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secretjeon · 10 months

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the new york diaries - bodega girl

A/N: thought some stories about carmy in new york would be fun. warnings: language... i think that's really it lol 1.9k words. Please let me know what you think!

It was winter. Well, it was more just fucking cold. Maybe it was March? Carmy couldn’t remember. The snow had just started to fall that evening, light and fluffy. He had schlepped halfway across the city, in three of the five boroughs in search of a unique Korean soybean paste–just the thing that would help finish this dish off. He stood in the corner, near all the miso pastes and the gochujang when he felt a pair of eyes on his back.

He turned around apprehensively and saw one of the most beautiful women staring at him, a girlish grin on her face. She waved.

Carmy’s brow furrowed in confusion. He turned around again, focusing his attention back on his fermented pastes. Maybe she was waving to someone standing in the aisle next to him. He looked to his left–he was the only one in the aisle.

“Hi,” he heard a soft voice say.

He turned, and there she was. In all her glory. Black, knee length Columbia coat with a bright orange scarf tied around her neck, in snowshoes that were covered in roadway salt and muck from the streets. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold, and her hair was in wisps around her face.

“Hey,” he said, nervously toying with a quarter he had in his coat pocket.

She looked a little deflated when he returned her greeting with a less-than-interested ‘hey’. “I noticed you from over there and I was wondering–and I’m sorry if this is too forward, but I was wondering if I could get your number?”

Carmy’s eyebrows scrunched harder, his mind reeling. “M-my number?” he asked, pointing to himself, shifting his weight uncomfortably from one leg to another.

“Yeah,” she nodded, so sure of herself.

Carmy looked behind his shoulder, sure this was some sort of prank. “W-why would you want that?” he asked.

“This may be incredibly shallow, but I think you’re handsome and I’d like to get to know you,” she said, cheeks flushing a shade pink deeper.

He scoffed. “Nothin’ to know.”

“Then I’ll get bored and the attraction will fade. What’ll you be out?” she asked, an eyebrow raised.

Carmy chewed on the inside of his cheek. I mean, really what would I have to lose? He thought to himself.

“Alright,” he rattled off his number.

She smiled. “I’ll text you?”

“Woah, wait, don’t I get to know your name?” he asked as she turned to leave.

“Guess you’ll just have to wait and find out,” she smiled over her shoulder.

“I’m Carmen,” he called after her.

She beamed at him as she walked out the door.

Hey, Carmen! It’s bodega girl :)

So that’s what I’m gonna have to refer to you as?

Yup

Great.

Carmy sighed, raking a hand through his hair, buttoning his chef whites as he mentally tried to prepare for dinner service. Fucking dinner.

So whatcha doin?

He sighed. Hopefully this girl wasn’t a clinger. He needed space.

Getting ready for work.

What do you do?

I’m a chef.

No way! Me too!!

His mind reeled, snapped back to reality as his sous chef clapped him on the back. “Chef, ready for tonight?” Leon asked.

“Yeah. Ready as I’ll ever be,” he sighed, putting his phone in his locker.

The night was hellish. The most chaotic and unorganized night of service Carmy’s kitchen had in a long time. His eyes burned in his skull by the end of the night, his legs as heavy as lead as he drug himself home.

He finally looked at his phone and saw that last text from Bodega Girl. No way! Me too!!

What kind of chef?

He had no idea if she’d be awake at this ungodly hour. But three bubbles popped up on his screen. I’m a private chef in the city. Mainly clients who want a weekly meal prep kind of situation. You?

He cocked his head to the side. I’m the CDC at Eleven Madison Park.

No fucking way

He smiled to himself, allowing himself to feel a little bit of pride.

Yeah fucking way

I knew my gut was right about you

What do you mean?

You’ll find out some day, Carm.

Carmen fell asleep and dreamt of miso and gochujang.

Bodega girl’s daily and nightly texts morphed into phone calls, which Carmy actually grew to look forward to. She still hadn’t told him her name.

He was on the couch in his apartment, phone on speaker on his chest, cigarette in between his fingers. “When can I see you?” he blurted out, too tired to censor himself, to guard himself.

A pause. “Whenever you want?” she offered.

“I’m off tomorrow. Can I come to you?” he asked.

He could hear her smile through the phone. “Yeah, sure. I usually get back from my last client on Thursdays around four. Does six sound okay?”

“Well, if you gotta work I don’t wanna bug you or anything, w-we can do another day,” he said, nerves kicking in.

“No, really, Carmy, it’s okay. Tomorrow’s great. I’ll cook?”

“You don’t have to do that,” he protested, sitting up.

“It’s no bother, really,” she protested back.

“Y-you’re sure?” He hated being a burden. Being a bother. But he was so used to feeling that way.

“Yes, absolutely. Why’re you being so weird about it?” she asked.

“‘M not, just thought you might be tired after working all day, and uh, I dunno. Maybe it’s kinda selfish of me to just eat food you made after cooking all day, you know?” he stammered.

“For you I don’t mind.”

Carmy’s heart leapt in his chest a little bit. Nothing had been done just for him in a long time.

“Okay,” he agreed. “Six is great. I’ll uh, I’ll bring something. Tell me what to bring.”

“I can’t wait,” she said. “Night, Carmen.”

“Night,” he said before hanging up, his stomach crawling up his throat, nerves alight. What the hell am I doing? He thought to himself.

Bodega girl had texted him and told him to make whatever he was inspired to make. She didn’t care about cohesion in menus and was a full blown believer in eating what sounded good even if it didn’t all flow.

He lamented all day over what to cook and decided on Panzanella–essentially a jazzed up tomato and basil salad over crusty bread. Not bruschetta though. Definitely not bruschetta.

She sent him her address and he arrived, feeling rather out of place in the nicest apartment building he’d ever set foot in. He didn’t know if it was the marble floors in the lobby, or the doorman, or the bellhop but he suddenly felt out of place.

She buzzed him up to her unit and was waiting by the door for him. He felt his knees buckle at the sight of her–she was wearing a pale pink dress that showed off her legs, her curves. Her hair was swept into a bun at the back of her head, strands framing her face slightly curled.

“Hey!” she beamed at him. Her feet were bare and Carmy smiled at her. She looked so homey.

“Hey,” he smiled awkwardly.

“Come on in, make yourself at home,” she waved him inside, locking the door behind him. He shucked his jacket off and slid out of his sneakers. “I’ll take that,” she said, taking the platter from his hand.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, looking around the roomy apartment, a far cry from his own. Furniture and decor adorned every visible surface. She had a candle lit. She bounced over to the kitchen where she stirred something on the stove.

“Almost ready. Want something to drink?” she asked. He sat on a barstool that faced her at a raised counter.

“Water, please,” he croaked, nervously fiddling with the sleeve of his sweater.

“I have wine if you’d like,” she suggested, reaching for a water glass.

“No, that’s okay, I uh, I don’t drink,” he said, trying to swallow the lump in his throat.

“Oh,” she chirped, reaching for the Brita filter in the fridge. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” she said, pouring him the glass and setting it down in front of him.

“N-no, don’t be sorry, you wouldn’t know,” he said, bringing the glass to his lips.

“What’d you do today?” she asked, turning back to the pan on the stove, reaching for her plates as she began plating up dinner.

He rambled on about his day while she listened, looking over her shoulder occasionally to let him know she was listening.

She slid a plate in front of him, handing him a fork. “It’s nothing Eleven Madison Park level, but it’s a family recipe,” she said, eyeing him in anticipation as she rounded the corner of her counter, coming and sitting next to him.

“It smells amazing,” he said sincerely, giving her a small smile.

“You can be honest if it’s garbage,” she said, wiggling in her barstool, trying to get comfortable.

He twirled the pasta around his fork, the buttery lemon emulsion sauce glossy on the noodles. He speared a piece of shrimp and took a bite. She watched him in anticipation. He swallowed and smiled. “That’s fucking good,” he chuckled as she shrieked in joy.

“You really like it?” she asked.

“Yeah, it’s perfect.”

She blushed.

He asked about her day, and she told him story after story about her clients, which made him laugh. He hadn't laughed that much in a while. A long while.

After dinner, she asked if he had time to just hang around, and he said yes.

They ended up pretty close to one another on the couch, the lingering smells of garlic and shrimp in the air.

“Carmy,” she said suddenly, pulling him out of his post-pasta food coma.

“Hm?” he said, moving his arm to rest on the back of the couch.

“I really like you, Carm,” she said, moving closer to him.

“Why?” he scoffed.

“What do you mean, why?” she asked, irritated.

“I-I dunno, I’ve never,” he took a breath, heart racing, stomach in knots. “I’ve never been the one people have wanted. Like–ever. And to–to have someone like you, who looks like you, wants me, I dunno. It just–it’s weird to me.”

Her eyes turned sympathetic and she reached out to touch his cheek. Gently, the backs of her fingers brushed over his stubbly cheek. “Carm,” she said sweetly. “I think you are one of the most incredible people I’ve ever met,” his cheeks flushed, as he looked down at his hands in his lap. “And we’re just getting to know each other, so I can’t imagine how much more incredible you’ll be once we know each other fully.”

He scoffed, adjusting uncomfortably in his seat. “I doubt that. I-I really doubt that,” his lips pressed together, his stomach continuing to churn.

“I don’t,” she said softly, reaching out to touch his hand. “If you don’t want this, that’s okay. I understand,” she said sincerely.

His mind reeled. He thought of what Mikey would say, what he would encourage him to do. What he would do. He’d kiss the fucking girl he thought to himself, chuckling.

And then he heard his voice in his mind. Let it rip.

Carmen turned to her. Her dark eyes were looking at him affectionately, legs tucked underneath her, the skirt of her dress draped over her legs. “C-can I kiss you or something?” he asked.

She smiled, moving closer towards him, nodding.

With her hands at the back of his neck, and his breath shaky, he kissed her.

And for the first time in a long time, he felt like he was home.

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secretjeon · 10 months

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Let The Light In

image not mine, found on pinterest

summary & genre — fluff & nsfw. it’s a hot day and you & seb are relaxing in your shared bed. (not fully smut)

warnings — sexual references, seb touches you a lot (i got a bit carried away), can’t think of anything cause this is actually tooth rotting.

character & pairing — sebastian wilder x fem!reader (la la land. 2016)

word count — 1.5k

a/n — i arise with a tooth rotting self insert. this came about because ever since i watched ‘la la land’ i can’t stop thinking about ryan. i’ve also been religiously listening to lana del rey’s new album so ofc this fic was written when i was listening to ‘let the light in’. anyway if anyone reads this i love you cause there’s actually no fics for ryan, let alone seb, and you understand what i’m going through. anyway i hope you guys enjoy!

masterlist coming soon! — navigation ✿

His hand ran slowly up and down your thigh, an effort to trace every single blemish on your skin. The warmth of his fingertips danced, coating your skin in a layer of sprinkled love, tickling his way along your freckles. Golden pools of light spilt into the room, painting the space in an amber aura of tranquillity; reaching to the crevices of the ceiling and plunging to the floor like a waterfall. Occasionally silence was broken by cars speeding past, or the harmony of birdsong in their melodic major key. You hummed, content with the pleasure and peace experienced at the moment.

The heat had forced you to bare your legs, curling towards you as the bedcovers drooped over your figure, your feet barely covered by the white duvet. Your head settled against the pillow, blissful in the comfort you had created. You stared at the dancing dust glimmering around his hair, coating it in a haze which painted his hair blond. The shimmering light drowned his face, illuminating his cheekbones, and causing his shadows to become softer, a soft fuzzy glow radiated from his face. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration, as he stared down at the book lingering softly in his hand.

You’d tell him religiously, like a preacher reciting a mass, all the ways in which he had made you come undone. How in the gorgeous light, he looked otherworldly, godly, like he was dripping with nectar. His bare chest was smothered in gold and small beads of sweat, a little patch of hair growing across his chest which was tanned with the Californian sun. The pink blush flushed against his cheeks absentmindedly decorated his bone structure. You could’ve stared for decades, letting your imagination run wild as his teeth caught his bottom lip, slowly biting at the soft flesh.

“Quit looking at me.” He laughed, turning a page of his book, not paying any mind to your form slowly inching closer to him. His eyes darted along the page, soaking in the information.

You hummed in response, reaching up and moving a strand of hair out of his face, tucking it back into place. He sighed, his eyelashes flickering and dropping the book into his lap, no longer interested in the contents it held. You smiled wildly, teeth grinning.

“Was the book not interesting?” You inquired, moving to place your hand under your chin and balance the other against the sheets. Seb smiled down at you, eyes sapphire in the blinding light.

“Too political.” He whispered, his eyes growing wide in a joking fashion. His hand had now removed itself from your thigh and was tiptoeing its way up to your waist. Your tummy was bare, the top you wore hugging as little of your frame as possible. The heat was incredible, and looking adequate was the least of your worries.

The silence returned as you both gazed into each other's eyes. A dog barked in the distance, the only thing shattering your peaceful moment. You licked your lips as Seb’s hands caressed your midriff, his touch tickling your warm skin. His eyelashes were heavy, and hair fell into his eyes once again, framing his face with curls. Stubble littered his face, a subtle hint that summer was here and his want to shave had disappeared.

“I love the way you look.” You exhaled, soaking in his features like an anaesthetic lulling you to sleep.

“That’s a strange way of saying you love me.” He laughed, his fingers still tracing the outline of your belly button absentmindedly. You rolled your eyes, wanting to smack his chest but deciding against it.

His head leaned down, planting a peck of a kiss onto your forehead. Lingering for a few seconds to breathe your scent in.

“I'm joking.” He mumbled into your hair, eyes fluttering closed. His hand coming further up your front, laying flat against your stomach.

His head returned to its original position, but in the newfound proximity, your breaths became one. Wavering for a moment, he let himself gaze in awe at your complexion. Drinking in every ounce of perfection, which dripped off of you.

“Now who's the one that's staring.” You breathed, his mouth swallowing your thought in a kiss. Your posture tipped towards his frame, a hand finding its way to rest gracefully at the side of his face. Stubble close to your fingertips.

His lips pressed flush against yours, causing his nose to meet your face. Tongues interweaving in dance, lips interlocking with passion. Your breath hitched in your throat as he pulled you towards him, hand now on the small of your back. His palm dragged its way up, and underneath your top.

A groan emerged from his lips as you parted from the bond. Leaving his lips pouted and flushed, eyelashes still closed against his pink cheeks. His hand still lazing on your back, drawing circles in impatience.

You swung your hips around, now sitting up on the bed facing him. He obliged without remark and sat the same way, pulling you in further with his other hand. Your hand had fallen to his chest and now rested flush against him, head raising to bathe in the golden sunlight filtering through the blinds. His eyes winked shut once again as he came forward to lock your lips with his.

“Seb.” You moaned into his mouth, gasping when his lips moved at a sensual pace, coating your mouth in his love. Your prayer was answered by a low hum, as his hands both felt their way around your torso. Your own hands wrapped themselves around his neck, desperate to pull him even closer to you. With your quickened movements, his book was left discarded on the wooden floor, pages open and ruined.

He swallowed every moan that dared to drip off your tongue in sweet praise, letting out a gasp when he let his fingers dance around the edges of your breasts. Your hands locked tightly into his hair, curling strands in between your fingers. Nails scratched down his scalp, allowing soft sounds to escape his throat like honey. Two bodies became one in a haze of cloudy lust.

His hands outlined your breast, almost frightened to touch you in case you shattered into millions of pieces. His tongue traced your teeth, as he attempted to consume every inch of you. His fingertips faltered, resting his thumbs against your chest, narrowly missing what he wanted to touch most. A slow hum erupted from your throat, threatening to break out into a moan, attempting to communicate your genuine need for him. Yet he still faltered.

You considered the fact his tongue was down your throat, yet he wouldn’t let his hands cup your breasts.

“Touch me.” You moaned in between kisses, acknowledging his hunger to feel you. Interlinking your souls together with a simple intimate touch.

Immediately his hands shifted into place, palms pressed flush against you. A strained noise choked in his throat at the action, a sound that sent an electric current running down to your core.

His hands began to work at a steady pace, moulding you like clay. His long fingers were covered by the cloth dividing him from the real world. Kneading you slowly like dough or putty, causing you to moan with every squeeze. You shifted positions so your heel sat in between your legs, desperately hoping for some friction against you.

He suddenly broke free from the kiss, panting into the air still coated in sun. His glistening face glowed in ecstasy and light, sunbeams bouncing onto his skin. His eyes worked their way down your front to meet with his hands beneath your top, the outline squeezing flesh. Your eyelids drooped at the sight of his features glimpsing your body.

Your hands released from his neck, and found their way to the hem of your shirt, tugging the fabric to pull it over your head. Once it was tossed at the side of the bed, you thanked God that you hadn't worn a bra that day. Your hands, gripped into his shoulders tightly.

Seb’s hands stopped for a second with the newfound sense of freedom, loosening their grip for a moment. You let your head lull backwards, gazing up at the ceiling and closing your eyes as his hands resumed their routine. A curse trickled from your lips in a stolen breath as your over-sensitive skin was pleasured.

“Oh, my God.” You uttered, repeating it like it was your last word on Earth. As though Sebastian was keeping you afloat along a river of satisfaction.

You couldn't see his face, but you knew he was smirking. Enjoying the way your brows furrowed with every movement of his hands. His head came up to meet your exposed neck in open-mouthed kisses, causing your breath to catch in your throat.

“You’re perfect.” He declared in between kisses, sucking sensitive spots on your skin and provoking loud groans from both of you.

As his fingers worked pinching your skin and nipples every so often, you wondered how you got so lucky. To be located in the city of dreams, and wrapped in a musician's arms, with his piano-player fingers working overtime to please you.

You couldn’t be happier.

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secretjeon · 10 months

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𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐖𝐑𝐀𝐏 𝐌𝐘 𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader

genre: smut, minors dni

word count: 4k

summary: after finding him wounded in an empty alleyway, against your better judgment, you decide to patch him up in your apartment. you expect that to be the end of it, never to see him again, that is, until you do.

warnings: piv, rough sex, dirty talking, biting, claws make a brief appearance, mild degradation (he calls you slut once), mention of female masturbation

You live in a world without heroes. Yet, the villains roam free.

You’re used to it by now, walking through the damp alleyways. You hear a shout here and there, always keeping your head bowed as you walk past whatever might be going on. Once upon a time, this bothered you. But after a knife to your stomach and a punch to the cheek, you learned to look the other way around, no matter how painful it might be. Sometimes you find yourself wondering why this might be. You always assumed some type of ying yang situation should be in place, making everything right, but you seem to be living in a world without good. Without light.

You don’t know what prompts you to do it. You’re walking back from work, the scent of rain and the stench of exhaust thick in the air. All you want to do is get to your cramped apartment before the downpour.

You think it’s the wind that makes you turn your head, you hate when your eyes water and dry out. When you do turn, you stare into the familiar abyss of the alleyway behind your apartment. It’s truly pitch black. Despite the darkness, you see a faint movement in shadows, a loud sound, a crash. You see a flash of red, blue. Your eyes narrow—what the?

You know well that you shouldn’t, that whatever was lurking in the shadows would be bad news, but you do it anyway. With a grunt, you open the flashlight of your phone and take a step closer. There’s a man laying on the cold ground, he doesn’t seem to be moving.

“Hello?” you call out. No answer. “Um, are you drunk or high? Should I call an ambulance?”

The broad figure groans and your heart nearly lurches. “No,” he mumbles. “No doctors.”

With a slight tremor in your step, you come closer. You shine the light into his face, his brows furrow, an annoyed scowl etching into his handsome features. Your lips part with a soft exhale. He’s so handsome.

Then you get a good look at the rest of him—what the hell is he wearing?

“Do you need help?” you ask, unsure. He doesn’t seem to be bleeding, his eye looks a bit swollen though. Wait, scratch that, you think you spot some blood on his lips. “Should I get you anything?”

Maybe you sound foolish, but you know better than to just call 911 for a random person. Everyone is a criminal these days. Fuck, if he was a criminal you should call the cops, this city is seriously starting to cloud your better judgment.

“No cops,” he chokes and coughs, as if he can read your thoughts. “Go away, I’ll be fine.”

No, he won’t.

He knows it. You know it.

“I live right next door,” you answer against your better judgment. “I have a first aid kit. I can patch you up if you want? I don’t wanna brag, but I am a nurse in training.”

He makes a sound that is similar to a chuckle but the sound quickly fades into a vicious cough. You tuck the phone into your pocket and lean over, “Alright big guy, you’re coming with me,” you attempt to throw his arm over your shoulder but that proves to be more difficult. “Can you stand? Even a little.”

He nods and straightens up a bit. You’re still carrying most of his weight but you manage to get him past the door and onto your couch.

You must’ve thrown him a little too hard because he lets out a loud grunt, teeth sinking into his bottom lip to stifle the sound.

“Sorry,” you mutter. “Just wait for me here, I’ll come back with water and the first aid kit.”

The man makes another sound. You’re starting to think this is his only form of communication.

When you come back, he’s still where you left him. Albeit looking a bit more alert now, eyes constantly scanning your humble apartment. You can’t really blame him though, you would do the same thing. You eye him warily, then place the glass of water on the coffee table. He glares at it like it’s poison.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

He scoffs, “I don’t think you could even if you tried,” he answers, tongue moving over his bloody bottom lip. He points at the table. “And there’s a coaster right there.”

“Who are you, my mother?”

Despite your sharp tone, you place the glass on the coaster and sit on the coffee table, the small first aid kit in hand. “Does that thing have a zipper, or. . . ?”

His right brow and lip cock up simultaneously. You’re acutely aware that no matter what you do, you’ll never be able to understand what’s going on in that head of his—Not that you want to. He’s a stranger. A man that looks strong enough to hold you by the neck before you can reach the pepper spray nestled in your bag.

The silence makes you uneasy, and when you finally open your mouth to speak, he leans forward. “Don’t freak out,” he grunts.

“Why would I freak out—” The rest of the sentence dies in your throat, his suit glitches—glitches—like a damn video game. It blinks once, twice and you swear you can see little particles glimmering on his skin, fading away from reality. Panic flaring in your gut, you look down.

Pants still on. And here your thought that the entire thing was a one-piece suit.

“I said don’t freak out,” he repeats, eyebrow raised and head tilted to the side. You snap your mouth shut.

“I’m not freaking out,” you say, voice shrill. “Who’s freaking out? Not me.”

His shoulders are broad, arms muscular with thick veins meandering down. You’ve never been a fan of veins popping out but whoever this man was made it look good. You swallow over and over in a weak attempt to wet the inside of your mouth. You fail helplessly. You’re not even aware that you’re holding the first aid kit with an iron grip, knuckles aching from the pressure. His torso is completely bare now.

“I don’t have a zipper,” he says unhelpfully, unaware of you behaving straight out of a 1950s cartoon.

“I can see that.”

God, he is the weirdest stray you ever brought over.

He points at the box, “So do you actually know how to use what’s inside or were you just bluffing when you said you were a nurse?”

“A nurse in training,” you quip. “And no, I wasn’t bluffing.”

With great strength, you finally drag your eyes down his torso. There’s a splatter of blood, some of the drops rubbed into his skin and the crimson trail is followed up by a giant slash across his stomach. The bleeding had stopped which was a good sign. You lean closer, your fingers fiddling with the box at the same time, narrowing your gaze you notice the wound is deeper than you had initially thought.

“Whoever it was that attacked you got you good,” you murmur. Without a second thought, you slide off the coffee table and kneel in front of him, you miss the glint in his eyes as he looks down, miss the way he spreads his legs so you can fit better.

“How do you know it wasn’t me who attacked them?”

The rough tone of his voice prompts you to look up. For someone who’s been stabbed, he’s eerily calm. His arms are spread over the backrest, chest slowly rising up and down as his eyes flit across your face, searching. The muscle in his jaw twitches, lips stretching into something resembling a snarl. Suddenly you’re hyper-aware of where you are, the position you’re in. The sound of danger rings in your ears—you don’t even know this man’s name. Your breath catches in your throat, stomach jumping. You don’t know why you initially felt so comfortable with him, as if you were long-lost friends, but you aren’t. You were being reckless.

“Scared?” he asks, venomous, hunching over your frame, caging you in. Heat radiates from his thighs, a stark contrast to the cold fear gripping your insides. He hooks two fingers under your chin, lifts your head up. Your bottom lip quivers. “You should be. You live in a dangerous world.”

“And you don’t?” you counter, your voice barely above a whisper, your words hanging in the air, challenging his assertion. The question slips out before you can fully comprehend its weight, and you see his jaw tighten as he ponders for an answer.

You meticulously cleanse the wound, removing dirt and debris with steady hands. The sting of antiseptic fills the air, intermingling with the charged atmosphere. You’re not shy with the way you touch him, a simmering annoyance warming your gut. He can take it, you think applying further pressure. He doesn’t make a sound.

The dim light of the room accentuates the harsh contours of his face, and his piercing gaze feels like it's cutting through your soul. You drag your teth against the smooth surface of the inside of your cheek. You’ve never had a patient stand this still.

Finally, just as you complete the final wrap of the bandage, he gives you an answer.

“Not the same one as you do.”

Miguel O’hara was his name. He told you just before disappearing into the neon lights of the dark and cold city. You didn’t think much of it, you were sure you wouldn’t be seeing him again, which meant remembering his name was useless.

But your mind wouldn’t let him go. You tasted his name in the dark hours of the night, hand between your legs, coming as you thought of scenarios where instead of dousing his wound in antiseptic, you took his cock into his mouth, helping him in a different way. His suit left little to the imagination and now that your imagination roamed free, you’re glad that it was.

Convinced that he’ll never show up again, you continue on normally, half in fear due to the chaos around you, trying to do your best.

That was until he did show up.

You step out of the shower, water trickling down your skin, softened by the warm steam. The towel hangs loosely around your chest, on the verge of slipping off. You never quite mastered the art of securing it tightly, but living alone means you don't have to worry about walking around naked if it happens to fall off.

The window cracks open, cold air seeping through, chilling your freshly warmed body. Tension instantly builds in your body, your eyes slowly moving to the window. You see him then. Miguel. He pushes the window open and climbs in, not saying a word. You hold the towel tightly around you—a dream, you think, it has to be.

With quick, large steps, he crowds your space, forcing your back against the wall. The air is knocked from your lungs, your throat convulsing with a sudden panic. He’s not touching you.

“M-Miguel,” you whisper. “I didn’t—I didn’t think I would see you again.”

“Neither did I,” he answers, large hands cupping your waist and pinning you to the wall. “I’m tired,” he adds, words dropping from his lips more like a punch than a plea. Like someone is squeezing the words out of him.

“What do you need?”

His eyes drop to your lips, a hungry gaze that sends shivers up your spine. You hold your breath. He’s so close, close enough that you feel his breath on your damp skin. He tilts his head to the side, eyes closing.

“I need to not think,” he answers painfully slow, tasting every word. “I need to not feel. I need to not worry. I need to disappear for a while.”

Miguel takes a long, languid breath. Filling his lungs with the scent of your watermelon body wash. His tongue pokes from between his lips, moving over the bottom one. “Can you give me that?”

His fingers tighten, the soft fabric of your towel bunching in his palm, you swear you feel the bite of nails despite the fluffy exterior. Your eyes search his. You know nothing of him. Only his name that he’d begrudgingly given you. Your pulse quickens, the rush of blood loud in your ears. He’s not here for you, that’s something you need to keep in mind before going any further. He’s here for the release, for the simple act of having another’s warmth surrounding him. You’re an escape. Something simple and easy he doesn’t have to think about when he runs off to deal with whatever he deals with.

After seconds that feel like hours, you decide you want to give that to him. You don’t mind the hurt you’ll feel after. Letting him take what he wants knowing that’ll affect you more than him. Something about him makes you not care.

“I can,” you breathe, instinctively searching for his lips with your own. “Do your worst Miguel O’hara.”

You drop the towel, damp fabric pooling at your ankles. His eyes widen briefly before smiling something wicked. His forehead touches yours, nose brushing your own as his lips ghost an inch away. Your breath catches in your throat, the need growing between your legs. A chuckle drops from his lips reminding you of gravel. You don’t share his humor, you just want to feel him.

“You don’t want my worst,” he grunts. “You’ll break.”

“I won’t.”

He scoffs but doesn’t argue. Miguel doesn’t attempt to probe you wrong, breaking things is meant to have consequences. You either try to fix it or ponder over what you’ve done, he wants none of that. Instead, he presses flush against you, body firm in contrast with the soft swell of your chest and stomach. Your nipples tighten. He crashes into you, tongue hungrily slipping between your lips as his mouth moves greedily. You feel hands on your chest, kneading, squeezing, pinching. You moan into his mouth, he swallows the sounds, grinding himself hard into you. You’re shaking, his body suffocating.

“If I touch you,” he says into your mouth, fingers skimming the outside of your thighs. “Will you be soaked for me?” With a whimper, you nod. He grins, canines looking sharper compared to what they did before, “Such a good little slut,” he growls.

Contrary to what he’d said, he doesn’t slip his fingers between your legs to see if you’re telling the truth. Instead, he slots his thick thigh between your bare legs, pushing the muscle up until you’re left gasping, your hands flailing as you wrap them around his broad shoulders. The pressure makes you dizzy, the fabric of his suit softer than what you expected, a delicious friction over your aching clit. You moan openly into his neck, teeth scraping against the vein.

“I’m going to fuck you like this,” he murmurs. “Up against the wall,” his suit fades away, cock hard against the soft planes of your stomach. You shudder as precome smears over the skin. He continues, licking your lips. “Then up against the window, want you to be loud. Want you to scream and tell me to take. . .”

The emphasis on the “t” sends a million tiny needles biting into your skin. Your chest heaves with the brush of his lips, you want to feel it again, the plush feeling of faux softness on your mouth. But he doesn’t give you that. He smiles a cruel smile, one that chills your skin but lights a fire in the pit of your stomach. He tilts his head.

“And take. . .”

You chase his lips, he refuses to give you what you want.

“And take. . .”

Your frustration grows, a desperate sound twists through you, and your fingers curl around his neck, knitting through his hair as you give the curls a warning tug. He doesn’t seem to be affected in the slightest. He drags his lips down your neck, hitches your one thigh up his hip, and positions his length against you. He doesn’t look at you, nor say another word. He fills you with one hard thrust, knocking you back against the wall, your body sliding up the rough interior. The stretch of him lingers on the line of being painful. There’s a bite to it, but also a deep pleasure that makes your legs shake.

“So fucking wet,” he rasps, sinking his teeth into your neck. It feels sharp enough that you think he breaks the skin, blood filling his mouth, but that’s not the case. The feeling quickly passes when his mouth crashes into yours in a messy kiss. He doesn’t wait for you to adjust, he doesn’t care. He takes what you give him and he does so violently, splitting you into two with every thrust.

He grabs handfuls of your hips, lifting you off the wall before slamming you back down with renewed fervor. He angles each thrust to the point of almost pain. You cry out, a long, desperate noise that almost drowns out his own, panting gruffly. You can feel the heat in your veins coursing through you as pleasure builds, the almost unbearable sensation sending you into overload. Your toes curl, your nails dig into his skin as his name leaves your lips in a plea for him to not stop. His hands grip you tighter as his movements become more violent, eyes locked together as they both reach the brink of ecstasy.

The look in his eyes, the furrow of his brows, the parting of his lips, the damp curls at the base of his scalp—it does something indescribable to you. You arch your back to give more for him. All your focus narrowing on the feeling of him.

Suddenly your body strains as he stills, the thunderous rumbling of your orgasm hitting you full force as you feel yourself tighten around his shaft in an attempt to prolong the blissful pleasure. His grip slackens and you fall forward against him, boneless as you feel the last throes of your orgasm lingering in your veins. You lick the salt off his skin, your body grinding sloppily against him.

“Fuck,” he hisses between gritted teeth, still achingly hard inside of you. “Already?”

“I—I never came that quick before. . .” you answer with a slight slur of speech, you’re tingling all over.

You’re not sure but you think you see a hint of pride in those dark smug eyes, “Don’t think you’re off the hook,” he says. “You’re mine until the sun comes up.”

Miguel is a man of his word.

He fucks you up against the window, just like he said. Your breasts pressed up against the cold smooth surface as he takes you from behind. It burns. It burns yet you can only beg for more. You scream his name, fog up the window, the rough drag of his cock forcing the roll of your eyes every goddamn time. The feeling of being stretched wide never passes, each thrust like the first time.

He holds you by the nape, pushes you forward, the pressure only adding to the fire. You figure out soon he likes holding you like that. He enjoys shoving you up against things, adding to the idea that you’re just a fleeting moment and nothing more. When he pulls out you instinctively search for him with your hips. His cock lays heavy over the curve of your ass, he spreads you and presses his cock between the globes, rocking until thick ropes of come land on your back. You shudder, breathless, your vocabulary reduced to only his name.

You feel a grip on your chin and he turns you enough so that he can slot his lips against yours. Your neck aches but your part for him anyway, allowing the taste of him to flood all your senses. When he parts only a string of saliva connects you, your breathing coming in heavy pants.

A second later the world around you blurs and you quickly find yourself straddling him above the bed. The old furniture creaking in protest. You forget how nervous you would be if it were someone else, how self-conscience you would be riding a man but Miguel doesn’t give you a chance to think about it. His feet planted firmly on the bedding, he snaps his hips, burying himself deep into the tight fist of your cunt, over and over, until you’re stupid for him.

His name rips from your throat, you can’t even think of saying anything else. You attempt to muffle yourself with the back of your hand but he’s quick to yank it back down.

“No” he utters a low, guttural sound, hands coming up your back. “I said I wanted you to scream.”

He sounds unhinged, like something snapped inside of him. You feel teeth on your collarbone, nails dragging down your back, sharp, leaving long lines of irritated skin. A pleasurable pain blossoming over your skin.

You begin to unravel as you thrust your hips against him, his movements setting off white-hot sparks of pleasure like incandescent lightning. Moans rush from your lips as his name is repeated in a mantra and you cling to him desperately, your hands clawing at his back and your nails digging into his skin as you spiral ever faster into oblivion.

Miguel is relentless in the way he drives into you. You can feel him swell inside you, every thrust pushing you closer and closer to the edge. He moves his hands to your hips, pushing and grinding against you as every muscle in his body strains.

His breathing is quick and harsh against your ear, his voice a hungry growl, “That’s it, take it. You were waiting for this, weren’t you? Hungry for a cock no matter who it belongs to.”

You can’t answer.

Miguel’s hips thrust harder, faster—his orgasm crashes through him, his hands gripping your hips painfully as he spills his hot seed deep within you. You find yourself trembling as aftershocks of pleasure ripple through you, your body feeling like electricity as you come down from the high. You clench tightly around him, your own overwhelming orgasm ripping through you, overstimulation making you cry out.

He spins you both, bringing you to lay underneath him. Miguel collapses against you, breathing heavy as his grip on you slowly relaxes. He holds you for a moment, your heart thrumming as his forehead briefly rests against yours, breaths mingling. Then, with a satisfied groan, he pulls away. You let out a hiss. It feels achingly empty.

You’re surprised when he starts pushing your legs apart, watching his spend trickling down your folds and making a mess on the sheets. He pushes globs of cum back into you with thick fingers. Your head falls, back arching into his touch. “You made such a mess,” he says, sounding almost transfixed. Cramming fingers inside of you and curling them, your body seizes.

After that, you’re not sure when he leaves. Sleep takes you and when you wake, he’s gone. No note, no message left behind. The only evidence that he was here is the ache between your legs, and the taces of him still lingering on your thighs.

You’re sure you won’t be seeing him again. He got what he came for.

The next night he’s back, climbing through the window for more.

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secretjeon · 11 months

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I think it's hilarious that for the last 9 years Rocket saying "im not a raccoon" was assumed to be some deep rejection of self when in reality the man just had no clue what a fuckin raccoon was.

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secretjeon · 11 months

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Hiiiiii :) could you do Peter quill x reader, he was cuddling his new baby and sing his favorite song to her, put the baby to sleep , reader went out with friends and she wanted Peter to baby sit their daughter, father and daughter day. I thought it was cute, fluff thank you

☆ all i ever asked | peter quill

✩ summary: request ✮ word count: 915 ⚠︎ warning(s): fem!reader ✧ be sure to check out my work on ao3 ⇢ gravesforgirls !!

You slip on your heels, patting down the wrinkles that had formed across your shirt as you step out of the bedroom, swiping your purse on the way to the living room.

"Peter? I'm about to head out," you call, smiling when you find him laid back against the couch cushions, arm draped over the back, pulling his eyes from the television.

"Have fun." He mirrors your expression.

You bend down to drop a kiss to his lips, soft and chaste, combing back the messy curls that somehow always end up falling into his face. "Make sure Meredith gets to bed on time. You and I both know how she gets when she doesn't get enough sleep. The milk's in the back of the fridge, middle shelf. She's asleep right now so she should be okay for the next two hours or so. I'll be back around eight."

"Yes, ma'am." He nods, pulling you down to press one more kiss to your lips, holding you in place for a moment. "I love you."

You let your hand caress the side of his face, thumbing over his jaw as you pull away. "I love you, more. Remember, put her to sleep right on time. Not before, not after."

He nods with a dramatic sigh, throwing you a pout as you glare at him. "I messed up one time and I'm still getting reprimanded."

You roll your eyes, pulling the door open. "I'll never get back those few hours I could've used to sleep instead of having to tend to our screaming daughter. On time."

He waves you away as you step out the door, propping his feet onto the coffee table in front of him and bringing his focus back to the television.

He stirs awake at the wailing that floods into the room, jolting from the cushions and rushing to the nursery to peek over the crib.

"Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the crib. Shh…"

He hushes the infant, lifting her into his arms to hold her against his chest, big hand secure against the back of her head as he carries her into the kitchen. He shifts her to nestle into the crook of his elbow, supported against his chest as he wrenches open the refrigerator, pulling one of the many bottles from the back of the shelf and nudging the door closed with his hip. He turns to flip on the faucet, letting his hand hover below the spout until it runs warm and holding the bottle under the stream, warming up the chilled liquid and humming quietly as he assures it's the right temperature before lifting it.

Tiny hands wrap around his fingers, small grunts and little breaths with every sip from the bottle, and she coos as he gently pries it from her hold to drop it into the sink when she's finished. He lifts her to rest against his shoulder patting her back as he wanders into the nursery, laughing at the loud burp she gives.

"That was impressive."

He sets her down on the playmat, kneeling down to her level and picking a book from the shelf beside the crib, opening it and reading aloud to the infant. She turns at the sound of his voice, eyes big and innocent as she reaches out to grab at the bracelet hanging around his wrist, pulling at the elastic as he pauses.

"You're a terrible listener. Here, play with this."

He uncurls her fingers from the band, setting the book down to offer a small teething toy in place of his jewelry, watching her clumsily grab for the toy and mouth at it.

He eyes the watch on his wrist, groaning as he slowly stands from the floor.

"Holy shit, I'm getting old, " he grumbles as he stretches out his legs, bending over to pick up the baby. "Alright. Time for bed, Mer."

She gurgles as he lifts her from the mat and carefully pulls the toy away, tossing it onto the small dresser and padding toward the crib. He lays her onto the soft mattress, watching her squirm a bit, leaning against the rail and softly humming a quiet tune. She stills eventually, yawning and stretching out onto the mattress and letting her eyelids fall shut, pretty long lashes fanning over those adorably chubby cheeks. He continues the soft crooning until she falls silent and unmoving, straightening and turning to exit the room.

He jumps when he finds you leaned against the doorway, holding a hand over his heart.

"What the hell?! Don't scare me like that. When did you get home?"

You huff out a small chortle, stepping out of the room and pulling the door shut as he passes you. "Few minutes ago. She loves when you sing to her. It always knocks her out cold."

He hums, letting his hands slither around your waist to pull you into his chest.

"And you're perfectly on time."

"Do I get a congratulatory kiss?"

He leans in, lips ghosting over yours before you're mirroring him, letting your hands press against his chest as he holds you close, humming into your mouth when your fingers nestle into his curls.

"I'm confident in saying you're the best dad in the whole universe. I couldn't ask for more in a man."

He smiles at you, sweet, and soft, and so gentle you nearly melt into a puddle right there in his arms.

"I love you, more than you'll ever know."

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secretjeon · 1 year

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hear me out... farmer!reader with peter :))

thinking abt "farmers daughter" (take one)

you always have just a little dirt on you, knees always scratched from having them on the ground and you're always a little sore and maybe a little stressed.

which is where peter comes in. he was just visiting to get watermelons for his granddad, but you're so fucking beautiful, and then he's there all the time, passing off his visits as wanting to help you out around the place.

helping you out turns out to be code for fucking you. anytime, anywhere.

pulling up your white skirts whenever you have an "off" day around the house. helping you out on the farm, just so he can later fuck you in nothing but your boots and hat outside. skinny dipping with you down by the lake just a mile away from your farm as the sun sets, laying you on the grass and fucking you slowly with the sound of crickets as a background to your moans.

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secretjeon · 1 year

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Drunk On You || Peter Quill x Reader

A/N: So this is just a random, short oneshot. I really cannot explain myself.

Warnings: Smut, Overstimulation

Pairing: Peter Quill x Reader

Keep reading

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secretjeon · 1 year

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rom-com moment

peter quill x f!reader prompt: rain theme: smut/fluff (tags beneath the cut)

“You really know how to romance a girl, Quill.”

He snickered against your skin, his breath tickling against the side of your throat, a heated contrast to the icy water soaking your clothes and your hair. His hands clutched hungrily at your sides, trapping you against the wall behind you. He was equally soaked, rain dripping into his eyes as he pulled back to meet your gaze with a familiar cocksure smile.

“I thought this was every girl’s fantasy,” he said, his hands coming up to unzip your jacket. You shivered as the rain and his freezing hands tainted your dress, your own fingers curling in the lapels of his coat. You pulled him closer; his body heat the only combat for the rain. “A big ol’ declaration of love in the rain.”

“This isn’t a declaration, Peter,” you pointed out snidely, fumbling with his belt despite your tone. His fingers curled in your dress, dragging it up over your thighs. The fabric clung to your skin. “This is you trying to get your dick wet.”

He laughed, grasping your thighs and lifting you. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your hands taking hold of his shoulders.

“And if this is supposed to be your way of telling me you love me for the first time, I’m going to kick your ass.”

“Gotcha,” he replied, his amusement giving way to the heady growl of desire as you wrapped your hand around his cock. He groaned as you pressed the head of his erection into your cunt. “I’ll save it for later.”

Peter thrust into you in one hard stroke, and you moaned, swallowing down rain before pulling him into a kiss. Even as the meaning of his words dawned on you, your thoughts devolved into the simple, hungry notes of pleasure, and you broke away from his mouth to bring his face back down to your throat.

Quill’s teeth dug into the sensitive skin over your pulse point and your head fell back against the wall. Rain hit your face, water running down your cheeks and you blinked against it as your eyes rolled back.

He fucked you in rough, hurried thrusts, his hands digging into the flesh of your ass possessively. A shiver wracked through you, and you could feel his body trembling with the cold of the rain despite the heat of his body against yours.

When you came, the sound of your moan was drowned out by thunder, and you could have sworn you heard Peter whisper three words against your skin.

tags: @lovely-dreamer19 @wittyforachange @wefracturedmotivation @january-echoes @glossyloner @capitalnineteen @youclickedthislink @s0ftness @castieltrash1 @drakelover78 @queenoftheunderdark @bombardia @bellarkeselection @nix-rose-q @blue-chup @curcuma-yn0t

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secretjeon · 1 year

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Camera Ready ✧･ﾟ: Finnick Odair x reader

Summary: Neither of you really care if anyone sees.

Warning: exhibitism, voyeurism, p n v, riding, they fuck in the arena while it’s being televised, spit kink, size kink, creampie, switch ! Finnick, switch! Reader

⭒

“You know you could walk a little slower, sweetness. ”

Finnick’s voice blares out teasingly into the morning air as he trails behind you. Your hair sticks to your forehead in sweaty strands, your body on high alert as you make sure to scope out any remaining candidates that aren’t on your side. Which isn’t much, considering you have Katniss and the others, but it’s still a good idea to be cautious. To your relief you had found Finnick in the woods last night. And as much of a victor as you are, the dark makes you nervous. So he had allowed you to sleep beside him, curled up with his arms wrapped around you. It wasn’t intentional, of course, but when he sleeps it seems that he tends to get handsy. And when the warmth of his body was beside you, you couldn’t resist letting him throw you into his embrace.

“Maybe you could walk a little faster, pretty boy.”

He chuckles at the nickname, his pace finally catching up with you so you can see the cocky smile on his face.

“You think I’m pretty?”

Your friendship is like this, a lot. Flirtation, playful banter, and a few hook ups every now and then since the two of you met at a capital event one year. And now, even when you’re supposed to be enemies, you’re working together. It’s just a connection, an order that makes you both flow freely with each other and get the things you desire.

You ignore the way Finnick’s hands ignite flames on your skin and the way his smile makes your heart flourish. You also ignore the way you feel the constant need to protect him and keep him alive. In this game, you can’t have anything serious.

“Mm..” you reply. “Sometimes.”

Your hands wrap around his neck as you pull him to you. He smiles, that pretty crooked smile, and presses a kiss to your temple.

And then, you hear a snap.

You and Finnick are both on high alert then, and turning around you’re both faced with a victor. Not an ally, it seems, as she’s pointing a knife at the both of you.

It doesn’t take long before she’s dead, but it’s still a bother to you. You don’t like murdering these people, and you’ve never liked the whole idea or subject of the hunger games. The first time you had won, but at what cost when they’ve sent you right back in?

It’s kill or be killed. And as the woman’s blood splatters on your face, you sense that familiar feeling of rage from the first time you killed creeping back into your psyche. That rage that loathes the capital, loathes those stupid fucking districts as they fall into the ground. And your knife doesn’t stop the assault on her as you make sure she’s dead. It’s better, this way, to overdo it so they don’t have to suffer. Finnick is surprised at your strength and skill, he always has been, but he finds it best not to bring it to attention.

As you two walk away, the woods begins to clear. And then you both watch as you see the Arena come into view, dark and blood soaked.

“Great,” you mutter. “More to show the people.”

It’s obvious that everything is being recorded, but this is the most clear spot. As you sit down on one of the rock formations, your lean back to watch the clouds and the orange sunset. Finnick sits beside you, his neck and chest splattered with blood. And after a moment, you begin to speak.

“I don’t like doing this.” You state. “It’s all bullshit. It’s psychotic.”

Finnick nods in agreement, his jaw clenched as he watches the stains on your shirt.

“We should give them a show.” He says. “Do something that we know they can’t get away from.”

And that’s when you get the idea.

You look at him, a mere glance. You’re both probably sweaty and disgusting, but even now Finnick looks absolutely god like. You know he’s chiseled, under that gray suit. And you know what big thing lies underneath the crotch of his underwear.

You smile, your hand coming to rest gently on his muscled thigh. His eyebrows furrow in confusion, as he watches your palm begin to move up more.

“What are you doing?” He asks. He doesn’t seem completely against the idea, though. Because then that cocky smirk you know so good and well is plastered onto his face, his hands finding there way to the exposed skin of your shoulder. He leans over and kisses your collarbone, gently. You huff, your lips moving to graze the spot below his ear.

“If they want them a show, let’s give them a show.”

Seeming to be on the same page, Finnick crashes his lips into yours in a bruising kiss.

Meanwhile, at the capital, the monitors in the room begin to awkwardly watch as you push Finnick down onto the rocky arm. His back hits the floor with a grunt, and then he’s watching as you sit up and unzip the back of your suit. He groans when your tits are revealed to them, full and sitting in all their glory. He brings his hands up and gropes one in his hand, feels the soft skin and your pert nipples being brought to attention. You tut when he tries to move his fingers down to your pussy.

“No, Finn.” You coo. Your nails scratch his addam’s apple, and he flushes as you begin to climb on top of him. “No touching there until I say.”

He groans when you press down against his growing bulge.

“You know if we don’t hurry we could die, right?” He huffs.

“I don’t want to hear excuses, baby. We both know fucking me again is the last thing you want to do before you go.”

He can’t deny that, and as you demand that he lift himself up and unzip his suit down to his thighs, he follows your directions with desperation. You watch as you pull his briefs down below his balls, watch as his girthy length springs to full attention. He moans when your hand connects to his skin, and begins to jerk him off with vigor. You can feel a tension in the air, the feeling of being watched extremely prominent. And it shouldn’t get you so wet, but it does. So you bring yourself to eye level with Finnick’s cock, and spit down on him, quick to shove his tip into the warm confines of your mouth. He makes a deep sound in his throat, and you move away teasingly when his hips try and move his cock farther into your throat.

“C’mon, sugar.” He says, overwhelmed. “Don’t be mean.”

“Why don’t you just shut up and do what I say, Odair?” You demand. You slap his cock, and he groans, legs beginning to tremble at the pain and pleasure mixing. “Besides, I’m not letting you use my mouth right now. I just needed to get you wet.”

He whines in protest when you pull away from him. But then you’re pushing your suit down, past your calfs and onto the ground.

So help you, if you’re going to die it’s going to be like this.

When your pussy is revealed to him, Finnick’s cock jumps and he sits up to guide you to his lap. He’s warm, his cock drooling and messy. You don’t hesitate to rub his tip against your clit, your thighs holding his lean body down.

“Please, y/n, fuck!” Finnick stutters, the feeling of your wet silky cunt making him go crazy.

You smile as you finally guide him to your entrance, and sink down. His cock fills you up to impossible levels, his balls pressed flush against you when he finally bottoms out. His hands go to your waist, and when you bounce on him, his eyes roll back and he cries out like a bitch in heat.

“Jesus Christ.. you feel so fuckin’ good, angel. Love your pussy so much.”

“I know, sweet boy.” You moan when he grazes a soft spot inside you. “It f-feels good, doesn’t it? My little pussy feel good around that big cock?”

“God, yes. Cmon, ride me harder, momma. I know you can.”

And when you begin to fuck him faster, he brings his hands down to your ass, and begins bucking up into you with a feral pace. Your arousal makes him keen, makes his brain turn to mush the moment your scent hits him. You look so beautiful, so flushed and perfect, and something snaps inside of Finnick, then. His fingers spread your cheeks apart, and his voice is raw.

“Bet you like this, huh? The whole capital watching you get fuckin’ destroyed by my big cock? Hm?”

You gasp at his words, your fingers clawing at his chest.

“Finn, baby, fuck!”

“You love it, don’t you?”

No reply. Finnick slaps your ass harshly, and you yelp at the sting. His hands grab your throat in a harsh grip.

“Answer me!” He demands. You cry out, trying to nod the best you can, and then uttering out a “Yes! Yes sir!” As his large hands cut off your air supply.

“That’s my fuckin girl.” He replies. His fingers rub your clit, leaving your throat as you gasp for air and your orgasm washes over you. Your pussy gushes all over him, soaking his cock and balls and the rock below the both of you, and without warning Finnick is grabbing your hips with his large hands and turning you over so you’re beneath him. It’s quick, and you’re incredibly surprised. You wrap your legs around him as he begins to pummel you, now with more leverage and strength, and his cock feels like it’s destroying you from the inside out. You don’t complain, though. And when Finnick’s hips begin stuttering, you know he’s about to cum.

“C’mon, baby, cum inside me, cum in my pussy!”

Your words spur him on, makes him leave bruising marks on your wrists as he holds them above your head and begins to cum in thick, messy ropes. Your walls practically milk him of everything he’s got, and when he’s done you can feel the stickiness of his seed dripping off his cock and onto your thighs.

He buries his face in your neck, then. And with a small laugh, he pulls himself out and begins to lick his cum out of you. Your middle finger comes up into the air as he does it. A sign, as the victor from district 4 eats your pussy. A big ‘fuck you’ to the capital.

The cameramen and people at home watch in shock and awe. There’s a debate of whether or not they should turn it off, and after a while everyone becomes too distracted by the images on screen to worry about it. The next day, none of the other tributes look at you both the same.

Because at that time, they had been watching, too.

@emsbookcase

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secretjeon · 1 year

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Les Petits Morts (Marquis de Gramont x Assassin! F! Reader)

(Cat and mouse, do-they-want-to-kill-each-other-or-fuck-each-other, enemies to lovers, two psychotic mfers flirt)

taglist: @the-ice-frozen-ground-red-rose

warnings: freaky behavior, blood k!nk, knife play, violence, what y’all came for (🤨), reader is lowkey a brat hehe, marquis doms ofc bless up, mentions and brief moments of violence, build-up, more story than necessary probably. Romance⁉️

Vincent de Gramont had made a grave miscalculation when it came to her. He knew the moment he’d laid eyes on her that he was in danger: her wide, brown eyes shining golden in the rising sun, her fragrant hair swooping over one shoulder, letting the skin of her neck catch the light, and, as she’d finally stepped before him, that haunting scent of jasmine and gardenias, the radiance and bohemian ease she exuded; he was immediately disarmed from the knowledge that she was a killer. She was a slippery figure, shrouded in mystery, in fear. No one knew where she came from, but everybody knew of the story of how she earned her freedom. A young girl, bloodthirsty, filled with fire, tearing open the throat of the Marquis to whom she had been promised, her bloody mouth pulled back to bare a glimmering smile in the face of her freedom. Still, she remained in her former line of work, even more dangerous with her years of being outside of The Table’s shadow.

La Belladonna is what they called her, and she gave no name. She smiled at him, gaze twinkling something wicked. He maintained composure, of course, but he couldn’t break away from that haunting, doe-eyed gaze of hers. He’d expected a woman, but not one like this. He’d imagined a savage before him based on the story that had always been told. Not someone so beautiful, so graceful…so enchanting.

“Bonjour, Marquis,” she greeted, “I do hope you didn’t mind the early morning.”

“I did.”

She laughed, turning away and taking a seat against the wall.

“Well, that’s just too bad.”

She checked her nails; a crimson manicure. Her eyes flitted from it to him. He was confused by the expectation in her gaze. He’d never once seen that look in anyone’s eyes before (except, perhaps, from one of The Table).

“Won’t you have a seat,” she questioned.

He cleared his throat, glancing over to one of his men then slowly moving over to the barrel next to her. She admired the horses with a small subdued smile, then turned to him with a sigh. He surveyed her, unsure what to make of this so-called dangerous killer. He was quite sure he’d met worse. He moved to speak, but she cut him off.

“So, Marquis, why exactly do you require my services?”

“They say you’re the best,” he responded cooly.

Her lips curved into a bemused smile. “They say we’re all the best. Why me specifically?”

He gave a slight smile. “You are able to go unnoticed. Become invisible. I want someone invisible.”

“And why is that? Don’t you have Caine? He’s the best.”

His smile fell. Her eyes widened slightly with the thrill of his upset.

“What? That’s practically public information.”

“In that case, I suppose you already know the answer to your own question.”

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong, my friend,” she corrected, tapping his nose with a slender cigarette holder and a bright smile, “I know you want John Wick dead, I know you want those aligned with him dead. But I know you not only have Caine, but the entirety of The Table’s resources at your disposal. You don’t need someone like me; you don’t require someone so subtle, it’s certainly not your style. You are fortunate enough to have to ability of using sheer force to achieve your goals.”

She took out a cigarette, placed it in the holder, then put in between her lips. Despite himself, he stole a glance at her mouth, taking in the slight purse of her lips as she lit her cigarette. He watched smoke puff from between them.

“So…what is it you want with me?”

He met her eyes, sitting back. “You’re very observant. Good job.”

Her eyebrow twitched in annoyance, creating a tiny crack in her mask. She gave a slight smile, blowing some of her cigarette smoke at his face.

“Hm.”

He stood, brushing his nose off. “You’re right. If we were looking at this in the short term, I don’t need someone like you. But I am not thinking of the short term.”

Her eyebrows rose in interest. “I’m not a kept puppy, Monsieur de Gramont. I’m sure you recall my exit from the Table. I wouldn’t recommend becoming my boss.”

His eyes crinkled as he smiled.

“For my price, I think you are.”

She held his gaze for a moment, finishing her cigarette. She tossed the butt onto the barrel, then gave a light chuckle, shaking her head in amusement.

“Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear.”

She stood, raking her fingers through her hair.

“I apologize, but I’m afraid I’ve wasted our time. I suggest getting some extra sleep while you can.”

Vincent watched her turn away with unease, swallowing as she started to leave. He shot a look to the men at the door, then walked after her. He moved to place a hand on her shoulder but she turned swiftly, pressing her cigarette holder into his chest, pushing him backward.

“Do not grab me, Monsieur. I cannot be bought. Only hired. I do not make deals, especially not with men like you. There is not a price you can name that would change my mind.”

“I’m quite sure the prices I can name are beyond anything you’ve heard before.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re quite arrogant, Gramont. It’s endearing, but not enough to hold my attention. Goodbye.”

Vincent watched as she turned to leave, but soon slowed down, then halted to a stop. A pressure lifted on his chest. She tilted her head, twirling the cigarette holder between her fingers.

“Do you really want to offer up two perfectly fine men for the slaughter? Just for a silly little price?”

“I would prefer to avoid bloodshed altogether, mademoiselle.”

She was silent for a moment.

“Whoever told you I am a patient woman was misled you, Gramont.”

He smiled. “Whoever told you I am a relenting man did the same.”

***

Milan, Italy.

Belladonna sat back in her chair, taking a long drag from her cigarette in its holder, crossing her legs with a smile. After several months of hide-and-seek with that pesky Marquis, she’d finally shaken off some the men he had tracking her, and killed the rest. Now, she finally felt like she could just breathe, sit back, relax, enjoy her espressos and afternoons by the sea, and then, when she fancied, a night at the opera. As luck would have it, they were performing her favorite; Madama Butterfly.

She poured herself a glass of champagne as the lights dimmed, and as she took a sip her phone buzzed. Her eyebrows drew together in annoyance; she made it clear to her team not to contact her, lest they risk her being tracked again by one of the…

She frowned, reading the text. It was in french, from a sender with no number.

The Italian sun has treated you well, Mademoiselle.

Her shoulders tensed, but she kept her cool. How did he find her? And why the hell did he follow her here? She was quite sure she’d made herself clear with the last two men she got rid of: do not bother me again, or you’ll end up looking just an mangled as them.

Darkness swallowed the theater as the curtains rose, and Belladonna felt a pit form in her stomach. She’d never felt so troubled by anyone as much as she had by this man. He was bull-headed and inescapable—with all of the ability in the world to keep her in his sights. Discretely, she glanced around the balconies in her view, but only saw strangers. Where was he? Where was the son of a bitch this time?

She put out her cigarette harshly, trying to keep her composure. After finishing her glass of champagne, she sent a message in response.

You’re toying with your life, Gramont.

I could say the same for you.

She rose an unimpressed eyebrow, twirling her cigarette holder between her fingers. She set her phone down with a heavy sigh. He just had to ruin everything, didn’t he? Bothering her during her jobs, and now during her time off. Her phone buzzed again. With a clench of her fist, she ignored it.

As she paid more attention to the opera, her mind wandered. Her six-foot-four shadow quickly evaporated into a tiny shadow in the back of her thoughts, and she admired the gorgeous costumes of the singers, the swelling and rhythm of the orchestra, and rested her cheek on her fist in awe as the soprano playing Madama Butterfly began her aria Un Bel di Vedremo.

She could remember the first time she’d heard it; she’d gotten it as a gift from a lover in a period of innocent youth that had become alien to her. The lover she lost as a sacrifice of that innocence. Despite herself, her eyes grew misty from the memory. She watched the soprano’s wistful gaze, the ghost of a smile on her lips, and as she reached the peak of the aria and the orchestra swelled, Belladonna could’ve sworn she could see the singer’s eye’s glistening along with hers.

The music of the aria faded out, and she quickly wiped her eyes as the lights of the house rose. She rose to her feet, glancing around again. Her heart jumped at the sight of a tall, brown haired man in a three-piece suit leaving one of the booths. She hesitated to get worked up—every man she’d laid her eyes on had a three-piece suit on, it didn’t have to be him. Maybe she was just in denial. Although she’d never want to say it, the Marquis was successfully beginning to wear her down.

She dialed a number on her phone. The call was answered before it could ring.

“Yes?”

“The Marquis is here in Milan. There may be some of his men at the opera house. Kill them, would you? Be thorough with it. Wherever they may be crawling about. And leave me a change.”

“Of course, right away, ma’am.”

She hung up, scanning the audience again before leaving her booth. She slipped into a women’s restroom, entering an out-of-service handicapped stall and quickly removing her dress and opening the duffel bag tucked between the toilet and the wall. It was a pity she wouldn’t get the pleasure of enjoying it, it was a lovely piece. She admired it on the hanger with a sigh, tugging on a bulletproof jumpsuit and zipping it up, adding elbow and knee pads. She laced up her black military boots, then unzipped the duffel bag, placed the dress and heels inside, and pulled out the pair of pistols under the false bottom, placing the magazines in the sides of her boots. She slid a pair of blade into hidden pockets in the lower back of the jumpsuit, then tugged on a beanie and a black face mask.

She pushed the duffel bag back in its spot, then stepped onto the toilet, opened the air vent, and with a hop, grabbed onto the ceiling and pulled her way up inside. Her knee and foot made dull impacts with the metallic interior of the vents as she pulled the door up.

She pulled out her phone, going through her messages to find the blueprints one of her navigators had sent. She stalled on a message from that numberless contact, the one she’d ignored before.

You look beautiful in that dress, Bella.

A frown formed on her face at the message. It wasn’t the first of these messages she’d read in these days. Messages occasionally complimented her ways of eluding him, how a pair of earrings complimented her honey brown complexion, how bloody a mess she’d left behind. Still, none were as direct as this one.

Beautiful, she thought. It conjured up an odd feeling, imagining him saying such a compliment. Perhaps if he wasn’t such a foolish nuisance, it might’ve even excited her a touch. She quickly went to the blueprint of the vents and started to crawl towards her escape.

After a sweaty fifteen minute excursion through the vents, Belladonna finally jumped down from a window and landed on a cushy pile of discarded wood. She didn’t allow even a grunt as she got to her feet and rounded the corner, finding a grey-suited body lying in a pool of her own blood a few feet away from her bike. Her cushy hotel was no longer an option, so she had to relent for the secondary location she’d had set up. The only bother would be the chilly night ride.

///

Montemarciano

She’d made it the country house by dawn, and the sun was preparing to break through the horizon. Exhaustion pulled on her limbs, demanding she collapse directly into the earth as she made her way to the door. She let her shoulders slump as she rested a hand on the door. This place was quite literally in the middle of nowhere. She’d made sure it was no registry or map. Yanking her beanie and mask off and taking a deep inhale of fresh, crisp air, she went for her key behind the false brick when a creak sounded inside the house. Belladonna froze, gripping the brick in her hand.

It couldn’t have been the Marquis, but it could’ve been someone else even more dangerous. She stayed in a crouch, crawling towards the back door and seeing it ajar. Her eyes widened, and she pulled out a pistol. Gently, she pushed the door open and slid inside, crouching against the wall like a statue, eyes scanning the living room. There weren’t many places for an intruder to hide.

In the blue light against the curtains, she watched a large figure pass through the room and right by her. The figure entered the bedroom, and Belladonna placed the brick down silently, getting onto her feet.

She slid through the door, watching the figure in the darkness. They sat at her desk, staring out of the modestly sized window as more blue light filtered through the linen curtains of the dark room. She flicked on the lamp. The figure turned and she fired without hesitation, watching as they tumbled to the floor. She leapt over the bed, planting a foot by the stranger’s head and placing her weight into the knee that she dug into their shoulder. The figure had covered their face with their arm and swiped it blindly at her, but she easily knocked it to the ground and trapped their wrist under the heel of her boot.

Cooly, she held the gun to their face, pressing harder on their wrist. A familiar voice swore, letting out a grunt. Her eyes widened in surprise.

“Gramont,” she remarked quietly, making out the face beneath her.

He was breathing heavily, eyes darting between the gun and her face. She turned off the safety.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you now,” she said.

“Many will come after you. Worse than me,” he said breathlessly.

She smirked, shaking her head. “I said a good reason, Monsieur. Don’t waste your breath.”

He looked at the gun, then to her surprise, smiled a bit. He rose his eyebrows.

“Come now, Bella. Haven’t we had fun these past months?”

“I thought you’d be better at bargaining.”

“If you really intended to kill me, I would be dead by now.”

She paused and tilted her head.

He made a good point.

With a grin, she added. “I really intended to kill you, Monsieur, I would’ve killed you the morning we met.”

She moved the gun away from his face.

“You came here alone.”

“I came to deliver something to you.”

He tried to sit up, but she doubled down her weight onto him.

“Certainly you don’t think I intend to harm you?”

She studied his face, then chuckled. “Not alone, no.”

He let out a breath as she rose to her feet, stepping away from him. He sat up, watching as she trained her gun onto him as he stood. Vincent fixed his hair and his suit, gesturing to the door.

“It’s in the living room.”

“Mhm. Ladies first.”

With his trained on her gun, he passed through the door and she followed silently, pointing it at his head. She flicked the light switch on as they rounded the corner, and lamps lit up, revealing a spare but cozy living room. He chuckled, turning to her.

“Very cute, Bella.”

She didn’t answer, only held the gun to his face. He turned back around, going to the coffee table. There was a large black box, along with two other boxes. One appeared to be a shoebox, the other a mystery. Caught off guard, by gifts, Belladonna’s grip loosened on the gun. She squinted in confusion, almost wanting to laugh.

“What…”

“Your gown tonight was lovely, but it can’t be worn again after you left it in that filthy bathroom. I thought I would replace it for you.”

“…the fuck…”

He stepped towards her, and her gun returned to its leveled aim reflexively.

“…Is wrong with you?”

He smiled, pleased at her bewilderment, although she seemed a bit amused as well.

“What is wrong with a gift?”

“Oh, when it comes from you, several things.”

He chuckled, placing his hands in his pockets.

“We’ve been playing this game for a little while now, and I must admit that I see no end to it. So why don’t we talk it over dinner?”

“It took fourteen bodies to get to dinner, huh?”

He looked away almost bashfully, if his eyes could express such an emotion.

“I thought you’d be easier to kill, I’ll admit that too. And I believe tonight makes twenty.”

His callousness uneased her, but not as much as the glimmer that formed in his eyes when he fixed his gaze on her.

“Come now, is dinner so bad compared to these last few months?”

She narrowed her eyes. He smiled again.

“Think of it as a celebration if you want. Perhaps for your birthday? It’s this weekend, isn’t it?”

In an immediate shift, her eyes darkened, and without warning she flung a knife at his face that he barely evaded being mortally wounded by. Blood poured down his cheek as she lunged at him, knocking him against the wall, but this time he had his footing. He grabbed the fabric of her jumpsuit and whirled around to slam her into the wall with a grunt, but she quickly drove her knee into his stomach once, twice, then kicked him back with both legs, sending him crashing against the kitchen counter. The photos on the wall shook on impact. Before he could even recover she had him on the floor, and his mind quickly went back to the position she’d had him in before and he shot into action, overpowering her just enough to have her beneath him. Still, she was fast, and limber. It seemed like only a moment had passed when she’d locked her thighs around his neck and held his arm at a seemingly impossible angle. He gasped and coughed, feeling the blood pumping in his head.

“You haven’t really gotten your hands dirty like this before, have you Marquis?”

He felt around desperately, and found a saving grace sheathed in her boot.

“You’ve never had your heart race like this, feeling your life threatening to slip through your fingers.”

She twisted his arm further, and he snatched whatever he’d found out of her boot. Her laugh rung in his ears like a funeral bell.

“It’s unfortunate your first real fight turned out to be your last.”

He stabbed her in the upper thigh, and she growled lowly, her hold weakening. He moved in a flash, snatching the blade out of her leg and trying to force her onto the ground, but she began to shimmy backwards despite her injury. He grunted, grabbing at her until he’d finally pinned her down, when he saw her arm go out of his line of sight and something hard slammed into the side of his head. Despite his delirium he grabbed her arm as she hit him again, and forced it to the ground, getting frustrated grunt out of her as she struggled, but he had her.

He caught his breath, his muscles straining to keep her in place. Adrenaline was coursing through his body faster than blood as his sight cleared, and his eyes fixed onto her searing gaze. Slowly, he pressed the blade—a small one, to his surprise—against her neck, watching her swallow. Their eyes locked onto each other. Their blood rushed violently as their chests heaved. Vincent pressed his hand into her chest harder, keeping her firmly on the ground. Her eyes scanned his face with a curious glint.

“I’m not afraid to cut,” he said through puffs of labored breath.

She grinned. “I’m not afraid of cuts, rich boy.”

He dug in the blade, dragging it slowly through her skin. Her fists clenched but she gave no reaction this time. Her eyes only bored into his as the living room filled with warm sunlight. Crimson trickled from the cut, and he smeared it with his thumb as they fell still. He could feel her blood humming through her thundering pulse. Her skin was hot, alive. She watched him, then grabbed his arm, pulling him down with sheer strength. He tensed, preparing for an attack but she just held him by the lapel, a smile dancing on her lips as she leaned up slightly.

“Tell me,” she said quietly, “Has this become business, or pleasure, Vincent?”

His eyes seemed distant as his name left her lips. They drifted to her curved, full mouth, and then fixed onto her eyes. Wordlessly, he took his thumb from her neck and placed it against his tongue, watching for her reaction. She gave none. A challenge.

“Are you pleased?”

To his surprise, she giggled. Her body relaxed under his and Vincent’s head swam with confusing desires. What was this, now that he thought about it, what the hell had gotten into him to chase this girl for months? He looked at her face for answers, finding that same smile he’d seen the first time they’d met. What did it mean?

“Come here,” she encouraged, watching his eyes scan over her in a daze.

He looked at her. Her smile widened, and she beckoned him closer. But with what, he wondered, how could she command him so swiftly without words? Her eyes trailed down to his lips with what part him hoped was the same mysterious hunger that was bubbling up inside him. He leaned closer, breath fanning against her face.

“That’s right,” she said softly, reclining.

He leaned down over her, and for a moment there was stillness between them, a pull that seemed to magnetize them closer. Belladonna’s eyes widened a fraction as the feeling of it came over her, and she quickly head butted him with all the force she could muster. He groaned, clutching his head, leaving him completely vulnerable to her attacks. She managed to twist her way from beneath him, hopping to her feet and grabbing the knife that had lodged into the wall. She sniffed harshly, grabbing his hair and tilting his head up, pressing the point of the blade just below his chin. He stared up at her, eyes half blazing with unspoken fury, the rest uncertainty of what to expect next.

“You surprise me, Marquis.”

He tried to move but her grip tightened onto his scalp painfully. “Ah-ah-ah. I don’t think so. Unless you want me to drain your neck.”

With an even more furious stare, he relented. She grinned at his expression.

“I gotta admit, I didn’t expect you to put up such a good fight. The last one I dealt with wasn’t half as good a match as you. I’m impressed.”

A strange swell of pride bloomed in Vincent’s chest despite his indignation. She hummed thoughtfully.

“Dinner does sound nice, doesn’t it?”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, struggled to swallow in her hold.

“I haven’t been on a date in a while,” she remarked, “Maybe you’ll show me a good time, eh, chéri?”

She let him go, stepping back. Before he could respond, her knee collided with his head. The world went dark.

He came to in the afternoon with the sun beaming down on his face. The back door was wide open, leaving only the sound of birds and the breeze flowing through the golden-yellow grass. He popped his jaw and sat up with a groan. She was gone. If it weren’t for the blood and the dents in the wall he’d have thought it were nothing more than a dream. But he could smell gardenias, he could still taste her on his tongue. He could still feel her racing pulse beneath his thumb, hear her voice. He inhaled deeply, unsure what to think of the feeling passing through him. He couldn’t come to a conclusion, but he recalled something that caused him to smile.

She’d called it a date.

***

Paris, France. Two days later.

She was reclined on a park bench, eyes shut, taking in the sun while her black dress sparkled. He watched her a couple yards away, finding himself rather daunted. She’d told him over the phone he’d know where to find her, and it had taken barely twenty minutes for her to be tracked down. Despite their fight, she looked radiant. Completely unscathed. It was inhuman.

His phone buzzed, and he frowned as he answered. It was her. He glanced up curiously, seeing she had disappeared. He held the phone to his ear.

“Dragging our feet? I’m not a patient lady.”

His searched around for her, but she’d vanished into thin air.

“Go ahead, you can ask…how the hell did I do that?”

He listened to her soft chuckle through the phone with surprising pleasure.

“Come to me, and I won’t make you wait any longer.”

“Awe, listen to that. You’ve been so good at finding me, this shouldn’t be any trouble.”

“You are impossible,” he sighed, turning to scan the park.

“Impossible? This just part of the fun.”

The call ended, and he stared at the phone with slightly furrowed eyebrows. He looked to the bench, noticing something fluttering and went over to examine it. It was a note. He unfolded it, reading sweeping cursive. It was in french, but he knew she’d written it.

Come and get me, chéri. I am a ghost with many faces.

Vincent smiled, eyes crinkling. He pulled out his phone, making a call that was quickly answered.

“Where is she now,” he questioned.

There was a pause. “Well…sir…”

“Mm?”

“It seems like she’s at a cafe.”

“Alright—“

“She’s also at the Notre Dame.”

He hesitated to answer, but kept his cool. “I…see.”

“And the Louvre.”

He moved the phone away, smiling to himself. “A ghost with many faces.”

“Go get her,” he instructed, “Each one.”

Belladonna’s game led him across the entire city. Well, his men, but still. They called him reporting of notes that read ‘warmer’, ‘colder’, or ‘come on, you can do better than that’. Each of her clones proved to be as slippery as the original, and it gave him a thrill and a more subtle concern. He was aware what she was telling him, their game aside. She was showcasing her manpower—how perfectly coordinated her operation was. She wasn’t just a mere assassin, she had built her own network. He’d suspected help, although not to this scale of control. It was clear to him, though, why she’s wouldn’t accept any price. Leaders can’t be bought. She’d left The Table and had somehow managed to build one of her own.

When the evening had rolled in, he simply relented trying to track her down. It was impossible, he’d accepted it. Standing outside the restaurant he’d reserved, he called her.

“Alright, you win. I give up. Where are you, I’ll send a car.”

He could hear the smile in her voice. “No need. Just come in.”

“Have you been inside this entire time?”

“God, no. How boring would that be?”

She hung up. He shook his head, going inside. “Mon dieu.”

When he’d entered, she was there waiting, smoking with her legs crossed. Her lips were crimson red like her nails and her hair was curled to a dazzling perfection. Still, as he approached from behind, he could see the bruises on her back and shoulders. He stopped next to her, brushing her hair away from her neck, revealing the bandage over his cut. She turned her head, met his eyes. They glittered as she looked over his face.

“You know, if a date was all you wanted, a whole lot more of your men would be alive right now,” she said.

“Hello to you too, Bella.”

He brushed the bandage with his finger, earning a stare from her. She was smiling at him.

“Why are you here?”

She looked away as if to think, then locked her gaze onto him. “Why are you?”

He smiled in return. “I imagine we’re here for the same reason.”

His fingertips brushed down her neck and over her shoulder as he moved to take the seat across from her. Her eyes followed him, smoke passing through her rouge mouth.

“Well, then.”

She leaned onto the table, eyeing him.

“Do we really need to have dinner, or should we just get out of here and get straight to it?”

A wicked grin spread across her mouth as she surveyed him. He cleared his throat, but smiled.

“I went through so much trouble to get you that dress, I’d hate to ruin it so soon.”

She laughed. “Oh, you’ll ruin it, will you?”

He pressed his stare onto her. “I’ll rip it right off of your body and devour you.”

Belladonna took in his words, absorbing his stare in her deep brown eyes. Her teeth bared in a wide, shimmering smile.

“Not if I eat you first.”

Her cigarette burned out as they were served the first course.

She ignored the food, her eyes fixed onto him. Something about being under her stare made him feel stiff in his bones. The closer he brought her, the more it felt like reaching into a fire. Her gaze was always so predatory. It gave him a thrill of familiarity, and the chill of it, too.

“Eat,” he told her, gesturing to her plate.

She glided her finger over her wine glass, then shook her head slowly, eyes daring him.

“I don’t think I will.”

He paused in annoyance, but couldn’t help how pleased the resistance made him feel. It was plain on her face, she was playing with him.

“Don’t be difficult, now. We’re just starting to get along.”

Her teeth gleamed again. “Or what?”

The response made him pause. He set down his fork, processing what the woman who’d nearly killed him two days ago had just said to him. He leaned towards her slightly, a smile playing on his lips.

“Is that what you want, yeah? You want to be in trouble?”

A soft laugh made her shoulders bounce as she sat back. The toe of her heel nudged his leg underneath the table.

“That depends. What happens when I’m in trouble, Monsieur?”

“You don’t want to be in trouble with me, Bella.”

The warning only spurred her further. “Oh, but I love a little trouble.”

“All you American girls love trouble, don’t you?”

“It’s our middle name,” she teased, “So you’d better be as bad as you say.”

Her eyes flitted from her eyes to his face, zeroing in on his cheek. He was surprised by the warmth that seemed to emerge in her eyes as she leaned forward, tracing the cut in his cheek with her cigarette holder. A soft smile spread across her face. She almost seemed gentle.

“Such a pretty cut,” she muttered, “don’t you like it? A pretty cut for a pretty face.”

“You think my face is pretty?”

She chuckled softly at him, leaning further and caressing the slice with her thumb.

“Of course it’s pretty, chéri,” she murmured, “That’s why I made it mine.”

Wordlessly, Vincent took her hand. He could feel the slight callouses on her knuckles and the bases of her fingers that had been softened by manicures. He turned her hand, pressing his lips against her fingers and kissing her knuckles.

“Si tu me fais tienne, je te ferai tenir.” If you make me yours, I’ll make you mine.”

She turned her hand, brushing her fingertips against his lips, trailing a finger down to his chest. Her fingers wrapped around his tie, and she tugged it out of his vest, carefully pulling him over the table and leaning in for a kiss. His breath caught in his chest and his eyes fell shut from the feeling of her lips against his. With a rotation of her hand she tightened her grip and pulled him closer. He kissed her deeper, tasting a hint of champagne in her mouth and feeling her shuddering breath against his when she broke the kiss for air. She took in his intense green eyes and caught her lower lip in her teeth.

“Alors fais-moi tienne, Vincent.” Then make me yours, Vincent.

“Ah, I thought you were not kept puppy,” he said, a grin threatening to form on his face.

She yanked him, raising a brow. “I am not.”

He gingerly held onto the table with a laugh. “Then what are you doing here?”

Belladonna loosened her hold, dropping the tie and considering him for a moment.

“You may not be able to make me your puppy, but you’re in danger of making me your woman.”

His eyes flashed, and a grin spread across his face. “It’s dangerous, is it?”

“There would be many who would start ringing a funeral bell for you if they heard the news.”

His gaze lowered to her lips. Vincent took her chin in his hand.

“Is that the price to make you mine? My life?”

“It would certainly be one I’d consider.”

“Then it’s the one I’m offering.”

She laughed, looking away. He turned her face to make her hold his burning stare. For a moment, her eyes softened. She seemed to hesitate despite how far she’d escalated the entire situation. But, soon after, she closed her eyes and placed another kiss on his lips.

“Then I’ll tell you again,” she whispered, “Fais-moi tienne, chéri.”

He kissed her firmly, letting out a sigh. “Come with me, Bella—now.”

The minute he’d gotten her in the back of his limousine he tore the slit in her dress up to her torso and pinned her to the ground, undoing his tie and holding her wrists together firmly.

“You’re not getting away this time,” his voice rumbled lowly, “I won’t let you get away.”

He bound her wrists together tightly, watching her skin chafe against its luxurious material. Her breath was trembling. Her skin was already hot for him.

His cock was already hard against her inner thigh—the string of desire had been tugging at him the moment he’d read that note. She let out a heavy sigh, pushing her hips up against him and lifting her arms over her head to drape them over his neck and pull him down to her. Their lips crashed together while her hips ground against him, and a soft moan spilled from her mouth into his as her body started to wrap around him. He kissed harshly down her neck, digging his fingers into her hips and pressing it back down onto the floor.

“Stay still—stay fucking still.”

A laugh bubbled in her chest. “Oh, you’re going to have to work much harder to keep me still, baby.”

He quickly removed his jacket and grabbed his butterfly knife from his waistband. He grazed her leg with the cool blade, admiring the flames of desire that sparked in her eyes from the mere contact. Delicately, he dragged the point down her inner thigh, stopping to watch how her chest rose and fell erratically. He guided the blade lower and lower over her hips, grinning at how they slightly bucked.

“Ah, you want it?”

Her fingers tangled in his hair as she gently pulled him back up to her lips. She opened her mouth against his with a moan, running her foot up the back of his leg.

“Just take me,” she whispered.

“Fuck, stop ordering me around,” he said, lips trembling against her collarbone as he laughed, “I might start to like it from you.”

“Then make me beg.”

He nicked the cut he’d made in her upper thigh, shuddering at the gasp she let out into his mouth. Without wasting even a millisecond he dragged his mouth down over her stomach—and ghosted over her cunt—to run his tongue along the weeping slice. He grabbed onto her as he made his way from the cut to between her legs. His lips brushed her clit and her body seemed to jump a little at the feeling. Vincent couldn’t control himself. He placed a kiss close to her aching core and relished in how her body seemed to quiver at the slightest touch.

“Look at you, so wet…”

He hesitated to leave her cunt alone, but planted a kiss on her hip and then sank his teeth into her, earning a yelp and a soft, lighter moan when he didn’t let up.

“Vincent,” she whispered.

He was close to getting what he wanted, he could tell.

“Yes, chérie?”

His fingers teased through the fabric of her lace underwear—she let out a soft mewl, making his eyes widen.

“You wear these lace panties for me, chérie? You were going to give it up to me that easy, like I already owned your little cunt?”

“Vincent…”

“Est-ce que c'est ça qui te fait mouiller, mon coeur, quand tu es en dessous de moi comme ci ? Quand tu sais que je peux faire ce que je veux de toi ?” Is that what makes you wet, my darling, when you’re beneath me like this? When you know I can do whatever I want to you?

She sounded almost anguished. “S’il te plaît, Vincent.”

“Ah, now I can get a please and a thank you? Is this why you’re so fucking disrespectful to me, Bella? You want to be punished like a filthy whore, then?”

“Oh,” she managed through weak laugh, “I’m definitely disrespectful because I’m a pompous bitch. Why do you think I’m the one that can’t be bought?”

“Mm, but you can be fucked, huh?”

She smiled widely, eyes falling shut.

“Only if they’re as pompous a bitch as me, monsieur.”

He moved away from her hip and went back to her cut, sucking on it hard enough to make a hickey. Her body arched at the sting of it and Vincent could feel her getting slick in her underwear.

“Beg,” he said, taking off the heels he’d bought for her, “Beg for me.”

The words left her mouth in a whisper. “Please, please, just fuck me.”

“Je ne t’entends pas, chérie.”

He closed his teeth around her waistband, pulling it taut and slicing the underwear open.

“C’mon, baby, please?”

“Don’t ask,” he instructed, “Beg.”

In his fervency he nearly pressed his mouth onto her as he tore the rest of the fabric off and laid eyes on her pussy. His teeth sank into his lower lip—this woman was going to be the death of him.

No. No. He had to take his time.

There was nothing guaranteed with La Belladonna, it was what they all said. He couldn’t waste the moment she was wide open and willing for him. He returned to her sweet lips, kissing her slowly, inhaling her scent. He kissed down her neck hungrily.

“Fuck, I need you,” she whispered, “Please, just fuck me. Please, please, Monsieur.”

“Mon dieu, you know exactly how to beg, too. How can one woman manage to push every single one of my buttons?”

“I’m not the only one with a type here, honey,” she said, smiling, “I get what I want, too.”

His hand snaked down to rub her clit—slowly, to take in her expression, her voice. She moaned, grabbing his hair, pressing her forehead against his cheek.

“Oh, god, Vincent. Please…please…”

His fingers slid inside her eagerly, curling and pulling back then thrusting deeper.

“Mm…Vincent…”

“Yes, baby, say it like that.”

His voice was soft against her ear. She melted into the floor of the limousine, her body easing against his hand, just they way he’d imagined it would.

“I knew you’d be a good girl, Bella, I just needed to give you a nudge—“

She gasped loudly at his fingers pumping harshly back inside of her.

“—In the right direction. Don’t you think?”

Her smile even shone in the feeble light the managed to get through the limousine’s tinted windows. She turned her head and kissed him. He returned it sloppily, his head pulsing with blood as his cock ached painfully. Her lips found his cheek, then his jaw, then her tongue grazed his neck, making him shiver. She closed her teeth around his earlobe and tugged harshly. He moaned into her hair, shutting his eyes. He needed her. He couldn’t even keep his head on fucking straight enough to tease her. Months he had to wait—months of clinging onto remnants of her scent, her red-stained cigarette butts and rivers of blood that trailed behind her—months that drove him fucking mad.

“God, you fucking woman.”

He tore his belt open, undid his pants and pulled his dick out, wetting it with her slick. He rubbed the head against her pussy, breath shuddering, mouth drying; he wasn’t sure if he’d survive making love with her, feeling the way his heart thundered out of his chest.

“Take me,” she whispered, “fuck me, Vincent.”

He couldn’t hold back any longer. He slid inside her gently, but once he felt her, he couldn’t be gentle anymore. His hips drew back and crashed into hers, making her groan loudly and move her hands back over her head. His thrusts were harsh, intense, but his hands slid into her hair affectionately. He kissed her skin like it was the first thing he’d ever tasted, her sweat tasted like sugar to him.

“Fuck, you taste like vanilla.”

Her hands returned to him unbound, and they slid under his shirt. She held onto him and wrapped her legs around his hips as her breath caught with each thrust. She wasn’t sure how long she’d be able to hang on for him, to have this moment last as long as it could. His body felt perfect against his, his warmth, his scent, his taste. She’d only said words earlier—of course no one kept La Belladonna for long— but he seemed to be the man that just may have the ability—

“Put your hand on my neck,” she whispered, voice shaking.

His hand caressed her neck delicately. She let out a sigh, closing her eyes. Yes, he just might be the one.

“Harder, please,” she whimpered.

“Anything, mon cœur.”

“Faster.”

Her voice was barely leaving her throat. Vincent’s hips moved quickly as he felt her tightening around him. He moaned again, sure his voice managed to reach outside of the windows.

“Fuck, you’re getting so tight, Bella, you’re going to kill me.”

Her nails dug into his back cruelly, pushing him even closer to the edge as the pain echoed throughout his entire back. He managed to reach down and rub her clit again, feeling how swollen it had gotten as her orgasm came closer.

“Come for me, Bella, come, baby,” he encouraged, his fingers working quickly.

She cried out, her voice breaking as she grabbed onto his shoulders. She was just at the edge, her mind was spinning wildly. Her words were unintelligible to him, he’d never caught onto Italian very well.

“Oh, mio caro, sì, sì, ah, cazzo, sì—“

Her legs tightened around him as he slammed his hips against her, watching how her mouth fell open, listening to her gasping breath.

“Sì—sì come questo, tesoro, oh…oh! Non fermarti, per favore, oh per favore—ngh—cazzo!”

He groaned as her pussy clenched around him and she let out a cry, her nails digging so hard into his skin they might’ve been drawing blood. He snapped his hips into her one last time and came—loudly—as he felt for her breasts and grabbed onto them, tried and failed to stay upright, then lowered, his body pressed up against hers.

They laid for an eternity, trying to catch their breath, trying to wait for their heads to clear. Vincent managed to move first and kissed her neck, inhaling the smell of her skin, feeling her pulse starting to slow down. She let out a heavy exhale, eyes opening.

“You are…”

She trailed off into silence for a moment.

“…Magnificent.”

Vincent chuckled, kissing her jaw softly, unable to speak just yet. She smiled.

“Ti terrò in giro per molto tempo, tesoro.”

“I don’t know Italian, Bella.”

She laughed. “I said I’m going to keep you around.”

They looked at each other, and he smiled.

“Oh, are you?”

“Oh yes, Monsieur…for a very long time.”

She lifted a finger, tapping his nose affectionately.

“You keep me, I keep you, Mademoiselle.”

She ran her fingers through his hair, smiling softly. “That arrangement just might be acceptable.”

He smiled. “I’m glad we could finally settle on an agreement.”

Her laugh was weak, but her eyes shone with that sardonic humor that had charmed him so. He slowly pulled out of her, gently sitting her up.

“Come with me. I will take you home so you can rest. We’ll have dinner.”

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secretjeon · 1 year

Text

Are There Still Beautiful Things?

summary: inspired by taylor’s “seven”, follow JJ and reader through snapshots of their lives together.

warnings: mentions of the death of a parent, mentions of excessive drinking, mentions of abuse

word count: 9.9k

a/n: hellooo & welcome to my first fic :) some of this had been previously posted in parts, but after evaluation i realized this needed to be heavily edited & worked better in this format. this fic has a special place in my heart, so i hope you enjoy reading as much as i enjoyed writing it. (p.s, happy obx 3 eve!)

SEVEN

please, picture me in the trees, i hit my peak at seven feet, in the swing over the creek, i was too scared to jump in but i, i was high in the sky with pennsylvania under me … are there still beautiful things?

JJ Maybank thinks the last time he was truly, truly happy was when he was seven. At such a young age, anything seemed possible. The sky was the limit and the ocean was their backyard. He had his mother and his father, and even though it leaked sometimes, a roof over his head.

And he had his friends, his favorite people in the world. John B, who he had been sat next to on the first day of second grade and was now inseparable from, and y/n, the girl whose mother was his mother’s best friend, who he had known his whole life.

It was always the three of them, getting into trouble together and spending nearly every moment with each other. You rarely saw one of them without at least one other, and even at such a young age, it was clear they had a bond some people spent a lifetime searching for. They were lucky, and people liked to tell them that.

In their younger days, one of the moms (or more often, both of them together) would often take the trio around. Watching at the beach while they learned to surf, the parks while they played until red in the face, treating them to dinners at the local establishments, or ice cream on those extra hot and intolerable days.

But their favorite was camping in the backyard. They would set up a tent and a bonfire, and roast s’mores and stare at the stars.

JJ’s mom had a particular affinity for the mystery that hung above them and would spend hours teaching the kids everything she knew. She loved the moon, she would tell them everything she knew. She liked to talk about the phases and what they meant, what kind of full moons they were in store for soon.

But Saturn was her favorite, she would talk about any chance she could.

Did you know it’s actually a big ball of gas? That it would float in water?

The ring is made up of ice and dirt and bits.

It’s windy up there.

It takes twenty-nine earth years to revolve around the sun.

Time must move slowly up there.

And they let her talk too. And they listened to every word. They listened to the tales and myths and theories of space until they couldn’t fight the sleep back, and their eyes of wonder became sleepy, slowly blinking at the woman in front of them.

“Goodnight,” She’d say to the three of them, and then she would lean in close to JJ, and leave a kiss on his little forehead.

“I love you to the moon and to Saturn.” he would fall into sleep with a smile on his face.

Nights like that were always beautiful. Memories like that were beautiful.

JJ couldn’t help but wonder; without them, was there any beauty at all left in the world?

FOURTEEN

sweet tea in the summer, cross my heart won’t tell no other, and though i can’t recall your face, i still got love for you your braids like a pattern love you to the moon and to saturn, passed down like folk songs … the love last so long.

The summer they were fourteen, JJ’s life changed. His mother passed, and he was never the same after it. It seemed like the entirety of the outer banks was aware of the light that had been lost.

y/n and her parents were right alongside Luke and JJ. None of them knew what was in store without her. Filled with anger, sadness, regret, and guilt, they all knew that she had so much more to give. Life was not kind, life was not fair, and although they all knew it, they never thought that they would get a reminder quite like this.

JJ stood in between his two best friends, y/n’s hand in his, she was struggling too, but she was holding back. She knew she had to be strong for JJ, she had lost someone special, but he lost his mother, and that was something that he would never get back, something that could never be replaced.

That night y/n stays with JJ, and they end up outside the same way they used to, but without a bonfire tonight. Tonight they stare in silence at the night sky, both thinking about all the things JJ’s mom had told them about the stars and planets above.

“I keep thinking she’s on Saturn,” y/n says, suddenly, the thought slipping out before she can think about stopping herself.

“What?”

“I keep thinking about Saturn, how much she loved it.” She clarifies, “And I keep thinking how happy she must be to finally see it.”

There’s more she wants to say, but figures it’s nothing that JJ hasn’t already heard. What can she say, really? When she catches his smile, the first she’s seen in weeks, she leaves it at that. She’s said all she needs to.

“Yea,” he said, wiping a stray tear. “I bet she is. I like that thought.”

And he meant it. The thought of his mom, an angel on her favorite planet, he didn’t think there was any other explanation.

FIFTEEN

JJ’s fifteenth birthday creeps up, and y/n had worked extra to get him a special present. She had seen it in one of the windows of the fancy boutiques on figure eight and immediately ran in to look at it, begging the store owner to hold it for her after seeing the price on the tag. It had to be JJ’s, she knew it the moment she saw it.

So two weeks later she returned with money collected from babysitting and delivering groceries, the proudest smile on her face. Bringing it home and exchanging the chain for a longer silver one before wrapping it up neatly.

Everyone gathers at the Maybank home on the day of. John B and his father, y/n and her parents, and Pope and Kiara, who the trio had recently befriended.

Luke had even put in a little effort, putting up some simple birthday decorations he had bought from the dollar tree. It wasn’t very much, but all JJ cared about was that everyone he loved was there with him. JJ was happy, but there was a lurking sadness in the back of his head. This was his first birthday without his mom. There was an empty space that would never be filled, no matter how hard he tried. And he was trying very hard.

Despite the weight of loss, it was one of the best days JJ’s had in a long time. Luke had set up a slip-n-slide for the kids, really just a tarp with some water and some dish soap but the kids didn’t care. He grilled hamburgers and hotdogs and even stocked up on more sodas than they needed. y/n had made a cake and John B helped her decorate it. It was sloppy, but it was theirs, for JJ.

y/n had waited until later to give JJ his present. She found him still sitting at the outside table with his hand on his chin, looking up into space like he always did.

“There you are.” She says, siding into the seat next to him. She follows his gaze up toward the night sky.

“Looking for Saturn?” she asks.

“Always am.” He answers sadly despite the small smile on his lips.

She doesn’t say anything, only matches his sad smile with one of her own, and holds out the box shyly.

“Happy birthday Jay.”

He takes it gently, looking at her with a look neither of them can register yet. He leans into her a bit, nudging her softly before tearing at the paper.

When he opens the box his smile drops, and suddenly it feels like he can’t breathe, he feels caught off guard as his emotions blindside him. He had no clue what to expect but this certainly wasn’t it.

y/n sees his reaction and it feels like a gut punch. Why had she gotten him that?

She felt so certain it belonged with JJ but seeing him look so upset now she just felt stupid.

“JJ, I’m sorry, I can bring it back, I just thought … if you don’t like it I’ll take it back.” She tries to explain herself and reaches for the box, but he jerks away from her when she tries to take it back.

She freezes, confused now. He doesn’t catch her reaction, still looking at the necklace in his hands.

“I think I’m forgetting her.” He finally says, voice barely above a whisper, like he was scared to say it. Like this was the first time he was admitting it to himself.

“I’m scared y/n, it’s only been a year, and every day I’m scared I’ve lost another piece of her, what if I’m forgetting her?” And then he’s crying before he can stop himself, sobbing almost.

He clutches the box to his chest like he’s scared to let it go, like letting it go would be the end of the world for the second time.

y/n pulls him in, a few tears of her own falling, thinking of all the things she would do and the things she would trade to take away his pain.

“JJ… you’re not going to forget her, okay, I promise you. All you’re doing is healing, trying to learn to live a normal life without your mom, something that no child should ever have to do. You have so many memories of her, you have so many stories and pictures. You're a piece of her. When you’re older you’ll pass the stories on, and people who never got to know her will know her. And when you're older, older, you’ll tell your kids about their grandmother, the woman who was as strong as a hurricane and soft as a butterfly all in one. You won’t forget her JJ, you can’t when you’re part of her.”

She talks him down, and once he subsides he sees the truth in her words, he trusts her so he trusts what she’s saying wholeheartedly.

“You promise me, y/n?”

She holds him tighter

“Cross my heart JJ.”

“Okay,” He says, sitting up from her.

“Okay?” she questions, wiping the last few tears from his face “because you don’t have to be.”

“I know, but I will be.”

She smiles at that, she knew he would be, even if he didn’t fully believe it, he was the strongest person she knew.

She nods towards the necklace “so you like it then?”

He nods. “I think this is the best present I’ll ever get.” And finally pulls the chain out of the box, staring at the clip confused as he tries to figure it out himself.

y/n laughs, making a motion for him to come closer.

“Here, I’ll do it for you.”

She undoes the clasp and wraps it around his neck, closing it again before adjusting, the charm settling just above his heart.

Her fingers linger on the charm, smiling at the memory, the meaning of it.

“Now you have your own Saturn, always with you.”

His hand closes on hers.

You are my Saturn y/n, he thinks.

But instead, he wraps her in a hug, “wanna camp out tonight? I’ll get John B to come back, the three of us like old times.”

She nods in his arms.

“Always.”

That night the three of them all felt like things had gone back to normal, even just for the night both John B and y/n were glad that JJ could feel some type of relief, even if it was fleeting. They knew in the morning things would go back to the way they were, and JJ would struggle a little bit more than the average person, but if they could just give him a couple of hours, it was worth it.

And finally, when they’ve retired to bed and settled in their sleeping bags, JJ and y/n had the same thought running through their minds as they fell asleep.

I love you to the moon and to Saturn.

And JJ swears he felt something press against his forehead that night, exactly like old times.

SIXTEEN

and i’ve been meaning to tell you, i think your house is haunted, your dad is always mad and that must be why, and i think you should come live with me and we can be pirates … then you won’t have to cry, or hide in the closet and just like a folk song, our love will be passed on

The summer they were sixteen was one they had been dreaming about what felt like their whole lives. Finally old enough to roam freely, exploring all the nooks and crannies unsupervised. The trio had now officially graduated to a group of five, and now they took on the world with Pope and Kiara by their sides.

It should have been a dream. Granted, most of the time it was, but there were nightmares constantly lurking in the corner. JJ didn’t want to admit it, but he was pretty sure he had finally lost his father.

Luke Maybank was never the same after his wife died, but for a while, he at least attempted for JJ. He tried, he really did, to be there, and be something for JJ. But he was losing himself, and in the past year, he was slipping further and further away, turning into someone that even y/n’s parents, who had known him for so long, didn’t recognize.

The drinking was getting out of control, and the hitting started not too long after. When he was sober, he was sorry, but eventually, it became a rare occasion to find Luke Maybank sober

So JJ’s normal became sneaking around his own house, avoiding the last of his family, seeing how many family dinners at y/n’s he could get invited to each week, and saving everything he could from his oddball jobs to get out as soon as possible.

He didn’t like to talk about it, in fact, he never did. He let the pogues think whatever they wanted to and never gave them a real answer when they asked. As far as he was concerned, they didn’t need to be concerned about him, he’d be leaving soon anyways.

But y/n knew. She watched like she always did, she was observant. She watched his eyes get that faraway look whenever he rattled off his latest excuse and the way his smile would fall when he thought no one was looking. She watched him and knew he was hurting more than he would let on.

She had gone to his house to find him but only found Luke instead, and what she saw scared her. She did not recognize the stumbling drunk man looking back at her. And he didn’t recognize her either. The girl he had watched grow up next to JJ, the girl he had roasted countless marshmallows for when she was scared of getting too close to the fire. The girl he made pancakes for in the mornings and the girl he lit fireworks for on the fourth of July. None of the memories registered, he had run her off his property like a stranger had just trespassed.

It was when y/n knew that for the second time, JJ’s life had changed. The knowledge tormented her for weeks. She hated the small piece of her that still felt sympathy for Luke, he was a broken man with plenty of reason to be. She was holding out hope, that something good would happen to JJ.

But when JJ showed up with a black eye one afternoon, blaming it on a group of kooks, she knew she had to say something. She spilled half-truths to her parents, although she suspected they picked up on the unspoken story from the tears in her eyes.

“I’m just - I’m worried about him. I just have this feeling that things have been, I don’t know … harder than normal lately.”

Her parents had sensed the shift too, all her confession had done was confirm the suspicion. Her mother told her then that JJ was always welcome in the home, and her father told her he would try to talk to Luke the next day.

And that worked for a little bit, JJ had visibly perked up and for a minute things seemed like they were back to normal, and y/n was waiting for the right to tell him what she knew but it seemed Luke had beat her to it.

She had been waiting for him at the beach, but her smile immediately turned to worry when she saw him storming up toward her.

“What the fuck y/n?” was the first thing out of his mouth, and now instead of worried she was panicked realizing his anger was directed towards her.

“JJ, what-” But before she can get anything else out he’s talking again.

“What did you do? What did your dad do? What’s with all these cryptic messages of watching us and threatening to take me away? I mean what the fuck, what does that even mean? Take me away? Away from what, my home? My father, my only family I have left? How could you do this to me?”

Her face pales immediately, her head shaking.

“JJ, that is not what happened, that’s not what he meant -”

“So then it’s true, he did come by?”

“Yes but he didn’t threaten your dad JJ, he -”

“You know what y/n, I don’t care. I just came to tell you to stay out of it. I don’t know what you think you know, but my dad and I are fine. We don’t all have a picture-perfect family to go home to at the end of the day.”

His words stung, leaving her nearly speechless. “That’s- that’s not fair JJ. You are family.” She chokes out, but he was already walking away.

“What if it was me?” She calls out, frustrated.

He stops, and she keeps going. “If I were you, and my dad was putting his hands on me. If I started showing up with marks and bruises, wouldn’t you do anything to protect me?”

“I don’t need you to protect me y/n.” And that’s the last thing he says to her before walking away.

JJ’s not around for the next couple of weeks, and it drives y/n up the wall not knowing where he was, or what he was up to.

She spends time with the pogues, but she’s never fully there at any time, part of her mind was constantly on JJ. She finally broke one day and told the pogues to please go find JJ and make him go out on the boat with them. They tried to argue with her but she told them that she was pretty sure that if he didn’t blow off some steam soon, he was going to start getting into trouble, and it wouldn’t be good for him.

She gave them space for a few days, and just assumed that they had picked up JJ and got him out of the house for a bit, so she nearly lost it when the pogues finally confessed that they hadn’t seen or heard from JJ since they had been tasked to go find him.

“Are you sure he’s not at the house?” she asked “Sometimes he just won’t come out, or if you ran into Luke then -”

“He wasn’t there, and we didn’t see Luke either. We checked inside.” Pope answers.

She could feel herself panicking.

“Why did you say something sooner?” She stressed, looking mostly at John B.

He looks down, away from her gaze. “You know how he is y/n… and you were already worried enough. We thought he’d turn up soon, he always does.”

She shakes her head, “maybe, but haven’t you noticed that when he does there’s always a new bruise?”

The three of them exchange looks while she closes her eyes, taking a breath and trying to think for a moment.

“Okay, why don’t you guys go check some of our beach spots maybe? There are a few places I can look and just keep me updated if you find him and I’ll let you guys know too.”

They part ways and y/n knows she’s going back to check the house first. Even if he had left, he was never gone from the house long, there was too much to leave behind.

She parks a little way down from the house, she hadn’t been back since the day Luke had yelled at her and if she was being honest she was still a bit scared. She crept up to the house carefully, freezing she hears shouting, the noise becoming clear once the door swings open.

“Boy, I tell ya, that’s just about the funniest thing I think I’ve heard you say.” y/n hears him laughing maniacally.

“You’re not going anywhere, you won’t leave her, you know you won’t. You’re stuck here, just like me.”

Luke stumbles off towards a trail and y/n waits until he’s out of sight before dashing into the house, finding it still and quiet. She wonders for a moment if Luke had been talking to himself the whole time, not finding it entirely impossible considering how drunk he seemed.

And then y/n is suddenly realizing that the last time she had been in this house was JJ’s fifthteenth birthday, and she was suddenly very aware of how empty it felt. It had lost the warmness and comfort it once held, feeling more like a ghost town than a home now. She felt out of place, which was something she never, ever thought she would feel in the Maybank home.

She notices a slightly open closet door at the end of the hallway, and she swore she could hear sniffling, muffled cries like someone tucked away and hiding in there.

“JJ?” she called out, and when it suddenly went silent again, she knew, rushing over to the door and opening it delicately.

And there JJ was, curled up in himself, knees up to his chest and a photograph in his hand. She knew exactly what photo he was looking at, and she immediately dropped next to him. She didn’t know what to do, she didn’t want to scare him, but looking at him broke her heart.

So instead she starts talking.

“I remember that day.” She says. “That was one of the fourth of July parties, we were all there, even John B and his dad. And this was the year the full moon lined up with the holiday, and your mom was so excited, she talked about it all day and got us excited too. Our dads bought way too many fireworks like they always did. And we ended the night with s’mores, of course, because it wouldn’t be one of our nights without them. You always were so messy. There she is again, cleaning you up.”

JJ falls into her then, and y/n catches him like she always does, and always will. She has tears too, staring at the picture of an innocent JJ, a smile plastered on his face, stacked s’more in hand, staring up at his mom who he loved so much, with no idea he was going to lose her in the next few years. And there was his mom too, beautiful as always, her own s'more in one hand and the other attempting to wipe the sticky marshmallow from his mouth, laughing because she knows it’s useless. But she was his mother, so she would try regardless.

She wraps him up in her arms, her grasp firm so he knows she’s there but not tight enough to hurt him.

“I know why you won’t leave. I know why you won’t leave him, why you always come back. You’re holding on to that last piece of normal. It’s okay, it’s okay to hold on, but not when it’s hurting you like this. This house is full of memories, but it’s haunted and full of pain too. I would never ask you to leave what you know, but please just come with me for tonight, maybe a few days at most.”

JJ has always trusted y/n, so even now, when he was upset and jumbled with emotions he trusts her.

She lifts them both up gently. “Let’s get some spare clothes, okay? I can pack them for you if you want.”

They both walk into his room but he makes no effort to pack. Instead, he picks up another photograph that was sitting on his dresser before sitting at the end of the bed. Without saying anything else she grabs one of his duffle bags, and starts putting in a few extra shirts and shorts, and even grabs a pair of sweats and a sweatshirt just in case. When she’s finished he’s still staring at the photo like he’s in some kind of trance.

She throws the bag over her shoulder and reaches her hand out to JJ. That seems to break him out of his state a little, standing up and pocketing the photographs. He takes her hand and they walk out of the house together, out to her car.

She pulls into her driveway, and they walk into the house together and up to her room.

“Why don’t you shower and change?” She can tell he’s still dazed, and she’s hoping a shower will relax him.

While he showers she makes her way back downstairs, her parents are out of town for the next few days, so she figures she’ll cross that bridge when she gets there. She does, however, text the pogues, realizing just how long it had been since they all began looking for JJ. She keeps it simple and just lets them know that he’s okay and with her for now.

And then, she makes two sandwiches, one for herself and one for JJ, because she knew he wouldn’t eat if he thinks she had made something especially for him. When she walks back up the stairs into her room, JJ is already out of the shower and changed. He looks up when she walks in and she lifts up the plates of sandwiches slightly.

“Eat with me?” she asks.

They sit and eat the sandwiches in silence, and when they’re both finished she runs the plates back down before returning with two classes of water.

“Okay,” she says after a few sips. “Just try to get some rest, okay? I’m going to shower, but I’ll be quick.”

Long after the shower turns on, JJ is still hesitating and realizing how stupid their fight was. All that he knows is that he missed y/n, and now he was here with her, everything felt like maybe it would all be okay.

He had just made it under the covers when the water shut off, and a few minutes later y/n came out, not hesitating to lay down in the bed beside JJ. It didn’t matter that they had been fighting, or not speaking, or had not seen each other in the past few weeks. They would always be there when it was needed.

“I’m sorry y/n,” he says suddenly. She had thought he had fallen asleep.

She shakes her head, even though he can’t see her.

“It’s okay.”

He rolls over, and now they’re both on their back, staring blankly at the ceiling as if staring long enough would make it disappear and show them the night sky just on the other side of it.

“But it’s not.” He starts, “You were just trying to protect me. And this whole thing has been so stupid - I’ve been so stupid. I didn’t like that, us fighting, us not talking. It just feels like … a storm sometimes. In my head, and it scares me when I’m not in control.”

His hand finds hers in the dark, “I know you were just trying to protect me. I was just mad at myself because I feel like it’s my job to protect you, and I wasn’t doing that.”

She squeezes his hand. “Maybe it’s not okay…” she starts, “but just know I understand, and that I’m always going to be here.”

She looks at him then, reaching up and finding his chin, turning it gently.

“And we protect each other, okay?” There’s a desperation in her voice that he picks up on. One that he understands, deeply.

He gives her wrist a soft squeeze, “okay.”

Then he’s curling into her, and she lets him. It’s silent for another moment before y/n breaks it this time.

“JJ?” she says quietly.

He’s barely awake but he still answers her with a tired “Mhm?”

She hesitates, “to the moon and to Saturn.” She backs out, but the unspoken meaning is still there.

He smiles.

“You are my Saturn.

EIGHTEEN

please, picture me in the weeds, before i learned civility, i used to scream ferociously … any time i wanted

y/n blinks and suddenly it’s graduation. She’s never been happier, a swirl of excitement and pride all in one stirring in her stomach. For herself and everyone but mostly for JJ. Things had been okay enough, but no one could deny the hand JJ had been dealt. He faced it every day, the sideway looks and the backhanded comments and the flat-out insults. But he had done it, proved them all wrong.

Luke had even made it to the ceremony, sitting tucked away in the back as he watched his son walk the stage, and afterward y/n eyes them as they had a conversation before finally parting ways.

JJ runs over to the rest of the group, scooping up y/n and spinning her around, cheering and causing a scene.

“We did it, we’re done!” He’s yelling, “we’re free!”

They continue to chat for a while and joke around, taking photos until the parents are all satisfied before parting ways with plans to meet back up at the beach later in the night.

JJ goes home with y/n and her parents, where there’s a small celebration set up for the pair. They eat cake and flip through old scrapbooks and photo albums. He’s happy, but there’s a sting in his chest, wishing his mom was there.

He imagines briefly, what it would have been like had his dad never changed, if he would have been there in the living room with them, or if he would have had his own afternoon planned. He decides not to dwell on it, instead, he wraps his arms around her from behind on the couch. He focuses on her, and her parents, the photo album of past memories. He understands he’s still lucky.

It gets later, and before JJ and y/n leave for the beach her parents call them into the kitchen again, they have something for JJ. He blushes at the statement, although he tries to hide it. He’s handed a small box and is shocked when he sees a silver key sitting inside.

“We hope we aren’t overstepping,” your mom starts, “really, it’s a bit overdue but we just thought - we just want you to know you’re welcome here anytime.”

Her father places a firm hand on his shoulder when he sees JJ getting choked up, “just if you ever need anything. Hell, if you ever just want to come bother us. You know you’re family.”

He laughs a bit, trying to lighten the mood, shaking his head, “Aw man, now you guys got me all emotional.”

Then he looks up at her father, “thank you, really.” And then he turns to her mother too, and she pulls him into a hug that he gladly accepts. “This means a lot to me, really… I don’t … I don’t know what I would’ve done without you guys. Where I’d be… just, thank you.” He tells her.

“You don’t need to thank us, honey. We’ll always be here to take care of you.”

The moment passes, he pulls away, clearing his throat in an attempt to hide his emotional state and he turns to y/n. “Alright, soaps over.” He announces, “you ready to go?”

They make their way to the beach, talking about summer along the way. JJ keeps listing all the things he wants everyone to do together before it’s time to part for school.

They find a spot on the beach, sitting and talking about how strange it is to be done with high school, and the future. Everyone is leaving, even John B. But JJ and y/n decided to stay close to home, not ready to leave yet.

“After college,” he says, “that’s when it’ll be time to go.”

“You would leave Outer Banks?” She asks, slightly shocked.

“Yea.” He says, confused as to why she was so shocked at his statement

“I’ve always said that, why the face?” He questions.

She looks down, realizing that he was right, he had always said that. She never thought about it in detail, never pressed him on it. Maybe she thought all this time that he never really meant it. Everyone always says they want to leave their hometown but how often did they really?

“nothing it’s just, something I heard Luke say once.”

She catches the way his face drops and she tries to backtrack

“No, no, it was nothing bad I promise. I heard him say ‘you know you won’t leave her’ and I don’t know, it’s just the only thing I’d ever agree on with Luke. That you wouldn’t leave your mom behind, and I understand that. You could build something better, be something better.”

He has a pained look on his face, his hand reaching up to the Saturn around his neck.

“Did you mean what you said, about me being a part of my mom?”

She rests a hand on his shoulder, “of course I did JJ. Everyone knows. You’re the best parts of her.”

“Then it won’t matter where I go. She’ll always be with me.”

Then the look on his face turns into a smirk.

“Besides,” he starts, “it wasn’t my mom he was talking about.”

y/n pulls her arm back from JJ’s, retreating into her own space.

“Oh.” She says simply, starting to wonder who would keep him tied here.

The only other girl he really had in his life was Kiara, and they had been awfully close this past year. She had even gifted him a locket for his seventeenth birthday and it now sat right next to his Saturn charm. It took everything in her not to ask what it was, her curiosity was killing her but she respected his privacy more. But truthfully, y/n couldn’t blame JJ even if she wanted to. Kiara was special, she wouldn’t want to leave her either. She didn’t want to leave any of them.

And then y/n started to realize that she always thought it would be her and JJ. Whenever she imagined the future, JJ was there too. She was realizing that maybe it was selfish of her to just assume he’d always be there. She knew he had dreams of his own, and who was to say that she was involved in any of them?

“Hey now,” he starts when he notices the change in her demeanor, grabbing at her face and pushing at the corner of her lips, playfully trying to force a smile.

“Why’s my y/n so sad?” He says with a pout, putting on a dramatic voice like he’s talking to a hurt child.

She pushed his hands away, trying to look annoyed but failing miserably, not being able to control the smile that follows her laugh.

“Well I’m sorry, my best friend just dropped a bomb that he has some mystery woman he’d follow to the ends of the earth. I guess I’m just a piece of moldy bread to you now, huh? I’ve been replaced.”

She overplays her sadness, saying it dramatically, but truthfully deep down a part of her is hurting at the thought.

His hands have moved to the side of her face.

“Come on now y/n, you’re supposed to be the smart one.”

She places her own hands on his, turning her head to the side slightly in question.

“Oh my god y/n,” he laughs, “are you going to make me say it?”

She remains silent, her face reflecting her deeper confusion, wondering what he was on about. She honestly felt like she had missed something, feeling like he had moved on to a whole new topic all together.

“It’s you, you big dummy!” He exclaims, shaking her a bit to emphasize his point.

Suddenly y/n is shocked and embarrassed, moving her head down, trying to hide from JJ’s gaze.

He laughs again and pulls her in, “I would never leave you y/n. You’re stuck with me.”

She doesn’t reply, but she doesn’t need to, instead, she lets him tuck her into his chest. Her eyes land on that locket of his, and she can’t stop her fingers from playing with the charm.

Then suddenly his hand is running up her arm and grabbing hers.

“Why don’t you just ask already?” He says and she immediately freezes. “I know you want to know.”

She still doesn’t say anything but she shrugs her shoulders a bit. Yes, y/n was dying to know what was in the locket but part of her also felt it was an unspoken line that she shouldn’t cross. It was Kiara that had given it to him, so it was probably something that meant a lot to the two of them, and she didn’t want to pry at their relationship.

Of course, he would tell her if she asked but she never let herself.

“Just open it y/n.”

She looks up at him, still hesitant. But the look on his face reassures her, so she pinches open the locket and immediately smiles when she sees the photo inside. That photo from that fourth of July all those years ago, sitting with his mom on the banket, marshmallow all over his face. She can’t help the bittersweet tears that prick at her eyes, thinking about all that JJ had accomplished, and wishing more than anything that his mother had been there to see it.

Then silently JJ reaches up and opens the locket the rest of the way, and when y/n sees the photo on the other side it feels like all the air has been sucked out of her. It’s a photo of him and her from when they were little, looking like it’s from the same night. There they were, standing next to each other with wide eyes and beaming smiles, sparklers in hand. Trails of light surrounded the sparklers, the children unable to keep them still.

And that was when y/n knew. She knew that it would always be the two of them, somehow and someway. She knew that she would go wherever he wanted or needed to go at the drop of a hat and that he too would follow her without hesitation. And most of all she knew she was lucky. She knew how lucky she was to have someone like JJ in her life.

She closes the locket with tears in her eyes, and rests her palm on his chest, feeling his heart beat wildly. When she finally looks up she sees him tearing up too. She reaches up and wraps her arms around him, holding onto him tightly and he does the same.

“I love you JJ.”

He squeezes her tighter for a moment.

“I love you too y/n.”

And maybe the words meant more to both of them. It seemed like over the years that the lines between loving platonically and loving romantically had blurred. Best friends, soulmates, twin flames, they were always something to each other. But the one thing that they did know was that they had time. They had so much time to figure it out and neither were in a rush to figure it out. What they were now was good, who were they to question it?

TWENTY-TWO

sweet tea in the summer, cross my heart won’t tell no other, and though i can’t recall your face i still got love for you, pack your dolls and a sweater, we’ll move to india forever … passed down like folk songs our love last so long

It’s Friday night and the Fourth of July. y/n has been cleaning the apartment all day, needing everything to be perfect. Everyone lived busy lives now, but they were coming tonight to celebrate. She even decorated. A few balloons tied to chairs and red, white, and blue streamers hanging from the doorway.

She hears the front door opening but doesn’t look up from the counter she was wiping down.

“Are you still cleaning? It’s just the pogues y/n, relax.”

“I know,” She says, folding the last blanket and placing it on the edge of the couch “I just want it to be nice. It’s all going to be so different soon.”

There’s a beat of silence and a bittersweet tension hanging in the air.

“Why are you home so late?” She asks, changing the subject quickly.

He lifts the grocery bag in his hand, “beer” he says simply.

She rolls her eyes. “JJ, we have plenty of beer.”

She starts walking towards the kitchen and JJ trails behind her, pulling the pack of beer out of the bag.

“Oh y/n, you can never have too much beer.” He places the pack in the fridge and then starts taking out a few more items.

“Plus, we can’t do the fourth without our favorite.”

She smiles at the contents on the counter, “how could I forget the s’mores?”

JJ turns back to her and puts his hands on her shoulders.

“Because you’re in overdrive, and stressing yourself out. Go take a nap before they get here. You’ve been up all day and I know you had a late night, you’re tired.”

“No, I was going to make some snacks and -” She protests.

“You don’t need to make anything, Kie said she’s bringing dinner from The Wreck.”

“Well, what about the fireworks?”

“John B has it covered”

“What about -”

JJ cuts her off again, “everything is done y/n, we’re ready for tonight. Go rest.”

She pulls him in, wrapping her arms around him.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

She looks up at him, admiring him for a moment. It was something she caught herself doing often, and if he noticed he never commented on it.

College had been kind to JJ. Once he got a handle on it he thrived in the freedom of it. They were coming up on a year since graduation, and JJ had since shed his childlike habits. He was still himself, the light of the party and loud and still sometimes impulsive but underneath it all, he was a man now. It was evident in the way he carried himself now, broader and more confident. He took his life seriously and was happy to do so.

She smiles up at him, “I’ll take a nap if you come with me.” And when she looks at him with those eyes of hers, JJ simply cannot resist.

“Okay, come on.”

They walk over to the couch, JJ picks up the blanket and unravels it before laying down.

“JJ! I just folded that.” She says, slightly irritated but laying down nearly on top of him anyways.

He only rolls his eyes at the comment, dropping the blanket over them and wrapping his arms around her, y/n melting into him as soon as he does.

Minutes of silence pass, and JJ thinks she’s fallen asleep until she speaks up.

“Are we sure about this?”

“y/n, we’ve spent months talking about this. I promise you we’re doing the right thing, okay?”

She sighs, knowing deep down that he was right, so she lets herself relax and catch up on the much-needed sleep.

-------

Hours later and the night has finally begun. They’re all sitting in the living room, chatting. JJ and y/n exchange a look, and they know it’s time.

“Alright guys, we have something to tell you all.” Her smile is spreading, but she still turns to JJ for reassurance. He takes her hand in his and the pair turn back to the group.

“We’re moving.” They both spit out at the same time.

The other four drop their mouths in shock, it wasn’t the news they thought they were getting, but it was still enough of a bomb to catch them completely off guard.

But the speechless shock only lasts a brief moment before they start bombarding the pair with questions.

“Okay, okay!” y/n shouts, trying to calm all the voices talking over each other.

“San Francisco, California. That’s where we’re going. I got a job offer and JJ found a few places hiring where he can teach surfing lessons.”

Kiara and Sarah are nearly jumping from excitement, pulling her into a hug.

“y/n, that’s amazing!”

“Congrats, baby!”

“When do you have to be there?”

y/n’s smile drops and she pulls away.

“Well, that's the thing…” She starts, glancing towards JJ again, and that’s when he steps in.

“Our lease for here is up at the end of this month anyway …”

“You’re moving across the country in less than a month?”

“We didn’t think it was going to move this fast but things just seemed to line up that way…”

...

After the excitement and explanation, they’ve migrated into two separate groups, the boys still lingering in the living room.

“So that’s not the announcement we thought we were getting tonight,” Pope says, nudging JJ.

JJ looks at him confused, “what do you mean?” He asks.

“He means,” John starts, sitting up, “when are you gonna ask y/n to marry you?”

JJ nearly chokes on his drink at that, even spitting a bit of it out.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He asks, “we’re not even dating.”

The other two glance at each other for a moment before back at him.

“What?”

“What?” The other two echo back, just as confused.

“And I thought two of my best friends moving across the country was going to be the biggest news of the night,” John says, taking a swig from his beer.

“What have you two been doing the past five years then?” Pope asks.

“We’re just … She’s my best friend, you guys know that.”

“But aren’t you guys more than that?” John asks. “You know, you could have told us you’ve been dating since high school and we’d believe it. You really aren’t together?”

JJ shakes his head, trying to explain what he doesn’t fully understand himself.

“No, not like that. We’re just… we’re JJ and y/n. Like we’ve always been.”

The other two share a small laugh.

“What?” The blonde asks.

“It was never JJ and y/n,” Pope answers. “It was always jjandy/n.”

“Have you guys really never?” He pries. “... At all? Anything? This whole time? Have you talked about it ever?” Pope continues as JJ shakes his head.

“No… we haven’t, we’ve never had to. I just know I’m always going to have her, and she’s always going to have me. We’ve never questioned or talked about how or in what way.”

“But what are you going to do if she meets someone? If you meet someone? Will you move out? Do you two even know how to function without the other?” Pope spits the questions out at a rapid-fire, genuinely curious.

“Of course, we can function without each other, we aren’t codependent.” JJ sighs, taking a breath, “I don’t know what’s going to happen if we meet people, we’ve never had that problem. She’s never mentioned guys past a hook up so I don’t know.”

“And what about you? What if you meet a girl?”

“I don’t know! Good god, what’s with the third degree?”

“You’ve seriously never thought about the future?” John presses.

“Not in, that sense I guess.”

“Okay, here, close your eyes. Don’t give me that look, come on just close them.”

JJ rolls his eyes but does as he’s asked.

“Okay, now, imagine yourself five, maybe even ten years from now. What do you see?”

“I don’t know… I just - I just see y/n.”

…

In the kitchen, Kiara and Sarah are giving y/n a similarly hard time, although it seems to be phasing her a little less.

“You know we totally thought the two of you were going to tell us that you were finally engaged, right?”

y/n rolls her eyes at Sarah, jumping up onto the counter to sit, “I’ve told you guys, we aren’t even dating. I don’t know where you keep getting that.”

“Still?” Sarah nearly shouts, “You guys still aren’t dating?”

“Ha!” Kiara cuts in before y/n can reply, “You owe me ten bucks.”

“Oh, so you guys are betting on us now?”

“Sarah’s betting.” Kiara says, “I’m making a profit.”

The other two are still standing, leaning against the counter inches away from y/n.

“What have the two of you been doing this whole time?” Sarah starts asking. “I thought for sure after we graduated college the two of you would finally get together.”

“They’re their own thing, Sarah, I keep trying to tell you.”

“But you guys are basically together, aren’t you? Is it just a ‘we don’t want to put a label on it’ thing?” Sarah presses.

“No, we aren’t together romantically at all. As I’ve said, I don’t know why it’s so shocking to everyone whenever I remind you.”

“But do you want to be?” Kiara asks, shifting the tone of the conversation a bit.

“I don’t know.” She says quietly, thinking it over.

“I mean, Sarah is right you guys have been together for, well your whole lives really. You guys are moving across the country together. The two of you are pretty much starting your lives together. What if he brings someone home? What if you meet someone?”

y/n just shrugs, starting to feel the tingling of emotions.

“To be honest with you, I don’t like to think about it. I mean I’ve dated here and there, and I know JJ has too but it never became anything serious for either of us.”

That day on the beach all those years ago had been enough to hold her over. The thought of always being together in some way, but now that they were getting older and a new part of life was starting, would that hold true?

“I just know I want him in my life.” She continues, “I mean, I think part of me always did think that maybe we’d end up together but… I don’t know I just, I guess I just want to make sure we’re together because we want to be, not because we’re all we’ve ever known. Sometimes I get scared that we’re holding each other back, that there’s something or someone we’re missing out on.”

She looks back up at the two girls, shaking her head at her emotions that seem to be building up.

“But most of all I just want him to be happy you know? I need to be prepared if it’s not with me. I guess I don’t know. I don’t even know what I’m saying.”

Sarah places a hand on y/n’s shoulder comfortingly.

“No, we get it. I think a lot of this is just anxiety from the move, from this big life change coming up. I can tell you, the one thing that’s never going to change is you and JJ. You guys are absolutely not holding each other back. Trust me, one of us would have said something if we were worried.”

“You can’t see it from the outside.” Kiara jumps in. “It’s not always bad to have someone like you have JJ. Never once have either of you held each other back. You’ve always brought out the best in him and he’s always brought out the best in you.”

“You really think so?” She asks, looking between the both of them.

They both nod, pulling the girl into a group hug best they can, just as the boys are walking back in from the living room.

“Hey!” JJ immediately shouts, walking over to the three girls. “Which one of you made my y/n cry?”

Sarah wordlessly moves from her side and next to Kiara, making space next to y/n for JJ to slide into, sending a look to Kiara at the words my y/n while doing so.

“Kiara was telling me a story about work.” y/n says quickly. “You know how I get about the turtles.”

“Oh yes,” He says, lifting a hand and wiping away the few tears, “that would explain it.”

“What about you boys?” She asks, nodding at Pope and John as well, “What were you all gossiping about, huh?”

“John was telling me all about the fireworks he brought. You ready to go light ‘em up?”

She jumps down from the counter excitedly.

“Yes, let’s go!” She says, grabbing the large plate that contained chocolate and graham crackers in one hand and a large bag of marshmallows and skewers in the other.

The rest of them follow the pair out, watching as JJ takes the plate from y/n so she doesn’t have her hands full.

“Okay,” Sarah says, “I’d put money on a year from now.”

“Oh my god, Sarah,” Kiara says, giving her a playful shove.

The rest of the night is good, y/n makes sure to take a moment to let it sink in, all their smiles and all their laughs.

They set off fireworks, and sparklers, throw poppers at each other’s feet, watch the boys run from one another with roman candles in hand, and JJ and y/n eat their weight in s’mores. The night runs longer than intended, especially since the girls decided to bring the alcohol back out.

Finally, long after the night has settled and everyone has lingered for as long as they can, the group starts to say goodbye to each other. Dishes and trash are brought back inside, excess fireworks and belongings collected, and goodbyes dragged out until JJ and y/n are left in their apartment.

y/n lets out a long sigh, feeling the night and the drinks and the reality of them leaving catch up to her. It felt a lot more real now that they had told their closest friends.

JJ notices her lingering by the door and tugs her gently on the arm.

“Hey, you wanna sleep with me tonight?”

She nods silently, a grateful smile on her lips.

“Go change and meet me in there, okay?”

She moves a little bit slower than usual, weighed down by exhaustion, doing the bare minimum to get ready for bed, simply changing her clothes and brushing her teeth lazily before pulling her hair up and walking to JJ’s room.

He’s just climbing into bed and she follows without hesitation, curling into him. She thinks about how easy it is with JJ, or maybe natural is the better word. Everything just is with him.

He notices the way she’s holding his hand tightly and to her chest.

“Hey,” he starts softly, “you know if … if you’re second guessing this whole move, just say it and we’ll stay. Or… just tell me and I’ll stay.”

“No,” she says quickly, holding him even tighter now. “It’s not that…” She pauses, trying to gather her words and her courage.

“It’s just, you know that I love you, right? But do you know that I love you?”

JJ thinks he can’t breathe and worries for a second that his heart beating as fast as it is can’t be healthy. He wonders for a moment if he’s already fallen asleep and if this is all just a dream.

Because this is the moment he’s been waiting for his whole life.

“I’m starting my life with you. Moving all the way across the country… away from our home, our family, and our best friends. But the thing is, as hard as I know it’s going to be … I don’t care. Because I’ll be with you, JJ. I’ll have you. I don’t want anything else. Anyone else. I never have.”

It’s more of a confirmation than anything else.

There’s a moment of silence, and she holds her breath. Then another, while JJ tries to find his words. His mind races, processing her precious words. Pieces of their life together flash through his mind.

He’s crying before he can stop himself, overwhelmed.

“Just… come here.” He says desperately, pulling her in and locking her into his hold.

“You’re going to make me cry.” She says, muffled in his chest.

If it was anyone else, maybe the tears would be alarming. She would’ve read the situation differently, and taken it as a rejection.

But it was JJ. And tonight is more of a confirmation than a confession.

He pulls her even closer, tightens his grip in hopes of emphasizing his words, and just how much he means it.

“I never told you outright, but you had to have known, right?… that it was always going to be you? I’ve never been good with my words but I hope I’ve shown you. I hope you’ve felt it this whole time. How important you are to me. How much I love you.”

She escapes his grip, pulling away only so she can see his face.

“I have never felt anything but loved by you JJ.”

And then JJ blacks out he thinks. Or maybe it was just a mind-numbing rush of adrenaline. Or maybe it was natural instinct that had been lying dormant this whole time, just waiting for the right moment.

Because one second he was staring at her glossy eyes, and the next his lips had found hers.

Finally.

It’s soft and slightly desperate, dizzying and intoxicating.

A sensation that both of them had been the feeling they had simply been waiting for their whole lives.

They only break away to relieve the burning in their lungs.

“Say it,” she begs softly, a little out of breath and a little drunk on JJ.

His mind is in a haze, a smile still adorning his lips as he tries to get back to hers. “I love you.”

“No,” She says, pulling on him to get as close as possible, “the other one. Tell me again.”

He doesn’t even hesitate, knowing what she means in an instant.

“You’re my Saturn, y/n.”

She smiles into his chest, “again.”

His hand finds her cheek, guiding her face to look up at him.

“You are my Saturn.”

“Never stop saying it?”

He kisses her again, then pulls her back into his side, tucking her into the spot that she’s always belonged in.

“Never.”

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