s already January 10th, baby.”

“Alright, February then?” Nico laughed softly, pulling you closer.

“Sure. I mean, our place our rules right?” You hum softly.

Nico just nods in response as you lay your head on his shoulder, relishing in the feeling of Nico next to you, his cologne wafting towards you slightly. You tilt your head up slightly to look at him, a small smile of your face when you find that his eyes are already on you.

“You’re giving me that look again.” You point out.

“What look?”

“The look where you’re trying to figure out if you’ve known me for twenty seconds or twenty years,” you tease softly.

Nico smiled softly as he moved his hand to run through your hair softly. “I still can’t figure it out,” I muttered softly. “But, I will gladly spend the next twenty years trying to.”

You smile softly as you feel your heart skip a beat, his sincere tone and words catching you off guard slightly. Nico had such a special way of making you feel like you were the only person in the world that mattered. You hum softly as you cuddle closer to him, the glow of the lights combined with the sound of the fireplace crackling creating a cozy atmosphere.

“You know,” you speak softly. “If leaving the lights up means that we get more nights like this then I say we leave them up forever.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Nico smiled. He leans in and kisses you softly, time seemingly slowing down as the kiss is unhurried and full of love. There was no sense of rush as the world outside your apartment blurred into insignificance. He slowly pulls away, only to rest his forehead against yours for a moment. He gently kisses the tip of your nose before pulling you into his chest.

You both sat there in comfortable silence, in your own little bubble, watching the fireplace. It didn’t matter that it was January, the both of you decided that the holidays could last just that little bit longer.

Can I go where you go? Can we always be this close forever and ever? And ah, take me out, and take me home You're my, my, my, my Lover

You and Nico strolled down the empty, moonlit streets of Newark after a night out with his teammates. The team had beat the Rangers and so the celebration was bound to be loud, fun and filled with laughter, along with lots of drinks. The both of you had probably had one too many drinks but you couldn’t find it within you to care, not when you were both walking home slowly, hand in hand. The only sounds that could be heard were the occasional passing car, the hum of the city and your heels clicking softly on the pavement.

“Did you have fun tonight?” You ask softly with a warm smile.

“Yeah,” Nico replied, eyes twinkling slightly. “But, this…this is the best part.”

Your heart fluttered at his soft, almost vulnerable voice. You leaned into his side more as you both stopped walking for a moment, the slightest bit tipsy but not caring as you listened to Nico’s steady heartbeat. “We should head home,” you muttered softly as you hugged Nico around the waist.

“Yeah…” He sighed softly before smiling. “How about one more dance?”

You laughed but let him spin you around softly anyway. The both of you swayed side to side on the pavement, lost in your own little world. It was just you, Nico and a love that the both of you were sure would never fade. “Can we always be this close, forever?” Nico mumbled softly into your hair.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Hischier,” you tease, you thumb grazing softly over the knuckles of his hand that held your own.

Nico grinned slightly at your words. “Good,” he spoke playfully. “Because I’m not sure what I would do if I couldn’t take you home with me.”

Your laugh softly, the sound echoing slightly off the empty street as you both start to walk home again. “You’re cheesy, you know that?” You say with a warm, adoring gaze.

“Only for you,” Nico muttered as he placed a soft kiss on your forehead. “Come on, we’re almost home.”

You both quickly make it into the apartment, and once you were both inside, Nico kicked off his shoes and unbuckled your heels before standing up again and dragging you towards the bedroom. You both sank into the bed, still fully dressed but not finding it within you to care. Nico pulled the cover up over you both and hummed softly when you settled into his side, you head on his chest.

“Forever and ever?” You mumble softly, your voice sleepy as you trace random, lazy patterns on his shirt.

“Forever and ever, baby.” Nico muttered, pressing a soft kiss on your head.

You drifted off soon after he spoke and in that moment, Nico knew he didn’t need much more than this. This was everything he could’ve ever dreamed of. It was simple, it was easy, it was everything.

We could let our friends crash in the living room This is our place, we make the call

The living room was a mess. There were pillows scattered on the floor, snack bowls half-empty on the coffee table, and a stack of board games next to the couch. A grin spread across Nico’s face as he looked around the living room. It was a Friday night, and your apartment had turned into a lively hub for the night for some of his teammates. Jack was sprawled on the couch, texting on his phone, while Luke and Dawson were bickering with Timo and Jesper over which game they should all play next.

You were in the kitchen grabbing more drinks, your laughter mixing with the upbeat music playing quietly from the speaker. You caught Nico’s eye and smiled. This was exactly what everyone needed. The past week had been a whirlwind of practices, travel and games. But, tonight everyone was home.

“I’m not letting anyone drive home tonight after the way Timo’s been losing at charades.” Nico joked.

Timo sent him a playful glare before Jack looked up from his phone and chimed in, “I’m in. But I’m picking the next game. Monopoly, prepare to lose guys.”

The group groaned, knowing how competitive Jack got while playing monopoly. At the same time, you returned with a few beers. You placed them down before plopping down next to Nico. “You think you’re so slick, huh?” You tease as you lightly nudge him. “Offering up our living room as a crash pad for the guys?”

“What? I like having everyone here,” he replied, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Besides, you and I both know they would’ve ended up staying the night anyway.”

You just rolled your eyes fondly before leaning into Nico’s side, watching as Jesper set up the Monopoly board, dramatically explaining the rules as if no one had played before. It felt like one of those moments that you could just bottle up and cherish forever. It was rare to find these moments in the busy hockey season, making this moment even more special.

Hours later, when the games were eventually put away, the group began to settle down for the night. Jack had already claimed the couch, leaving Luke, Timo and Jesper to use the floor as their makeshift beds for the night. Nico cleaned up quietly as you scrolled through the photos you had taken throughout the night.

“If Jack ever argues that he doesn’t get competitive playing Monopoly, I have proof otherwise,” you mutter quietly as you show Nico a picture of Jack mid-yell at Luke while he hoards his fake Monopoly money. Nico chuckles softly at the picture as he wraps his arms around your waist from behind.

“Also, we’re gonna need more snacks next game night. And maybe some extra blankets,” you hum softly.

“Sounds like a plan, baby,” Nico mutters softly, his fingers brushing through your hair.

And I'm highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you I've loved you three summers now, honey, but I want 'em all

Nico was used to attention, it was something that came with being the captain of the Devils. Nico always managed to fit right in, being effortlessly confident and charming. Tonight was a Devils event, a gala where fans and influencers and important people mingled with the players. In turn, Nico found himself talking to person after person.

Across the room, standing next to Jesper’s fiancée Nicole, you were trying your best to keep your insecurities under control. You’d been doing well, mingling and joining conversations, but you were unable to stop yourself from glancing over at Nico. He was talking with a beautiful girl, her hand resting on his arm as she laughed at whatever he was saying. It wasn’t like you didn’t trust him. You did, completely. But, it doesn’t mean that you like it.

Eventually, you decided you’d had enough of your overthinking and walked over, hoping you could slip in and steal him away from the woman without causing a scene. Nico spotted you approaching him and his eyes lit up. You watched as he seemingly said goodbye to the woman before making his way towards you, a boyish grin on his face.

“Hey, baby,” Nico spoke softly when he reached you. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” You answered, your smile a little tight. “Thought I’d come and check on you. You seem like Mr. Popular tonight.”

“Popular, huh?” Nico grinned. He knew exactly what you were trying to indicate to him. “You’re not jealous are you, baby?”

“Of course not,” you scoff lightly, very obviously lying through your teeth.

“You know you’re the only one I’m interested in, right?” Nico said softly, his hands squeezing your hips slightly as he pulled you closer.

“I know,” you mutter, feeling a little silly now. His gentle reassurance did make the tightness in your chest ease slightly. “I just…I feel like sometimes everyone wants you. And I guess it makes me…a bit paranoid.”

“I get it, baby. But, you’ve got nothing to worry about. You’re my girlfriend and I’ve loved you for three summers now and I’m definitely sticking around for the rest of them. No one other than you is on my radar, baby. I promise,” Nico reassures you softly, his hands gently massaging your hips as he speaks.

You’re caught off guard as he says all the words you needed to hear. You blink a few times before speaking again, “You mean that?”

“Every word, sweetheart,” he replied. “You think I’d wanna be here with anyone but you? No chance,” he finishes, leaning closer and placing a soft kiss on your temple. “You know, it’s kind of cute when you get jealous,” he teases.

“Oh, shut up,” you mutter as you fool your eyes with a smile.

“I’m flattered you think I’m such a catch, baby,” Nico chuckled softly. “But, there’s no need to worry. Nobody else compares to you and I’m not going anywhere…okay?”

The sincerity in his voice practically made your worries melt away. “Okay,” you whisper softly. “But, if that woman touches your arm again, I might have to claim what’s mine,” you joke slightly.

“You can claim me whenever you want, baby,” Nico muttered with a smile as he gives you a kiss.

Ladies and gentlemen, will you please stand? With every guitar string scar on my hand I take this magnetic force of a man to be my lover

The day you’d both been waiting for had finally arrived. It was a beautiful day, the sun shining brightly over the rustic countryside venue in Switzerland. There was a soft breeze that rustled through the leaves, giving Nico a bit of relief as he nervously fidgeted at the altar. Even though his hand movements gave away his nervousness, the slight smile on his lips revealed the excitement and love he was feeling. In his pocket, he could feel the crumpled piece of paper in his jacket pocket, a note he’d kept with him since you’d said yes to his proposal. He didn’t need to read it, he already knew the words by heart. But, for Nico, just knowing that it was there helped ground him slightly.

The entrance music suddenly started and all of the guests turned to watch as you walked down the aisle. Nico felt his breath catch as he saw you. The flowing ivory gown you were wearing hugged you perfectly as the veil framed your face beautifully. He could just about see the wide smile on your face that he was sure mirrored his own. Nico had seen you thousands of times before but today was different…today you were everything.

When you reached him, he could clearly see the love sparkling in your eyes. It made his heart ache, in the best way possible. Nico reached out and took your hands in his, shaking slightly as he did. “You look so beautiful,” he whispered out, tearing up slightly.

You smile softly at his words and reach up to wipe away the single tear that fell. “And you look handsome.”

The officiant smiled and started the ceremony. Soon enough it was time for you both to say your vows. Nico went first, his voice soft but steady as he spoke to you, “I’ve been through many moments in my life, on and off the ice, that left me scarred and bruised. But, each and every single one of those moments lead me here, to right now, to you. You are my rock, my calm after the storm. And I promise you, from this moment on, I will always be your rock, your safe place. I promise that I will always love you as fiercely as I can, no matter what. Because, even though I have had many victories in my life…I can guarantee that you have and always will be my greatest victory.”

You take a deep breath as you hold back your emotional tears before you speak softly, “Nico, I knew from the very first moment that I met you that you were my forever. From that moment, I was determined to make you mine. And I somehow managed it. When I think about what I want for our life together, all that I want is to be an absolute refuge for you. I want you to feel so unconditionally and irrevocably loved by me. I promise that for as long as I am with you that I will never make you feel like you aren’t enough for me, because to me you are my everything…my whole world. I love you, and I will love you forever.”

There was a gentle murmur from your guests, a few sniffles here and there as the officiant spoke the final words of the ceremony. Both of you barely registered them, too caught up in taking each other in. As soon as the words, “You may now kiss the bride,” were spoken, Nico immediately closed the distance between you and kissed you softly and sweetly.

As you pulled away, the cheering crowd came back into focus for you both as the music started again. You both turned hand in hand as you walked back down the aisle, your hearts full. You both leaned into each other as you walked together, basking in the moment. And as you both disappeared down the aisle, the sun dipped in the sky, casting a golden, warm glow over the moment…a glow just as bright and warm as the love the two of you would share until the very end.

[folkwhoreberry]

Amongst Demigods⁵

A Change Of Plans

f1 x reader

or... the one where a little plot twist wouldn’t hurt, right?

word count : 664

warning : none, english is not my first language!!!

on the radio : the tortured poets department by taylor swift

check masterlist for more parts of the series!!

🏛️🏎️

you don’t answer franco’s question right away. the words hang in the air like smoke, soft and lingering, while the lake reflects the pink-orange sky like nothing’s changed. but everything has. you’ve been claimed. the camp sees you differently now. the boys look at you differently now. and franco - well, franco’s sitting beside you like he’s holding his breath.

“I don’t know,” you finally say, voice quiet. “I need some time.”

he nods, gently, like he expected that. “I figured. just… had to say it.”

you give him a small smile, one that says thank you for being brave, and the two of you sit there a little longer, shoulders brushing.

but things don’t exactly go back to normal after that.

——————

in the days that follow, everything is heightened. lando finds you before breakfast just to walk you to the pavilion. oscar always manages to end up your sparring partner in sword practice - except he mysteriously “forgets” how to go easy, like you didn’t just get claimed by a literal god of the dead. daniel brings you snacks he “definitely didn’t steal from dionysus’ stash,” and charles… charles watches. from across the field, the dining area, the archery range. he watches you like you hold answers he’ll never get.

and franco? he gives you space.

he’s still around. he still smiles. but he doesn’t bring it up again. not yet.

one night, after a long day of drills and a brutal obstacle course (george bet five drachmae you’d beat alex - he won), you sneak away from the cabins. the woods are too loud, the campfire circle too crowded, and the lake too obvious. so you walk, past the strawberry fields and through the torch-lit paths, until you end up near the forge.

you don’t mean to see him. but there he is.

carlos.

shirt slightly damp with sweat, soot on his cheek, holding a freshly finished bronze dagger that glows faintly with celestial bronze. he doesn’t see you at first, too focused on the blade, but when he does, his eyes widen.

“you shouldn’t be here,” he says, not unkindly. “it’s late.”

“I could say the same to you,” you reply, stepping into the warm glow of the forge. “but I guess fire gods don’t sleep either.”

he chuckles, setting the dagger down. “you okay?”

you nod, even though you’re not sure. “too many thoughts.”

“same,” he says. then, after a beat, “is it the five?”

you blink. “the five?”

“charles, lando, oscar, franco, daniel,” he lists casually. “you’re kind of their whole personality right now.”

you let out a tired laugh. “don’t remind me.”

carlos picks up a cloth and wipes his hands. “you ever think maybe they’re all wrong for you?”

you tilt your head, amused. “and you think you’re right?”

he shrugs, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk. “not saying I am. but I’m definitely not a follower.”

he takes a step closer. the forge’s glow dances on his face, softening his sharp features. “they circle around you like you’re some prize. I just think maybe someone should see you without the competition.”

you swallow. “and you think that’s you?”

he doesn’t answer - not with words, anyway.

he leans in slowly, gaze locked on yours. it’s deliberate, careful. and then he kisses you.

it’s different. not like lando’s lingering touches or franco’s gentle flirtations. not like oscar’s thoughtful glances or daniel’s confident nudges or even charles’ intense stares. it’s warm, grounding, a little messy with the scent of smoke and metal clinging to your clothes. and when he pulls back, your heart is racing.

you stare at him, lips still parted, stunned.

he smiles, cocky but quiet. “I’ll let you think about it.”

then he walks past you, leaving the forge behind, the faint scent of fire and bronze still in the air.

and you?

you just stand there, blinking, wondering how in the underworld carlos just became a very, very real problem. ————————————————————————————

© all rights reserved to folkwhoreberry. no stealing or copying will be tolerated.

a/n : fav series everrrr

[cressidagrey]

Such A Mystery - Part 6

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Colette Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen fell in love at the ripe old age of 12 and never looked back.

Colette Leclerc really regrets posting that particular Taylor Swift Lyric to her private Instagram account, because it made George Russell go insane.  

The rest of the world has absolutely no idea that the Dutch Lion and Charles Leclerc’s twin sister have been a couple for 15 years and are expecting a baby. 

Warnings: 

Pregnancy, Mention of multiple miscarriages, Pregnancy complications, George Russell Bashing (he's probably really nice in real life but in this, he's the bad guy, sorry), Jos Verstappen

Author Notes: Huge thanks to @llirawolf for holding my hand through this. Happy New Year! Chapter count is continuing to go up, because I need to halve this chapter after hitting 6k. Should be 10 parts. Hopefully.

Colette woke up slowly, for a moment disoriented and confused, before she remembered what had happened the day before.

It was dark in the room still, the sun not yet up, and the house was eerily quiet. She groaned quietly and slowly got to her feet, shuffling across the room to the bathroom. She closed the door behind her softly, switched on the light and turned on the faucet to wash her face.

The water stung at her eyes, but she relished the cold, biting pain.

By then Sassy and Jimmy were both demanding to be fed as well, and she padded out of the bedroom into the kitchen. The house was still dark and quiet, and the cats were both weaving around her legs, meowing and demanding food.

She flicked on the lights in the kitchen, blinking against the brightness, and then bent down to feed the two screeching cats.

Screeching cats and back pain, like somebody pushed a hot knife right into her lower back. What wasn’t there to love?  

Colette groaned slightly, wincing as the pain in her lower back flared, and carefully straightened back up again. She ran a hand over her back with a grimace, trying to soothe the ache.

The cats behaved like Colette had let them starve for days and she rolled her eyes at their usual behaviour as she reached for her phone that laid on the kitchen island. Somebody, she was quite sure that it probably had been Lorenzo, had simply deleted every single social media app from her phone.

That was also a solution, she reflected drily. She checked the time, finding it shortly after six. Which meant that she could probably catch Max before he was stuck in pre race preparations.

Her heart sped up slightly the mere thought of him, and a small smile tugged at the corner of Colette’s mouth. Without giving herself time to second guess herself, she pressed his contact and hit the call button.

He picked up immediately. Not that she had expected any differently from him. 

"Mon Coeur," she greeted him softly. "Good luck."

"Liefje," his voice was groggy but warm, and Colette could hear by his rough tone that he hadn’t been awake for long. There was shuffling on the other end of the line, and a low yawn, as he probably sat up in bed.

"Did you sleep well?" she asked him.

"No. I missed you horribly," he answered and she knew he was saying the truth.

"Well, you'll be back soon enough and I'll go back to torturing you with my icy feet," she teased him. And hog all the covers, because Max always ran hot at night and sleeping next to him was like having her own personal furnace. 

"I can't wait," Max said, his voice low and soft, and she could hear the smile in his voice. But there was something else...something else in his voice that she couldn't quite place.

"How are you feeling?" he asked her. "How is bébé?"

"Kicking a lot..." she answered softly. "I have some backpain, but nothing major."

"Keep resting, alright?" Max requested.

His voice was warm, normal…but she couldn’t help it…she couldn’t help but hear that something was wrong. She would have sworn on nearly everything that something was wrong. 

So she asked him. "What's wrong?" Colette asked. "What aren't you telling me, Maxie?"

Silence. For a long moment on the other side of the line, before Max sighed quietly, sounding a little guilty. "If I tell you that it's nothing that you need to know, nothing you need to worry about...will you let it go?"

Colette was quiet for a moment, trying to process this.

Whatever it was, Max didn't want her to worry about it. He was probably trying to protect her. She swallowed, before slowly saying. "I will...if you make me a promise."

"Which is...?" Max's voice was hesitant.

Colette took a deep, somewhat shaky breath. "Promise me that you're okay," she said firmly. "Promise me that...that there's no reason for me to be upset." She hated not knowing, hated that he was keeping things from her. But as long as she knew that he was okay...then she would let the matter go.

Max was quiet on the other end of the line, for what seemed far too long. He was hesitating, and that worried her.

But eventually, he answered her.

"I promise, liefje," he promised her. "Talking with you makes everything better."

The tension, that had slowly built up in her stomach started to dissolve, and she released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

"Okay," Colette whispered into the phone, and hoped she sounded more confident than she actually felt. "Keep your secrets. We'll talk when you are home," she promised him. And then he would tell her what was actually going on. 

"We will," he agreed. "I can't wait. Did you get the flowers?"

"You sent me flowers?" Colette asked, her voice soft. "You didn't need to do that. And no, not yet,” she said with a smile. “But I bet they will be beautiful.”

"Not as beautiful as you," Max told her simply. "Now, go eat breakfast, and take it easy, alright?"

"See you soon," Colette said softly. "Go drive around in circles." She could hear him laugh, a soft sound.

"Take care of you and bébé," Max told her before he hung up.

She lowered her phone to her lap and let out a sigh, a mixture of relief and worry still coursing through her veins.

He was okay. He had promised her, and Max never lied. He probably just didn't want her to worry about anything.

The ring of the doorbell, made her pull on a dressing gown, and going to open the door, to get the flowers Max had bought her.

But when Colette did open the door...the bouquet of light pink tulips wasn't the best part of what was waiting for her: 

"Surprise!"

Colette's head shot up, and her eyes widened in shock as she stared at the person on the other end of the threshold.

There, in a pair of torn jeans and a hoodie, a travel bag thrown over her shoulder...and holding an enormous bouquet of pink tulips...was Victoria. 

Max's Sister.

"Vic!?!" Colette blurted out, taken completely off guard. "What are you doing here!?!"

"I thought you could use the company," Victoria answered simply, hugging her tightly, and Colette was already holding back the tears. "You know, while you deal with all this bullshit," Victoria said darkly. 

Colette quickly nodded in agreement, feeling her eyes water as she clung onto Max's sister. The tears starting to well despite her best efforts, and her emotions starting to overwhelm her yet again.

"You've -... You've no idea how good this is, to see you," she tried to say past the tears, and Victoria pulled her into a tighter hug.

"I know, I figured as much," Victoria said brightly. "Can I get in, or are you going to make me to stand on your threshold for the rest of eternity?" she teased.

She looked down at Colette and at her baby bump with a grin. "How is my niece doing?"

"You don't know that it's a girl!" Colette complained, wiping away tears as Victoria entered their apartment.

"Max seemed quite certain a few weeks ago," Victoria teased her.

Colette rolled her eyes, but she was smiling through her tears. She closed the door behind them, and turned to look at her friend, and the enormous bouquet of tulips.

"I guess we're going to need a vase," she said pointedly, at the massive arrangement.

"The poor doormen gave that to me, got delivered this morning for you," Victoria told her. "I also got you that Acai bowl you like from the bakery own the street and croissants!"

Colette looked at the tulips, taking in their pastel colours and delicate petals. Max really could be sappy sometimes, and it warmed her heart immensely.

"Pink tulips," she said out loud. "Of course he goes all in the pink.”

"You two really are kind of adorable," Victoria teased her, and Colette felt her cheeks heat up.

"Sometimes we are," she relented, taking all the tulips into the kitchen and reaching for a vase underneath the sink.

As she filled up the vase with water, she asked, "You didn't come all the way from Belgium just to visit me, right? I feel bad, taking you from Tom and the kids."

Victoria huffed a little bit, and leant against the counter before answering.

"Oh, shut up," she said fondly. "I wanted to come here… Mama is helping Tom with the kids and Tom knows I've been worried about you, besides they are fine on their own for a few days.”

"I'm fine -.." Colette started to protest, but Victoria fixed her with such a look that she fell quiet.

"Please, you've been going through hell," Victoria said firmly. "Don’t try to pretend you're fine when you aren't."

Colette exhaled slowly, staring at the flowers in the vase.

"I'm not going to deny that things have been hard," she said quietly. "But I'm trying to take it easy...for bébé's sake at least."

"How are you feeling about it?" Victoria asked her curiously. "About it all...getting out there?"

Colette paused for a moment, her hands absently fiddling with the tulips in the vase.

"Honestly..." she admitted after a moment. "I...hate it," she admitted weakly. "We kept it secret for so long...that's all I ever knew, Vic. Like that's the benchmark. Max comes back home to me...and here...right here, we are just us. Everybody important does know, but we have our privacy...we have...nobody gives us a second glance. And now it's out there. And everybody talks about it...and judges us...and makes up this picture in their head that has nothing to do with us."

She paused for a moment, shaking her head and then exhaling slowly to try and keep the tears that were threatening to spill under control. Victoria stayed silent, watching her closely.

"It's...weird," Colette said then, her voice sounding as shaken as she felt. "I know...a part of it is the stupid hormones…Some of it was my own fault, because I really should have thought twice before being bitchy on instagram,” she said with a snort, making Victoria laugh. “But all the people on social media…all these articles…the journalists…None of them know anything about us. Yet they judge us and speculate, and write whole articles about us and how fucked up our relationship is,” she said darkly.   "I don't like it," she said flatly, fighting back the sob that was threatening to rise up in her throat. "They act like they own a piece of us...like they know anything...it just...it makes me sick. "

She fell quiet, her hand shaking slightly as she fiddled with the tulips. The flowers were beautiful, but she was struggling to take pleasure in them, when her emotions was feeling like a storm in her chest.

Victoria was quiet for a long moment, and then she walked over to her and put her hand over top of hers to stop her from fiddling with the tulips. Instead, she gently pulled her into a loose embrace.

"It doesn't matter what some person on the internet says about you," Victoria said simply. "let them write their idiotic comments. It doesn't matter."

Colette rested her head of Victoria's shoulder, and exhaled slowly.

"I know it doesn't really," she admitted after a moment. "But it still hurts, in a way."

"People are stupid," Victoria said bluntly. "They make drama to fill their miserable lives, and write bullshit on social media, because they think they're entitled to everything. And that their opinion is somehow relevant. Don't listen to anything they say," Victoria continued. "They know nothing about your life. They know nothing about your and Maxie. They don’t know how fantastic you are. And they don’t know a thing about your  happy home, the little baby on the way, and an the amazing, loyal and insanely talented man who loves you beyond all rhyme and reason."

"So let them eat their hearts out, and let's get you some decent breakfast. An I'll stay with you as long as you need me to, okay?" Victoria said, pulling back and gently grasping her shoulders. 

Colette sniffed and nodded softly.

Victoria was just like Max. They didn't sugar cost, she cut it straight to the heart of every issue, and didn't let her bullshit herself.

"That sounds good," she agreed softly. 

It did sound amazing. Better than anything else. 

The Acai Bowl from the Bakery/cafe down the street was as amazing as always and so was the Croissant that Vic had brought with her. 

“You can finally show me the nursery!“ Vic said brightly.

"You're a little bit too excited," Colette scolded her with no real force behind her words. "We are only talking about I think four pieces of furniture, Vic. And some animal themed decor,” she said with a snort. 

Victoria gave her a dry look, and raised a perfectly arched brow. "You are underestimating me if you think I would not be interested in how my niece's rooms will look," she said with a scoff. “Besides I brought you some hand me downs from Hailey! We can put them in the closet!”

“Or nephew!” Colette pointed out, making Victoria laugh.

“How are you doing with names?” Vic asked her curiously. 

“We have an agreement,” Colette said drily. “Max got to name the cats and the baby gets his surname, so first names are my choice.”

"You're not giving my niece 6 names like yourself, are you?" Victoria teased her. "Please don't give me a hard time to pronounce my own niece's name if you can avoid it."

Colette rolled her eyes. “ I only have four names,” she gave back drily.

"Four names is still two too many," Victoria said bluntly. "One is enough. Two is more than enough. You're not a French noble woman from the eighteen hundreds."

“You mean I shouldn’t name our son Perceval Verstappen?” Colette gasped, wide eyed, making Victoria stare at her.

"...Oh my god...no, you absolutely can't!" Victoria exclaimed in horror, before bursting into a peal of laughter.

“Excuse me, I happen to think Colette Marie Eugénie Veronique Leclerc sounds great,” Colette deadpanned before growing serious. “No, I am thinking only one middle name,” she told Vic with a shrug. “If it’s a boy I was thinking Emilian Hervé. After Max and my father.”

Victoria's face softened at that. “That’s so sweet,” Vic gushed. "Hervé is a nice middle name, and Emilian is beautiful as well. But what if it's a girl?"

Colette huffed and shrugged. "I...don't know yet," she admitted honestly. "But I have a few ideas. I figured I would see what feel right once they are here...but I do really think it will be a boy..."

"You know it's only a fifty/fifty chance, right?" Victoria teased her. Colette rolled her eyes.

"Of course I know that," she huffed. "I just…I just feel it, y'know?"

"You're just really hoping it's a boy so you can dress him in cute little race overalls that match Maxie’s," Victoria said with a smirk.

"That would be adorable! How can you fault me for that?!" Colette protested immediately. 

Victoria laughed and gently squeezed her shoulders. "You have terrible taste," she teased Colette. "But I gotta say the baby will be cute, no matter the gender….though you do realize the chances are, if you get a mini Max, it will be a chaotic little hell raiser, right?"

Colette sighed. “I knooooooow,” she muttered. “He woul make me go gray before even reaching pre-school…”

“Besides Mini Colette would be just as cute,” Victoria teased her. “Max would be melting.”

"Max would absolutely melt," Colette admitted, a soft smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "He would be completely wrapped around her tiny finger and spoil her rotten."

"And she would be an absolute angel," Victoria continued with a smirk. "She'll be a daddy's girl and have him do her every bidding. She'll get away with murder."

Colette could only laugh at that description. 

“What do your brothers think it will be?” Victoria asked curiously.

“Max has gotten to them,” Colette said darkly. “All think it’s a girl. Hasn’t stopped Charles from buying enough Ferrari onesies to dress a dozen babies though.”

Victoria guffawed, and covered her mouth with her hand.

"Charles bought an entire Ferrari-themed wardrobe?" She asked between giggles.

“Which then made Max decide that the kid also needed Red Bull merch,” she said with a sigh. “I thought I woul get at least one closet in the house that does not have these damn Polo Shirts in it, but nooooo…”

"Of course it did," Victoria said, sniggering again. "You really are in a family with more red bull merchandise than common sense..."

“I don’t care if it’s a boy or a girl, I just hope the baby is healthy,” Colette said seriously. Regardless if it was a boy or a girl…she didn’t actually care…she just thought it would be a boy.

Victoria nodded, her expression softening.

"I know," she said quietly. "Everything else, like boy or girl, eye colour, hair colour...who cares? All we need is a healthy baby."

[sunkissedscribbles]

☆ 𝑨𝑹𝑨𝑩𝑬𝑳𝑳𝑨

PAIRING: singer!guitarist!mattheo x arabella!journalist!reader TW: nothing in particular WORD COUNT: 1.3k A/N: i reflect to my own opinion of taylor's ttpd album. I'm not trying to offend anyone. +a minor oc SONGS: Arabella by Arctic Monkeys // PLAYLIST

☆ MASTERLIST PART1 PART2

✰ Arabella's got a '70s head But she's a modern lover, it's an exploration she's made of outer space And her lips are like the galaxy's edge And her kiss the colour of a constellation fallin' into place

“Okay, but who’s Arabella?” Theo inquired, breezing through a set of lyrics hidden behind Mattheo’s messy handwriting, which clearly had been jotted down as quickly as possible, possibly because the latter didn’t want his thoughts about this mysterious girl to vanish because he took too long to write.

“No one,” the answer came with a careless shrug.

“Pretty Boy got a crush?” Enzo teased, flashing a grin, toying with the strings of his bass.

“I made her up, okay?” Mattheo rolled his eyes with a bored grunt, tired from his friends’ teasing.

“But I don’t know, she feels so real,” Dax, the rhythm guitarist chimed in with that flat American accent he has, the one that could drive Enzo up the wall easily whenever Dax broke into storytelling and used too many slang words. “The way you describe her.”

Mattheo shrugged, not knowing how to explain how clearly he had seen this girl in his sleep.

It’d been driving him insane for weeks – dreaming about this mysterious girl almost every night. This girl whose face had burnt into his memory system forever, whose silhouette he would recognize any time, anywhere.

He’d know it was his Arabella.

☆☆☆☆

It was a popular club in the middle of London, and the boys were thrilled they made it here, where they were aware that many people would be witnessing their music.

From here, it was either up or down, depending on their performance and luck. Nothing else.

This night was the night.

Though, Mattheo was desperate.

“So this next song,” he smirked into the microphone almost playfully, feeling oddly lightheaded in front of all these many people, almost like in a dream. It felt unreal, and he for sure was having sensory overload. “Whoever knows the girl it’s about could just give me her number already?”

A light chuckle rumbled through the crowd, accompanied by a few whistles, and the band behind Mattheo shared a smile before Theo spoke up into his microphone from behind the drum set, the Italian accent more prominent in his voice than usual, “I mean, he’s desperate,” another set of claps and laughter filled the air.

You only arrived at the club a few minutes ago and were now trying to get closer to the stage to get a better view of the band playing, muttering a few ‘excuse me’s as you fought your way through the sea of people in your leather boots. They were shining because of the heavy London rain pouring down on your short walk here, your hair slightly damp, your black leather jacket in the same condition as your boots.

At first, you stayed a few rows behind, just wanting to catch a glimpse of the band. You couldn’t help it, working in the music industry has taken its toll on you in some ways – you listened to any music even more critically, although you’d known what good music was ever since your childhood. You’d always had the ears for it, your mother would say.

But then, hearing the first few beats was enough for you to forget about work, and your feet took you to the first row. You couldn’t help it, it was music. Not the new, clearly flat album of Taylor Swift which had nothing new in it, no. It was music. It was rock. Indie. You floated closer and closer on this hypnotic feeling as the instrumental parts, the lyrics, and the voice of the singer drew you in. And then you couldn’t help staring.

Your head kept moving along to the beat, you were smiling to yourself and just genuinely enjoying yourself to the music, and at some point, your vintage camera made its way into your hand.

It was the quick flash of light that drew Mattheo’s attention in your direction, and for a moment, he thought he was seeing a ghost, a mere memory. But no, it was really you. He smiled lightly to himself as he came down from his shock, and the happy, excited expression made an appearance in his voice, too, and flared an oddly giddy sensation in his stomach.

Yes, this night was the night.

It was his Arabella.

It was you.

☆☆☆☆

You didn’t want to lose sight of the band members as they headed backstage, but unfortunately, you didn’t have your press card with you.

So what do you do now?

Become a groupie?

No, you had to improvise by jumping up the stage and running behind the curtains at a well-timed moment, only to run into the singer, who crashed into you in his desperate attempt to go out and find you.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you said as Mattheo’s hands came to your arms in a firm grip to steady you.

“No, it was my fault,” he insisted before looking you in the eyes, only for the realization to slap him right in the face.

Arabella.

And he had to keep his cool more than ever before as he let go of your arms and tried to take your scent in without being obvious. God, how could you smell like glam rock?

“What are you doing here?” he cleared his throat, remembering you had no business backstage. Not that he minded. In fact, he wanted you to have all the rights to be there, as his girlfriend.

You kept your cool, despite feeling like a little kid being caught with her hand in the cookie jar, and stuffed your hands into the pockets of your oversized leather jacket. “I was looking for the band.”

A half-smirk plastered over his lips, not missing an opportunity to make a witty remark, “Weren’t groupies cool in the, like, the ’70s?”

“Says the guy whose bassist looks like Sid Vicious and whose rhythm guitarist stole Slash’s hair?” you retorted. “Need I mention the drummer who looks like could break into ’Sarà perché ti amo’ any second? Very ’70s.”

He raised his brows curiously at that, the smirk softening somewhat as you continued. “I wanted to talk to you–”

“Many do.”

“–about a possible interview,” you finished and Mattheo’s smirk faded off his face and he had to keep his cool. An interview? With the band? With his band?

“Sorry, what?” he had to make sure he didn’t mishear you.

You chuckled, and hell, he thought he’d melt at the sweet sound, and you took a palm-sized notebook out of your pocket with a pen.

“Very ’70s,” Mattheo mustered flustered, trying to catch a glimpse of what you were writing.

“Call me if you’d be down for an interview,” you handed him the piece of paper at which, not yet registering your words, he looked down at the numbers with a frown.

Then he realized.

Your mobile phone number.

He was holding it in his own damn hand.

He asked for it as a joke before playing Arabella.

And now he got it.

He got Arabella’s number.

He wanted to ask so many questions, but you were already out of sight when he looked up from the paper.

No, no, he couldn’t lose you. Not now.

He stomped out from behind the curtains and called after you as he caught a glimpse of that all-too-familiar silhouette walking down the stairs of the stage. “Arabella! Who do you work for.”

You chuckled before calling back, “Rolling Stone,” and before turning back to continue your way out, you formed a phone with your hand to tell him to call.

Rolling Stone? The magazine? He just stood there, dumbfounded.

You, his Arabella.

This really was the night.

tag list: @inksoakedparchment @mattiesgf @mqstermindswift @girllblogging777 @myysunshine @yelanare @mamartinez

[tea-biscuits-books]

love and ink

harry potter x f!reader

💌☕️⛓️🖋️🥀

summary : harry begins to receive anonymous love letters…

word count : 2.1k

song : how did it end? - taylor swift

💌☕️⛓️🖋️🥀

Dearest Harry,

I hope this letter finds you well. I imagine you are reading this letter while eating treacle pudding, somewhere on the side of the dining hall, pushing your glasses upon your nose, crinkling the parchment between your fingers. The simple truth is that I am utterly in love with you. I drink up your soul like a wine glass between my fingers, fragile and crimson like blood splashing upon the edges of my heart. Your presence drowns me within my words, beating and suffocating my throat, your eyes awaken my reverie, the colours clashing like brandy being poured into a lucent draft, sparkling in the early autumn dusk, honey kissed and framed by lashes that stretch to the billowing winter horizons of the past. I wonder whether your skin is as soft as it looks, supple and bronze in the summer rain, pillows of lips, pink and curved into a devilish smirk. I wonder how they taste, liquor and addictive to my mouth, caramel and sweet, sweeter than the words that leave it, euphonious and breathy. I like love the way you smile. I love the way you laugh. I love the way you appreciate the simple things that everybody else glosses over. The way your fingers trace your sleeve, eyes sink into the ink on the page, immersing yourself between the words, squinting behind your glasses as if trying to make sense of it all. Your smile as a stray curl flops over your head after you’ve won a quidditch match, your cheeks lit up in roseate light, dimples singing softly to the wind. Your face stuck in a state of delirious happiness, your laugh trickling over the crowd like champagne, amber and silky, soaking their ears.

Yours always.

Harry’s mouth is dry, tracing the ink with his eyes. No one had ever noticed him like this. No one ever noted or observed ever so closely as they had. Maybe it was his lack of love in childhood, but Harry didn’t feel creeped out. No. He felt appreciated. He noticed the lack of signature at the bottom, clutching the parchment between his fingers, attempting to decipher the handwriting.

“what’s that?” Ron mutters, attempting to look over, before Harry quickly stuffs it into his pocket.

“nothing,” he murmurs, a small smile curling at his lips.

“absolutely nothing.”

It was a later evening when the next letter arrived. This one was messier. Written in haste, maybe nerves.

Dearest Harry,

I hope you didn’t mind the first one.

I thought of you today. I shouldn’t be surprised with myself.

You are an ever present figure in my mind, wrapped in fantasies and delusions I know will never come true.

You are the power that wills my heart to beat, blood to pump and mouth to smile.

You fail to see the countless ones I direct at you.

Yours Truly,

(btw its 3 crushed beetles, not 2)

The last note was scribbled at the bottom, barely legibile in the curved slanted writing. Harry stares at it, candle settled next to him, glasses falling down his nose. His mind takes him back to the explosion in Potions today, and he cringes at the memory of the stench. His MA (mystery admirer) was trying to give him clues to her identity. And she was in his potions class. He had potions with the Ravenclaws, but his mind seemed to glaze every time he attempted to place a face. He clutches the parchment, sighing softly, before blowing out the candle, and folding the letter into a neat square, setting it aside, before falling into a deep slumber where he dreamt of a girl with roses in her hair and a tinkling laugh that carried in the summer breeze.

After that, they came every week or so. Never from the same place. Sometimes tucked into his Charms book, other times hidden beneath his pillow or slipped inside his bag when he wasn’t looking. She was clever, quiet. Always watching.

You have this way of shrinking into yourself when you think you’ve disappointed someone. Like you’re afraid of taking up space.

Please don’t be. Take up all the space you want.

The world already asks so much of you. It’s okay if you don’t want to save it all the time.

Sometimes she wrote about her own life in little flashes. A funny moment in Herbology. How she nearly fell asleep in History of Magic. Once, she wrote about a thunderstorm and how she curled up in the windowsill to watch it roll in.

I wonder if you like storms, too. You remind me of one—wild and loud and beautiful in ways most people don’t understand.

Harry didn’t know her name. But her words stayed with him. On long nights. On quiet mornings. When everything felt too heavy, he’d reach for her letters, each one folded and worn, like a lifeline written in ink.

He tried to guess who she was. She mentioned the greenhouses a lot. The Astronomy Tower. The stars. One lonesome night as the wind whistled softly, Harry found himself padding up to the astronomy tower. The breeze and solace was a welcome addition to the adding stress that seemed to be mounting on his plate. However, he was greeted with company, a pretty girl whose back faced him. Long Y/H/C hair flowed down her back and her knees were held to her chest.

“I don’t bite you know,” You murmured, a hint of amusement lacing your tone. You heard Harry fumble, his cheeks turning pink.

“right, sorry.” He shuffled over, taking a seat next to you. Silence graced your presences for a moment.

“lovely night.”

“huh?” a giggle escapes your lips as Harry readjusts his glasses, blinking.

“I said it’s a lovely night. The stars are out.” The last sentence flows out breathily, lingering in the air like a hint Harry is unsure whether he’s meant to take.

“it is.” He acknowledges, swivelling to face you.

“I don’t believe we’ve met…what house are you in?”

“Ravenclaw.” Harry’s mind is immediately drawn to MA.

“oh wait, I’m looking for this person, you might know her.” Harry fumbles, taking out the parchment square.

“She’s been writing me letters.” He watches as your eyes scan the words, your face tilting amusedly.

“She seems like a real poet.” Your eyes survey him.

“The simple truth is that I am utterly in love with you” You read out. Harry’s face flushes crimson.

“And yet you are searching for her? Do you not know her identity?”

“Uh no, do you know who it might be?” A smirk tilts your lips.

“How do these letters make you feel.” There’s a lull, and Harry pauses to think, his next words coming out softly.

“she-she makes me feel all warm inside.” You raise your eyebrow.

“mmm, does she now?” Harry’s eyes scan over the crease of your brow, the dimple in your cheek, the soft lashes that curve upwards slightly and the pink soft lips.

“yeah…” you blink.

“harry?” Harry snaps out of his reverie, smiling attentively.

“sorry what were you saying?”

“I said I’ll ask around.” Harry’s smile widens.

“t-thanks,” he rubs the back of his neck awkardly as you stand, collecting yourself.

“well goodnight Potter.” As your shadow dissapears into the depths of the night Harry’s brow furrows.

“wait you never told me your name!” only silence greets him back and a sigh escapes his lips. Next time. He would ask next time.

Then, Dumbledore died. And the letters stopped.

His chest ached like a bruise every time he opened his trunk and didn’t find one waiting. Still, weeks later, after escaping Bill and Fleur’s ruined wedding, after the hunt had begun and the world was full of shadows, he found one.

Hermione had opened her bag to retrieve The Tales of Beedle the Bard, and there it was—tucked between the pages, just for him.

I don’t know if this will reach you.

Heard from a little birdie that my words make you feel warm inside. Stay safe and don’t die.

I’ll be waiting. Forever.

Yours always,

His fingers tighten around the parchment, rereading the words as if to absorb them into his very being.

Forever.

Slowly, he folds it, slipping it into his pocket, the security of the small square reminding him.

Stay safe, and don’t die.

So he would.

For you.

Smoke. So much smoke. It buried your lungs as you stumbled through it blindly, a letter clasped in your sweaty hand. You needed oxygen desperately. The castle seemed to tremble beneath your feet as you steadied yourself against a pillar, finding security in the stability. You gasp as spells whiz past you, tearing the envelope in the process.

One last letter. That’s all you needed. The ground beneath you shook again, more violently, as if warning you. Run. Go. But you could not listen. Your eyes heaved, and your legs screamed and your chest burned. You didn’t see it. The window breaking. The wall crumbling around you. And the glass shard that pierced your chest as you fell into an abyss of dark.

It was over. They had won. Harry heaved a sigh, a soft smile resting on his face. He won against Voldemort. The smile softly wore off as he approached the Great Hall, grief heavy as bodies scatter the floor. It was silent. Until a scream shattered the silence, Cho sprinting across the hall to kneel at a body.

“Y/N? Y/N?! FUCK WAKE UP! Y/N PLEASE!” Sobs shook the girl’s trembling figure as she shook the corpse. There was something familiar about it. The tendrils of hair now matted and coated with blood. The lashes that curled upwards slightly now closed forever-

The girl from the astronomy tower.

The ravenclaw girl.

Y/N.

Pretty name for a pretty face. He walks over slowly, standing at a safe distance, simply observing. He feels tears sting his eyes that he blinks away. He doesn’t have a right to cry really, he only spoke to the girl once. But there was something about you that made you memorable, an essential in people’s lives. Once you entered, you were embedded forever. Perhaps what he noticed, were the letter that lay in your limp hand, slightly torn and addressed to-

Him.

Quickly, his hand darted out, clasping the parchment, ripping it up to his eyes, scanning the words with such urgency.

Harry,

They’re coming.. I—I don’t know if I’ll get to you in time—

I wanted I needed

If this is the end, then let me say this: I loved you. I think I always did.

I’m glad my words made you feel warm inside.

From the very first letter, I gave you everything I had to give.

And if nothing else, maybe that’s enough.

Just—

The pieces clicked together. MA was Y/N. The pretty ravenclaw girl who loved starry nights and thunderstorms, and with the tongue of a poet. And Y/N was dead. Tears built up in his eyes, as he swallowed his bile. In between the words, he thought maybe he had fallen for you. You loved him for the real him. For Harry. Not the Chosen One.

Just Harry.

The ink dragged across the page and trailed off in a streak, like your quill had slipped or been torn away.

You never finished the sentence.

He never found out what you were going to say.

The attic is still, blanketed in warm afternoon light. Dust drifts lazily through the air. An old trunk sits open at Harry’s feet, filled with memories—faded photographs, forgotten school robes, crumpled newspaper clippings.

And a stack of parchment, yellowed and soft at the edges. Letters, folded and unfolded so many times they feel like silk in his hands now.

He reads them slowly. One by one. The first. The funny ones. The ones where she worried over him like he was hers. The one where she described a thunderstorm like it was poetry. The one where she whispered please be safe into ink and hope.

And then the last one.

The unfinished one.

They’re coming. I love you…

He traces the words with his thumb. Imagines her hand, trembling. Her eyes scanning the dark corridor. The way she might’ve run toward him, not away.

He doesn’t cry. Not anymore. He just holds the letter close, presses it to his chest, and closes his eyes.

Behind him, the attic creaks as someone climbs the stairs.

“Harry?” Ginny’s voice is gentle. He hears her hesitate in the doorway. “What are you doing up here? It’s late, I thought you had already gone to bed”

He quickly folds the letter, slipping it back beneath the others. The secret safe, right where it’s always been—just under the surface.

Ginny walks in, brushing dust from her jeans. “What’s that?” she asks, nodding toward the old stack of parchment in his lap.

He glances down. The letters catch the light like they might vanish if he blinks too long.

“Nothing,” he says.

And smiles like a man holding a ghost