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mead-iocre · 3 months

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Our New Normal Pt. 2 | Leah Williamson x Reader

Our New Normal 2/4 (read pt 1 here)

“The next station is London Euston, where this train terminates. Please ensure you have all your belongs with you when you leave the train”

You pull out your AirPods from your ears and slot them back into it’s case. The train journey was pretty pleasant. Interestingly, the First Class cabin was quieter than usual, with less fellow travellers in this trip than usual.

You grab your hand mirror from your bag, checking your appearance and fidgeting around with your hair; making sure to retouch your lipstick and spritz a little perfume. You rarely wore makeup when it wasn’t necessary, but for some reason you wanted to make the extra effort to make yourself look slightly more put together when Leah picks you up tonight. Usually, the Arsenal defender only ever saw you in sweatpants and a hoodie, thick rim glasses instead of contact lenses, and with your hair tied up in a loose ponytail.

For the first time, in a very long time, you were nervous to see your best mate. That wasn't normal at all.

The first thing Leah spots is your familiar silver rimowa suitcase– in fact, it was hers first. When the wheels of your well-loved and well-traveled suitcase decided to break during one of your visits to London, Leah insisted that you take one of her many suitcases that she had stowed away. The blonde never ended up asking for it back so you’ve kept it ever since, and use it every time you take your little trips.

Leah’s eyes trail upwards until they meet yours. She cocks one eyebrow at the slight difference in your appearance. To her, you were always beautiful but there was something about you right then that seemed different– like you were currently going through a big lifestyle change and the subtle difference in your appearance reflected that. In her mind, the defender chalked it up to you preparing for your transfer to your new club. It wasn't something she liked to think about often as you still had not told her where you were moving to. She just hoped that wherever you moved to, it won't be too far from her.

Leah watched from the distance as your eyes scanned the busy station, trying to find her. She grinned as she sees you weave your fingers through your hair to push it back, a long-time habit of yours that Leah found very, very charming.

Eventually her time to admire you from afar gets cut short when your eyes finally meet hers. You both grin at each other from across the arrivals area of the station before simultaneously making your way towards each other, skilfully dodging other people along the way.

Leah is the one that closes the distance between the two of you, her arms wrapping themselves around your waist; meanwhile yours found purchase around her shoulders. For a moment, all you see is her strawberry blonde hair as she tucks her face into your neck.

“Hiya, beautiful” She mumbles against your neck. You can feel the light press of her lips as they move against your skin causing you to giggle slightly at the feeling.

You’ve missed her a lot. This was normal. It was normal to miss you friend this much.

“Hi, Lee” You say softly against her ear. This is what you’ve been craving for weeks now– Leah and her hugs. You will never get over how it feels like to be hugged and held by this woman. No matter how long you both were apart, there was nothing awkward about the first hug when you are both reunited. It’s instinctual, it’s comfort, and it’s home. You step closer to her, minimising whatever little space there was left between your bodies, and wrap your arms tighter around her neck.

Home.

“I’ve missed you, baby” A moment later Leah moves to break the hug, her arms gliding across your lower back, both palms pressing against you until they settle comfortably on your hips. She reaches up to cup one side of your face, tilting it to the side, before her lips land sweetly on your cheek. When she pulls away so you are both finally seeing eye to eye, there’s that familiar grin on her face. You couldn’t help but mirror it back with a big smile of your own.

“I missed you too” You mumble back, blushing slightly at the intensity of her stare.

You’ve nagged her in the past for staring, and all she did was quip back saying she’s “making sure all your cute freckles are still there”

“Right. Let’s get a move on then” Without even waiting for your reply, the defender has one hand over the handle of your suitcase and the other tugging you along behind her.

You both walk outside towards the parking lot, the chill of the London air feels all too familiar lately, until you stop by her car. The blonde unlocks her car, opens the passenger door, and ushers you inside before jogging to the boot of her car to stow away your luggage.

Leah turns on the ignition and then presses a button on the console of the car to turn the heater on. You can barely make out the details of the other cars outside in the parking lot due to the chill fogging up the windows, barely being able to make out passer-buyers exhaling fogs of cold air as they chat to one another. She glances over to you, noticing that you’ve got your arms crossed, hands tucked under the cuffs of your long wool jacket.

“Cold?” She reaches a hand over to gently push back the strands of hair that have fallen over your face. Her hand lingers by your cheek, a frown already forming on her face.

This is normal.

Leah knows you don’t like the cold. Unlike those who look forward to “sweater-weather” and pumpkin spice lattes, you hate the autumn and winter months. You much preferred the warmer months when you can sunbathe and wear tank tops all day. “Sorry baby, I should’ve warmed the car up for you earlier”

You smile at her. This is why it was inevitable that you grew feelings her. She’s the kind of person that would go above and beyond for others– and you were lucky enough to be the receiver of this kind of treatment often. Your close friends and teammates would tease you both, often jokingly complaining that Leah is spoils you too much and gives you the “princess treatment” even in simple chores, but you took it all to stride. It made you wonder if this dynamic was going to change once you became teammates for the same club.

“It’s fine, Lee. I’ll warm up in a bit”

Your answer doesn’t seem to satisfy the Arsenal defender because she immediately shrugs off her own black puffer and places it over your body. You were about to nag the blonde about how now she’ll be the one freezing her socks off, but she shut your protests up with a quick stern look in your direction. You figured there was no point arguing with her when you’ve got a surprise for her later on, so you reluctantly accepted her coat.

Speaking of surprises, you were starting to feel nervous. You have never hid anything from your best friend, especially not something as big as this, and you can’t help but overthink about what might happen after tonight. Part of you knows that Leah will most likely be ecstatic over your transfer, but a smaller, more pessimistic part of your brain was worried that Leah would hate being around you even more; or perhaps she might get sick of being around you constantly.

You were great teammates for England, but international camp never lasted long enough to really test how well you can communicate your feelings, and how you can deal with arguments. Sure, you’ve had a few disagreements here and there but you both always resolved it quickly due to the looming threat of having to say goodbye to one another once camp was over once again. You were worried that being together more often would strain your relationship considering you were both complete opposites when it came to how you expressed your feelings.

Leah was a very confrontational person and she does not hesitate to tell people exactly how she feels. On the pitch, she has no problem arguing with the ref whenever she disagreed with a call, and she was exactly the same off the pitch. You, on the other hand, preferred to bottle up your feelings until you eventually break. The few arguments you’ve had with Leah often resulted in you leaving the room to clear your head, and the blonde giving you the time and space to think things through.

Afterwards, when you did resolve everything, Leah often expressed how she wished you would stay and talk to her instead of running out. She said it nicely, comfortingly, but you knew a part of her was frustrated at the way you sometimes handled things. You never got a chance to resolve this issue or compromise because by then it would be time to say goodbye again– whether its because England camp has ended or you were due to separate and go back to your respective clubs. Being teammates for country and now club would mean that you both will have these issues more frequently, and you weren’t sure if you were ready for that.

The sudden change in your behaviour did not go unnoticed by the Arsenal defender. Leah watches as you adjust her jacket around you, the oversized puffer jacket completely engulfing you with only the lower part of your legs and your head visible. She watches as you fidget and fuss over the jacket in your lap, a nervous habit that she is very familiar with. She can tell you probably had a lot going on and she figured it was partly due to the looming deadline of the transfer window. She knows you well enough to know that the only way you will open up is if you are given the time and space to do so. Leah isn’t usually a patient person, but for you she can be.

She watches you silently for another moment. She swears she felt her heart skip a beat when you try and cocoon yourself further into her jacket, your eyes closed, mouth curved up into a satisfied smile– probably happy with the warmth you were now swaddled in. You didn’t know it but if you wanted her to, Leah would’ve tried to somehow turn winter into summer if it meant seeing you this happy. For now she’s just glad that her puffer jacket can offer you some warmth in the meantime.

Soon enough, Leah was driving the both of you out of the station’s car park, the navigation flashing the directions to her flat. Usually, the blonde would be blasting music in the car, sharing all the new songs she added to her playlist recently, but she must’ve noticed how tired you are because instead of the normal r&b tunes filling the car, the blonde has turned down the volume until you can barely hear the instrumentals of the song currently playing.

“Just sleep, y/n” You force your eyes open at Leah’s words, trying to blink the sleep away. You had been trying to stay awake, feeling bad about not being a more entertaining passenger on the long drive back to her flat, but the equal amounts of stress and excitement over the last couple of weeks seem to be catching up to you now.

As your hand reaches up to try and rub the sleepiness away from your eyes, the defender’s hand reaches up to grab your wrist before you can do so. “Don’t rub your eyes, baby. Remember that tiktok video I sent you?”

The eye roll that follows cannot be helped. Leah had sent you a tiktok video a few days ago about the potential dangers that rubbing your eyes constantly can do– something about weakening or distorting your cornea– but that’s in extreme cases. Why that tiktok video was even on her 'for you page', you didn't want to know.

“One little eye rub won’t damage my eyes, Lee”

“And let’s keep it that way, yeah?” You catch her smirk illuminated by the streetlights, already anticipating whatever cocky, unhinged thing that will come out of her mouth next. “Or else you’d miss seeing my pretty face”

You scoff, clutching her jacket tighter around you. One advantage of Leah driving you around is that it gives you the opportunity to look at your best friend, the woman you were in love with, without care.

The defender was a great driver, both hands always clutching the wheel, and always focused on the road. That meant you can stare at her without having to gaze into those blue eyes. A familiar shade of forget-me-not blues, unusually soft in the morning light, but can also reflect the deepest depths of the ocean when her emotions get the best of her. They say the eyes are the windows into the soul, and this woman was proof of that. She wore her emotions in her pretty blues, and sometimes you swore she felt the same scary, overwhelming emotions you had begun to feel for her.

But that’s why sometimes you find it hard to stare into her eyes, fearing that that unnamed emotion in her eyes– the one that you so badly want to believe might be adoration, or care, or love– might be gone one day.

“Piss off, Lee” Damn her and her caring nature.

The blonde risks a quick glance at you causing your breath to catch in your throat. All of a sudden, you feel a lot less sleepy and more aware of your rapidly beating heart.

“Take a nap, baby. I’ll wake you up when we stop at the gas station” Leah turns her head back to the road for a second, surveying the road ahead of her, before those pretty blues find their way back to you.

“Give your eyes a break for a bit. Wouldn’t want you to get tired of looking at me”

You giggle at that. As if.

“I’ll never get tired of looking at you, Leah” You cheesed out– partly jokingly, but mainly because it’s true. You hope your tone disguises that last bit though.

That being said, a short nap was beginning to sound very inviting. No sooner than later, you’ve allowed the familiar scent of her that lingers from her jacket, the music barely an audible hum, and the streetlights fading into a blur lull you to sleep.

Already halfway asleep, you miss the blonde’s quiet “same here, baby” whispered aloud for only her ears to hear.

——————————————

An hour or so passes and you were still fast asleep. Stopping in front of a red light, the defender takes the opportunity to spare a glance towards your sleeping form beside her. She can’t stop the corners of her lips from turning up at the sight of you, a mere puffy marshmallow lump in her passenger seat. Unable to help herself, she reaches over and lightly caresses your face with her thumb. My sleepy girl

Soon enough it was time for a petrol station stop. Leah pulls up to a petrol station with its bright lights flickering atop a weathered sign. The cold air was tinged with the faint scent of gasoline, mingling with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee from the attached convenience shop. The defender unbuckles her seatbelt before reaching over towards you. Her hand finds it way under her jacket– your blanket– before she finds your thigh and gives it a gentle squeeze.

When you start to stir, Leah runs a hand through your hair in the attempts of taming the bird’s nest-like mess that sits on top of your head. When your eyes finally open, the first thing you see is Leah already grinning at you. You feel your breath catch, like it normally does whenever the pretty blonde is looking at you like that. You silently hope that the inside of the car is dark enough that she can’t see the blush painting your cheeks.

“Hiya. Had a good nap, yeah?” The grinning defender is still staring at you, so naturally you playfully push her face away with a palm to her cheek.

“Don’t need your ugly mug to be the first thing I see, Lee”

Leah laughs loudly at that. Head thrown back, mouth wide open in glee, blonde hair cascading down in loose waves that was probably the result of being put up in a Leah-style “bun” earlier that day.

“Oi! I’ve been so good to you the entire evening– even letting you sleep and snore in my car– and this is how you repay me?”

You let out an exaggerated gasp and look at her, unable to stop the grin that is already growing on your face. “I do not snore!”

“Like a new born piglet, baby”

Before you could retort, the blonde leans forward in her seat over the console and sneaks a quick kiss to your forehead. This was normal, Leah was usually so generous with her kisses for some reason, but that didn’t mean your heart didn’t flutter every time she laid one on you. “You’re cute, y/n”

You swear your heart skips a beat. Is that normal?

“I’ve got to get petrol. There’s a shop over there, so why don’t you grab a bite to eat while I do this?”

You glance over at the convenience store, the promises of hot food and maybe something sweet to satisfy your cravings lately already luring you inside. You turn back to the blonde and nod, handing her back her black puffer jacket which you had essentially held hostage the entire drive. You unbuckle your seatbelt and quickly throw your hair into a loose ponytail, silently bracing yourself for the cold ahead.

Just as you were about to push the car door open, Leah pulls you back with a hand on your arm, and the next thing you know your vision is partially obstructed by a wool beanie placed on your head. “Stay warm, baby”

Before you could thank her, the blonde has already opened the door on her side of the car and has stood up to shrug her jacket on. She gives you a quick wink before she disappears from your view, making her way to the petrol machine.

You hastily make your way inside the store, grateful for the sudden warmth it provided against the harsh cold from outside. You scan the shop and make a beeline towards the hot food section, and pick up a sausage roll. You scan the rest of the options before picking up the potato wedges for a certain blonde in mind who happens to have the food palette of a 2 year old. You walk around the store for a few more moments, picking up a bottle of Sprite, Diet Coke, a pack of hand-warmers, and two packs of prawn cocktail crisps before heading to the counter to pay. You hear the sound of the automatic doors sliding opening, the wind outside shrilling loudly in your ears, before the doors slide closed again.

As you reach into your coat to pull out your card to pay, a familiar hand reaches around you and taps their phone against the card reader.

“Leah.” You mutter sternly, eyes narrowed at the blonde who now stood beside you.

“Perks of having Apple Pay, baby. You would know if you actually bothered to set it up” The defender grabs the bag with your food, throwing a quick ‘thank you’ to the nice man behind the till. She grabs one of your hands in hers and pulls you towards the doors.

“Brace yourself” Is the only warning you get before Leah pulls you through the doors and out into the cold once again. The cold is harsh against your cheeks, and you find yourself pressing yourself into the blonde’s side. She wraps an arm around you, steering you to her car. She quickly unlocks your car door first, and out of habit holds a hand out above your head so you don’t bump your head into the roof of the car.

You both settle inside her car and buckle your seatbelts. Leah shrugs her jacket off of her shoulders and places it over your lap. “Use that. You clearly need that more than I do, Rudolph”

She quickly glances over to you, chuckling at the unamused expression on your face as she backs the car out of the petrol station. This time, you were adamant that you will sit through the rest of drive to the blonde's flat, and you did. You and Leah took turns choosing the songs to play, both of you shouting the familiar lyrics from the top of your lungs.

From the corner of your eye, you see Leah take one of her hands off the wheel and flex it open and closed repeatedly. You reckon she must be feeling cold, especially considering you’ve got her puffer blanketing you in its warmth. “Cold, Lee?”

“Hmm? ’m fine, baby. The car will warm me up soon”

You were about to argue back when you remember that you had bought a pack of hand warmers earlier. Reaching into the plastic bag, you search through it and grab the pack, ripping it open and holding one out to your blonde driver. She glances at it briefly, before she shakes her head, both hands still on the wheel.

“I’m fine, Y/N. You need it more than I do.”

“I’ve got another one here. It comes in a pack of two” You reach back into the bag to show her the other hand warmer. She glances towards you briefly.

“I’ll put this one under my hoodie, and you can hold onto this one” Leah watches from the corner of her eye as you open your jacket and tuck one of the hand warmers, sandwiching it in between the layers of your undershirt and your hoodie. You settle more comfortably in your seat as you feel the growing warmth spreading from the heat pack.

“Here’s yours. Your hands are definitely cold”

“I don’t–“

“Don’t be so bloody stubborn, Leah.”

“Well don’t be so bloody annoying then, Y/N”

You sigh loudly, pinching the bridge of your nose. You wouldn’t be surprised if grey hairs started sprouting soon. Among all the people you could fall in love with, you somehow fell for the most stubborn woman on this planet– and you still have about an hour left of this drive.

But you know deep down there’s also no one else you’d rather be stuck anywhere with.

“Give me your hand, Leah” You stretch a hand towards her over the middle console, palm up. She glances at it briefly, one eyebrow raised, but didn’t question you.

The blonde took the hand nearest to you off the steering wheel and places her hand on top of yours. You gave it a squeeze, flinching slightly at the cold palm, and muttering “Your hands are fucking freezing, Lee”

You take the hand warmer that was supposed to be for her and place it between your interlocked hands. In front of a red light, the defender beside you turns to look at both of your hands, clasped tightly together in the center console of her car. When it came to physical affection, you rarely gave it away freely. Leah was the more affectionate one between the two of you, so seeing you initiate it was a surprise to her. She knows that the warmth that she feels wasn’t coming from just the hand warmers that both of you are sharing.

The rest of the drive was fairly quiet. Instead of the loud, boisterous music that was blasting from the car speakers earlier, the only sounds inside the car was coming from the gentle hum of the engine. You and Leah held hands for pretty much the rest of the drive, Leah only breaking your connection when she needed to turn the wheel.

“One second, baby” The blonde would say whenever she needed to make a sharp turn, her hand untangling from yours for a moment to grab the steering wheel firmly with both hands. Not a moment too soon, her hand would instinctively seek out yours from where it sits patiently waiting by the center console. Your fingers would intertwine with hers, and all was right in the world again.

The hand warmer, which now no longer emitted any heat, was promptly tossed aside earlier. You and Leah were palm to palm, the only source of warmth against the biting cold outside was the one exchanged between your hands. The rhythmic beat of the windshield wipers matched the soft patter of raindrops, as if the evening itself conspired to provide a soothing backdrop for the last leg of your drive.

——————————————

Soon enough the car was pulling up into the parking lot of Leah’s flat. The familiar building came into view, nestled in a quiet corner of town. The glow from the light inside some of the windows hint at the warmth within, promising respite from the biting cold of the outside. You couldn’t wait to be reunited with Leah’s warm and cosy guest bedroom, which had essentially become your home away from home during your frequent visits to London. After locking her car and making sure she didn't forget anything, Leah grabbed your gloved hand to guide you towards the entrance of her flat with one hand, whilst the other hand pulled your suitcase behind her.

The elevator ride up to her floor was quiet, but it was the comfortable silence kind. You both were stood side by side, one gloved hand interlocked with a bare one, the only noise in the elevator came from the subtle hum of the elevator tune. You knew that it was only a matter of time before you had to break the news of your transfer to the defender.

Part of you was relieved that you can finally put an end to this whole charade, but another part of you was worried that she might feel hurt over the fact that you kept such a big thing from her. Leah was someone that valued trust and communication, and while your feelings for her could warrant an exemption, keeping something like this was a big deal. You’ve had to lie to her a few times over the past few weeks, cancelling meet ups and declining calls, using football and a busy schedule as an excuse to escape her nagging questions over your transfer. You were worried that she might feel hurt that you were essentially lying to her.

Then there was also the bit about how this transfer might change your relationship with the blonde. Sure, she could be happy about your move to Arsenal and the fact that you were both teammates now, but what if in a few months she’ll eventually get tired of having you around constantly. Maybe she might get tired of you always being around her– not just during England camp but now at the same club. One perk about being in separate clubs was it allowed time apart and your feelings for Leah “cool down”– or at least you hoped it would. But then one meet up with her and your heart was rapidly beating against your chest again.

Part of you was also worried that the only reason why you and Leah stayed friends for this long was because being apart from each other and being at separate clubs gave you so much to talk about once you were together. You feared that the only reason why your friendship stood the test of time was because the time apart added to the excitement of being together again eventually. Conversations and face-time calls were endless and exciting because the two of you made sure to share all the mundane and the ordinary with each other because the other wasn’t there to experience it. Now that the both of you will be together more often, you were worried that that excitement and that spark will eventually fizzle out.

They always say “absence makes the heart grow fonder” and for a long time you were okay with it, but what happens now?

First of all, thank you for all the love and support for the first part of this fic. I hope you know I much I appreciated all the reblogs, likes and comments <333

Secondly, I know I said I would get the second part of this fic up last week but whilst I was doing my final reading before posting it, I ended up not like the direction the fic was going, so I redid the entire thing lol

I like this one a lot better and I hope you do too (also, note I added 1 more part to this so it is now a 4 part fic)

Hope you're looking forward to the next bit– I know I am!

The weather lately has been sunny and bright skies on my side of the world. Sending you a little slice of sunshine :)

-- kisses, butter.

#woso #woso fanfics #leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso blurbs #woso community #leah williamson imagine #Our New Normal fic

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angelwithdemonictendencies · 3 months

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rot my teeth, melt these cotton candy lips, i'd let you; left this trail of breadcrumb broken hearts so you'd follow me home.

js1 x reader: the fisherman puts the heartbreaker out of commission.

(warnings: blasphemous filth, unprotected penetrative sex (m on f), oral sex (f on m), idk like marking and lots of limbs and obviously we've been warned about the talking. i know i'm forgetting a lot but all my usual suspects. (please be warned, don’t read if you’re not 100% sure.)

(a/n: favorites! what's new? probably nothing, right? (love a self-reference). this should serve as a warning for all of you - if you drop an anonymous ask, no matter how simple, you are running the risk of me emerging from my cave of teeth with a 14k story about someone i barely noticed until recently. and i may, consequently, become weirdly infatuated with a random third line winger (tf11) and force him into my story. my obvious disclaimers of lack of realism and weirdly flowery language and crazy plotholes and status as fiction are still very much on the table. of course i know nothing about being a private chef, or alaska, for that matter. so, uh, congrats to js1 on being an all-star, i guess? this is your prize! i posted about what's going on in my world recently - there's a lot, it's a lot, and just know that no matter what, what i feel most for you is gratitude. thank you. tell me what you think, i live for it. takeaway for today - your past does not determine who you are, what you are capable of. no matter how many guys insist it does, your body count and/or experience, or lack thereof, even, is irrelevant to the lovely person you are. you are a treasure, and you deserve to be treated accordingly. may we all find partners who think they're dreaming when they look at us. my snakes told me to tell your snakes they have a crush on them. okay, until next time, go canucks. all my love).

summers, for you, had always been something magical.

when you were young, they meant lake house vacations and playing tennis with your siblings and strawberry shortcake, grass stains and popsicles. when you were in school, they meant working as a line cook at a country club, a job and space that felt all your own, they meant salty beach days with your friends and pulling the caddies (the cute ones, at least) behind the clubhouse, kisses that tasted like gatorade.

now, a bit older, summers meant something different, but they were still magical. during the year, you worked as a personal chef for the same lovely family, the montgomerys, that you had built a trusting relationship with - a family that travelled extensively over the summer, leaving you, each may, to look for temporary work elsewhere.

you took work from whatever family offered you the best gig any given summer, usually on a referral from your main employer, usually a place like nantucket or charleston or something like that.

last summer, spent in the hamptons, you cooked for the family of mrs. montgomery's best friend. it had been a season of fish tacos and roasted artichoke salad and berry cobbler, cut with fireworks and white linen dresses and aperol spritzes.

this summer, mr. montgomery's coworker, mr. kelly, had hired you to keep him and his family fed for the season while they summered up at their alaskan vacation home.

so, this job, it wasn't new, not really. you were a seasoned professional in the world of being a private chef, in recipe building and gardening and plate presentation.

this place, however, this small town in alaska, was completely and utterly unfamiliar. you had met the kellys a few times, so you knew the parents and their adorable young son, but that was where the recognition would end. the rest was new, foreign.

you loved the prospect of learning a new place, though, like earning a new badge on a girl-scout sash. your mind hummed on the flight over as you thought about different seasonal produce, a new set of tastes and preferences to account for, techniques for preparing the seafood that would surely be spectacular.

a new set of streets to know the names of, a new community to put faces to, a new routine to settle into.

summers were magical, for you, they always had been, and you knew this one would be no different.

this was very much not the hamptons, though, you realized, very quickly upon landing at the tiny airport, which had only a few gates. which was fine, you considered, you didn't need to work at some crazy expensive beach town, or anything, but this place was kind of, well, scarce, maybe?

the taxi ride to the house was fast, a blur of main street and trees and not much else. finally, you arrived, a flurry of suitcases and thank yous and hair in your face.

the kellys welcomed you, all open arms from the mrs and kind smiles from the mr and timid waves from their son, stanley. they showed you to your room, gave you a quick tour, left you to settle in before the work started tomorrow.

exhausted from travel, you fell asleep quickly and dreamlessly.

the next morning, you awoke to the sun streaming in through the window, warm and lazy. after getting ready, you made your way downstairs, had your planning meeting with the family.

they told you their preferences, the important dates of the summer, when people would be coming over. thankfully, there were no allergies. they showed you to their garden.

"we'd love if you got some use out of it," mrs. kelly said, a gentle hand on your shoulder, "lord knows i don't give it enough attention."

"we're so excited to have you," mr. kelly said, "thanks again for doing this. see you for dinner?"

you called out your confirmation as you grabbed your market bags, began the five-minute walk to downtown, to the pier. the walk was peaceful, the air pleasant and fresh.

you made your way through main street slowly and methodically, learning the stores and their energies, their offerings. the market, sure, that would be where you spent a majority of your time, but you tried out the bookstore, too, the coffee shop, the vintage store.

before you knew it, your arms were loaded with bags, overflowing with produce and ingredients, a couple books, a bag of coffee beans, a vintage silk scarf.

your arms were full, but you still decided to make one last stop, at the fish market, all the way at the end of main street.

the smell made you scrunch up your nose, if only slightly, as you pushed the door open with your hip, heard the bell ring over your head.

you made your way to the glass display case, surveyed all the different seafood over ice. you were thinking salmon, for tonight, something simple that everyone would like.

you picked your head up, looked behind the counter, found nobody to help you. "uh, hello?" you called out. "anyone home?"

almost immediately, two tall figures came barreling out of the back, through the double doors. two men, bottom half in fishing gear, the rubbery protective pants attached to suspenders, which laid over black long sleeves.

"what's up?" one of them, the dirty blonde, said, his voice deep, almost cartoonish.

"hi," you said, "i'm looking for some salmon."

"didn't look very hard, did you?" the blonde said, teasing, nodding down to where the mass of pink fish laid atop the plane of ice. he cut a look to his coworker, who's gaze hadn't dropped from you since he came through the door. "but, uh, i think my friend jeremy's gonna help you out," he said, "i, uh, gotta do somethin' in the back real quick."

the blonde made a quick and forced exit, forcing you to turn and face the other man behind the counter.

"okay?" you said, halfway confused. "you're jeremy, then?"

there was a pause potent with awkwardness as he stood there, blinking at you.

a pause during which you realized, however slowly, that this man across the counter was sort of beautiful. beautiful in a way you weren't used to, beautiful in a way your men of the summer had not been before.

it was sort of an inside joke now, between you and your friends. how, no matter where you were, what job you were working, you'd have a "summer boyfriend," a guy with a finish line, someone pretty and nice enough to hang around until the sun set over the blood orange summer skyline one final time. your best friend joked that it was a seasonal position, almost like an internship.

the caddies you went for when you were a little younger were division one golfers, with all of the laser-focus and goody-two-shoes attitudes to match.

last summer, in the hamptons, it'd been a beachfront bartender named mat, all easy charm and comic book facial structure. he'd cared a little too much about his physique, said a little too much about what you'd cook for him, but he'd also been really sweet, sometimes, letting you borrow his jackets whenever you got cold on the beach.

jeremy, though, he didn't look like the laced-up amateur golfers, and he didn't seem like the discipline-fueled superhero, either. he was tall, for sure, tall enough that your neck craned slightly to get a good look at him, and wide in the shoulders.

it was his face that really got you, though - even with that sharp jaw, he just looked so soft, so gentle, so tender, like he wore every emotion across his face completely and utterly shamelessly. his eyes had welled up with something you had the sneaking suspicion was just kindness, brimming on his waterline, threatening to spill forward like salty tears.

you waved a hand in front of his face, cleared your throat, felt the slightest of blushes across your nose. "earth to jeremy?"

you watched consciousness creep into his eyes, cloud over the awe that was previously there. he gave a rigorous shake of his head, as if to snap himself out of a trance. "sorry, beauty," he said, and his voice was so genuine, so unabashed, it made you smile, your stomach turn. "must think 'm a real space cadet, eh?"

you shifted the bags in your hands. "well, you did just zone out for a bit," you said.

he let out a laugh, and it bubbled out of him, uninhibited. "my fault," he admitted, "i was thinking, 'woah, am i in a dream right now?' and then i was like 'wait, no, i don't dream about work,' but you look straight 'outta a daydream, beauty, i swear it."

his manner of speaking dripped with honesty, like every aspect of his thoughts was completely on the table, like you were someone entitled to knowing exactly what was going on in his head.

you averted your gaze at his confession. when was the last time someone had made you feel practically timid?

when you spoke, your voice felt unsure. "whatever you say," you told him. "maybe you could help me, now? i-"

"anything," he said, completely stone-faced and serious, which forced a laugh from your throat.

"right," you said, a slight smile quirking up on your lips. "i'm hoping to get some salmon for dinner tonight?"

he hummed, a sound you felt in your chest. your fingers twitched. "you cook, too?" he asked, sounded almost pained as he leaned his head onto a hand, the other flat on the counter.

you nodded absentmindedly. "'m a private chef. anyways, need enough for four, five people, maybe?"

"at your service, beauty," he said, in that funny voice, and then he shot you a wink before snapping his gloves on. the tips of your ears must have been a vengeful pink, at this point.

as he prepared the fish for you to take home, weighing it and wrapping it in paper, you set your bags down on the ground, stretched your arms out above your head, your body stiff from holding so many things.

"that's a 'lotta bags, there," jeremy said, nodding towards the floor. "what're you hoarding in 'em?" his smile pulled at his mouth, revealed a flash of white teeth that was nothing but teasing, kind.

you ran a palm across the back of your neck. "it's my first day on the job," you said, "first dinner for the new family, want to make a good impression."

he gave a light-hearted scoff. "ever made a bad impression?"

you rolled your eyes at him. "you don't know me, jeremy," you reminded him, not mean, almost a sing-songy melody in your voice.

he put up one hand in mock-surrender. "'course, you're right," he said, "just find it hard to believe, 's all."

"okay, sweet-talker," you chided, shifting on your feet as he finished wrapping up your fish.

his grin was triumphant. "think 'm sweet, do you, beauty?"

you handed over your payment, ran your tongue along your teeth as he gently took it from your fingers. you let that confidence well up in your gaze, willed the smile that worked on everyone.

the one that convinced caddies that maybe they could take a quick break, that maybe they deserved to have a little fun, the one that convinced the bartender everyone had lusted over that you were the only girl in the world, that no one else was worthy of his attention.

"oh, you'd rot my teeth, jeremy," you teased as you slotted the paper package into a bag, took back your credit card, loaded your arms full again, made for the door.

you looked over your shoulder one last time, found him leaning on his palm, again, watching you, practically with a wistful sigh. "'m not rotten," he said, gaze alight with something dangerous.

you smiled at him. "goodbye, rotten boy," you said, leaving as the bell rung above you, feeling his gaze on your back the entire time, until the air around you smelled less of the sea and more of the forest, like tree-sap and soil.

you fell into a routine quickly, like you had planned on, like you were so used to doing. you prepped and planned and worked on recipes. you cooked and cleaned up after yourself and looked after the garden with diligence. you spent your free mornings walking to get coffee, your free weekends exploring the nearby beaches and lakes and trails.

you gained the trust of the kellys, until they treated you like family. until mr. kelly was asking when your crabcakes would be making another appearance, until mrs. kelly was swearing there was sorcery involved in your strip steak, until little stanley would sneak into the kitchen when you were making dessert, just because he knew there would be some cookie dough to spare, maybe a finger swipe of brownie batter.

until the garden was looking almost complete, the pantries and fridge fully stocked, until the menu had a fairly regular rotation.

you made your first friend a few weeks into the summer, one morning, waiting in the short line for your daily coffee. you had long ago come to terms with the fact that, yes, it would probably be cheaper to make coffee at home, but you'd soak the economic losses to support a small business. coffee was one thing you'd spend money on, no matter where you were.

so, this morning, you were second in line, which should have meant a short wait, but the middle-aged man in front of you was taking a truly devastating amount of time to make a decision.

the poor teenager working the register was trying not to be rude, you could tell, but after a couple minutes, the growing line had begun to grow restless.

you were about to tap the man on the shoulder, but the woman behind you, maybe your age, a bit older, beat you to it.

"jesus christ, jerry!" she bit out, "just get your regular, or i'll run an article about how someone so indecisive shouldn't own a hardware store!" she huffed out an angry breath, shook her head as a scared jerry ordered a drip coffee with cream.

you met the woman's eye, and she smiled at you. "hey, new kid," she said, sticking out her hand. "i'm tj, local paper."

impressed, you shook her hand, gave her your name. "local paper, eh?" you asked, "lots of coffee shop and hardware store headlines?"

she laughed as you stepped forward and ordered your americano, motioned for her to order, too. "we don't get a lot of blockbuster news, around here," she said, making to pay, but you held out a hand to stop her. "you're probably just about the most interesting news we've had all year, since the frederic's dog got lost."

you hummed. "i could use you on my side, tj," you mused, "could help me get up to speed with this place."

she tilted her head, appeared in thought for a second before eventually nodding. "sure, new kid, i'll get you all caught up," she agreed. "and not just because you bought my coffee."

you laughed. "anytime," you offered.

"say, same time tomorrow?" she asked, headed for the door, swinging her shoulder bag around. "meet here?"

you agreed and waved goodbye. she saluted you, let the door close behind her.

"that girl's a terror," jerry warned you, careful.

"good," you told him. "all the best girls are."

as promised, you met up with tj the next morning, bought her coffee with your own before making your way up main street.

"so, i'm sure you're already familiar, because you've been here for a bit," she said, in step with you, "but we'll go over the basics."

"honestly, i don't know much," you said, "i'm at the market almost every day, every other place i've been only once or twice. and besides the kellys, you're the first local person i know by name." a flash of molten brown eyes and a tender smile blazed across your mind like a comet. "well, second."

tj's gaze shimmered, and you guessed this was the curiosity that makes someone want to be a reporter. "who else?" she asked.

"no one, really," you said, "this guy in the fish market, jeremy, but we talked for like a second."

she nodded like she understood. "oh, the fish market," she sighed. "the two biggest goofballs in town." she shot you a look. "don't worry, we'll make a stop there."

"oh, we don't have to, i'll go back eventually, mr. kelly's been wanting crab, anyways-"

"we'll make a stop there," she repeated, and that was that. first, though, she introduced you to the owner of the grocery store, an old woman who whispered to you that all the best stuff gets delivered on wednesdays.

next was the pizza place, and all the teenagers who seemed to be running it. "luke likes jenna, but jenna has a thing for her friend kayla," tj whispered to you as the door shut behind you.

"this is the kind of inside scoop you're privy to, eh?" you asked, amused.

she shrugged. "it's a real mixed bag. i'd never, like, run a story on the love lives of high schoolers, but everything is significant in a town this small."

you hummed, supposing she was right.

between the vintage store and the post office, she asked about your history, where you were from, your job.

"sounds like a pretty sweet gig," she said with an impressed sort of shrug.

you nodded. "it's a lot of work, but it's pretty awesome," you said, honestly. you loved what you did, and felt very lucky to be doing it.

"come back soon, girls!" mailwoman mindy called out after you both. you waved your thanks.

eventually, after your head was overcrowded with insider information and useless gossip all the same, you and tj stood in front of the fish market, the smell making your palms sweat with the memory of last time.

when was the last time a guy made you nervous? you shivered the thought away as tj pushed open the door.

"right, so this is the frederic's business, has been for decades," she said, "boys! show yourselves!"

on cue, the two men from last time shouldered through the double doors with the same lack of gracefulness.

"good morning, sunshine," the blonde said, almost taunting, looking right at tj, "to what do we owe this great pleasure?"

your friend looked particularly annoyed, all of a sudden. "'m giving new kid a tour," she said, gesturing to you, "she says she's been here, but i figured you probably didn't introduce yourself."

"right, as always, you sleuther," he said, making up the word, before turning to you. "i'm trent. and i remember you." he smirked, nodded to his coworker. "guy's been moanin' and cryin' 'bout when you'd come back."

"nice to officially meet you, trent," you said, giving him your name before finally allowing yourself to look at jeremy, whose gaze you'd felt like the sun on your face since he entered. he was every bit as beautiful, as genuine, as painstakingly tender as you'd remembered. "hey, jeremy." your words came out softer than you meant them to.

"hey, beauty," he replied, almost disbelieving, his hair just a bit shaggier than you remembered.

his smile was something brutal.

your grin was sly as you rolled your neck to the side, let his gaze drip over you greedily, but never shamefully.

tj cleared her throat. "well, not much of anything interesting happens on this end of the pier," she said, to which trent placed a wounded hand over his heart.

"no gossip for me, tj?" you asked, almost surprised, but not quite. these two seemed like open books, if jeremy's telling gaze was anything to go by. not to mention the fondness that had invaded trent's eyes when looking at your new friend, the way your eyes settle on your science class crush in middle school.

"you'll tell me something useful eventually, won't you, boys?" tj asked.

"guess you'll have to keep coming back, then. to find out," was trent's smug reply.

you weren't listening to their banter, really, though, not anymore, because you had drifted closer to jeremy, felt yourself walk over to him as if pulled by some thread. until you were leaning forward on the counter, like you were about to tell him a secret. until you could see each of his dark lashes, the light smattering of freckles on his nose.

"been moanin' and cryin', eh?" you teased, little more than a whisper, tilting your head at him.

"wouldn't've had to," he said, but it came out like a whine. "if you'd've come back to see me."

what would it be like, to be just, so, so honest? with others, with yourself? so honest, it rendered you just about speechless. almost.

you gave him that smile. "rotten boy," you said, watched his gaze become drenched in corn syrup. "so impatient, hm?"

"when do i get to see you again?" he asked, undeterred, not unaffected but so beautifully unembarrassed in his focus on the more, the next.

"soon," was all you said. he gave you a pout that you wanted to bite down on.

"alright, we're off," tj said, her voice pulling you from the daydream you had settled into. "when you've got something i can use, you know where to find me, frederic."

"you can use me anytime, tj!" he pronounced her name like tee-j, smiled as she rolled her eyes.

"good to meet you, trent," you said, "jeremy, i'll see you around."

"not if i see you first, beauty!" his goofy voice called out after you.

as luck would have it, you didn't even have to wait for the weekend to see him again. because, the universe, you were convinced, was trying to force you closer, closer, closer to this tall, kind, man with eyes that glittered. and what was there to do, really, except say thank you?

stanley, whom you had come to grow close to, whose laugh was like a bell, who was quiet but observant and passionate about things like glaciers and rainstorms, had started fishing camp earlier that week, but this afternoon, neither of his parents could pick him up.

"i know it's not in your job description, and i promise it won't be a regular thing," mrs. kelly had said to you over the phone, "but could you swing by the pier super quick to walk him home?"

and of course you had agreed, told her it wasn't any trouble at all.

and it really wasn't any trouble at all, until trouble was staring you straight in the face.

until you stood on the pier, waiting your turn in the pick-up line, and spotted trouble, himself, lifting kids by the waist from the small boat onto the dock.

he sparkled with life, in all of his gear, down to his water-proof boots. he appeared to have made something of a game out of pick up, making a rocket-ship noise as he hoisted kids into the air before setting them down. their laughter rang out in the clear air.

you could feel your heart beat in your chest, suddenly became acutely aware of what you were wearing, how your hair looked. this nervous energy was so foreign to you, it almost felt like a sickness, like a cold.

you scolded yourself to calm down, willed your heartbeat to normalize. these nerves, they weren't you - or at least, they weren't the you that you were used to. they were not the careless summer you that you had come to know and love. they were part of a different you, one that was not as familiar, perhaps one you believed to be not as magical.

"beauty!" you were pulled from your self-conscious daze by jeremy approaching you with agile steps, until he was right in front of you, larger than life, unobstructed by a counter for the first time. before you could do or say anything, his thick arms were around you, pulling you tight against his chest in a hug that muffled your surprise, maybe confusion. you didn't know him, he didn't know you, yet he was doling out hugs like they cost him nothing? "so happy you're here," he said into your hair, and you could have laughed at the absurdity of it all.

maybe you would have, if his embrace didn't feel so right around you, if his chest wasn't so expansive, yet so soft, if you didn't feel so completely safe, practically at peace in his arms. maybe you would have laughed, if there had been anything funny about this.

you rubbed circles into his back with your palm, almost dazed. "you work fishing camp?" you asked into his chest, felt the heat of your exhale in your face.

he didn't let you go, not yet, only pulled his head back slightly so he could talk to you, face to face. "oh, yeah," he said, generous with his smile, "boat captain of the baby minnows, more like."

you couldn't help your smile. "okay, big shot," you said, feigning being impressed. "do i call you captain, then?"

did you imagine the way his eyes darkened, if only for a second, a storm cloud over the sea line? did you imagine the way his embrace grew heated? did you imagine the way you wanted it to?

"think 'd let you call me just about anything," he said, breathy, and the air sparked.

he's not for you, a voice whispered in your head. he's not your seasonal plaything.

you coughed, tried to gracefully step away from him. he let you, didn't seem to be bothered by it. "have you seen stanley?" you asked, your skin itching to feel his arms around you, again.

jeremy smiled. "stan, stan, my bug-saving man? he's 'round here somewhere." he looked around, his gaze finally settling on the boy you were looking for, bent over a rock, looking at some critter that had caught his eye. "there he is." the two of you walked over to him. "not just here to see me, then? pickup takes priority?"

he didn't sound disappointed, not even sad, really, but almost wistful, hopeful. his words upset you, though, which scared you. it scared you, how much you didn't want to hurt his feelings.

it was this scared part of you that took his wide hand in yours and squeezed, which made his gaze cut to yours, wide, surprised. "'m happy to see you," you said, and it felt forbidden to say so, but you did it anyways.

you were happy for the distraction of the kid in front of you as you reluctantly let go of jeremy's hand and crouched down. "hey, stanley," you said, so as not to spook him.

he hummed his hello, pointed to the beetle in the dirt. "look," he said, seemingly content with just observing.

"i see," you said, "pretty cool." you had never been the best at talking to children. somehow, jeremy seemed to sense this.

"guess what, stan?" he said, eyes wide, like him and this small boy were in on some secret.

"what?" stan said.

"your friend over here told me that the first one home gets an extra special dessert tonight," he stage-whispered. stan's eyes grew wide at this information. he promptly took off, in the direction of home.

thank you, you mouthed to jeremy as you made to follow stan.

he ran a hand through his hair. "thankful enough for a helping of dessert tomorrow?" he called out after you.

you scrunched up your face playfully. "rotten!" you said, loud enough for him to hear, which made his bright laugh echo behind you, echo in your head. the feeling of his embrace, of his hand in yours, of his laugh in your mind, it all followed you home, where it stayed.

it lingered for long after, into days spent wrapped up in work, throwing yourself into your everyday tasks so that a certain someone would stay at an arm's length, so that your head might maintain some semblance of clearness.

between shucking corn and braising short rib, though, whenever you weren't entirely preoccupied, your mind would wander to corded shoulders under black long sleeves, to giggly belly-laughs and honesty that made you blush.

it was your wandering mind that had you seeking out stan, when he and his dad got back from fishing camp pick-up. "how was today?" you asked him, gentle, probing.

he shrugged.

"anything to report?" you tried, hoping maybe he'd say something about jeremy, but you'd take an update on the bugs and slithery things he seemed to like so much, too. you pushed a bowl of chocolate pudding and strawberries across to counter to him, placing a finger to your lips in a request for secrecy.

this, stan seemed to understand. "didn't catch anything," he said, digging into his treat. "set all the worms free."

you suppressed a laugh. "was jeremy mad at you?" you knew the answer though, knew it would take a lot more than that to make him anything close to angry.

stan shook his head, and his eyes flickered with a memory. "he told me to tell you about the pier party."

"what's the pier party?" you asked.

another shrug. you figured you'd ask tj about it.

"did he say anything else?" you asked, trying to mask the hope in your gaze, which probably appeared kind of scary to this kid.

stan thought for a moment, then his face scrunched up in distaste. "oh, and he told me to tell you that his hair looked really good today."

"did it?" you asked.

"not really," stan said, and then he laughed, muffled around his spoon, forcing a laugh from you, too.

following clarification with tj about what the pier party was (like a block party, summer tradition, that weekend), you walked downtown with the kellys on saturday night to find the pier all lit up, local vendors having set up stands, music playing from speakers, kids running around everywhere.

the night air was warm and sticky, making your thighs feel damp, your hair heavy on the back of your neck.

stan ran off with some of his friends from camp, the kellys joined a conversation with some people they knew, leaving you to find tj.

you quickly spotted her, leaning on a post next to the cooler, writing something down in her nearly-abused notebook.

"no days off, eh?" you said, amused, when you approached her, making her look up, roll her eyes at you as she shut her notebook, clicked her pen and shoved it into her messy bun.

"inspiration is everywhere," she said, joking, but you could tell there was some truth to her statement. "drink?"

"no, thanks," you said. you had grown sort of disenfranchised with the whole alcohol thing since last summer. not in a pretentious way, or a judgmental way, you didn't mind at all if others drank. you just didn't like the way it made you feel, sort of sluggish and swollen, and as soon as you'd stopped, you realized you didn't really miss it. "what were you writing?"

she opened her mouth to answer, but she was cut off by a funny, cracking voice. "oh, that's not her work book," trent said, grinning. "that's her diary. 'm sure my name's makin' quite a few appearances."

"in your dreams, frederic," tj chided, shoving the notebook into her bag nonetheless as trent pulled the pen from her hair, tucked it behind his own ear.

of course, where one was, the other was never far behind, so you weren't all that surprised to feel jeremy slide into place beside you. you did become momentarily distracted, though, by the smell of him so close, by the fact that he wasn't wearing his gear, instead opting for casual pants and a t-shirt you thought appeared a little too small.

you swallowed around your distraction, lodged in your throat, at his arms, thick with muscle, his body less-so obstructed by water-proof gear and more-so highlighted by his everyday clothes.

when your eyes finally found his, he looked positively delighted by your distraction.

you shook your head. "sorry," you said immediately.

his smile only grew. "don't be, beauty," he said, giving the arm not holding his beer a hard flex, posing like a bodybuilder, making you laugh. "just get my good side, hm?"

maybe it was his easy humor that had honesty welling up in you like a cresting wave. "every side's your good side," you said, placing a gentle hand on his forearm, willing him to relax. rest, you might as well have whispered into his ear. you can rest, with me. "you're so good."

that's what he seemed to hear it as, anyways, as his gaze melted into something like awe, like wonder, like pure kindness. when he spoke, there was a rasp to it that made you shiver. "want a drink?" he asked.

you weren't embarrassed to shake your head, softly. "'m not into drinking, right now," you said, then realized that could be taken as judgmental. "but i don't mind if you do, like, at all."

his expression didn't change, though, as he held out his beer bottle to trent, snagging his attention from whatever conversation he had roped tj into. "freddy, finish this for me, eh?"

trent just shrugged, took it from his hand, downed it in one go. tj grimaced. "you're gross," she said.

"it's saturday night," trent said with a one-shouldered shrug, as if that explained everything.

"you didn't have to do that," you told jeremy. "i really don't mind."

he just waved you off with a smile as trent and tj continued their argument about being appropriate at a neighborhood party.

the song that floated through the thick air grew slower, maybe something like the last song at a middle school dance. something that had the older couples swaying in time with each other, that had luke gazing across the pier at jenna, who was laughing with kayla. something that had jeremy extending a broad hand to you. "may i have this dance?" he asked, like some old-timey medieval, and you could have laughed, if he didn't appear to be completely serious.

so you only smiled, took his hand, said, "you may."

you set your free hand on his shoulder, tried not to blush at the firmness you felt under your palm as his other hand rested on your waist. you swayed and moved together gently, slowly, in time with the song, the pier under your sandals.

in a moment of indulgence, you dug your hand harder into his shoulder, massaging the muscle there. "a little tense, hm?" you said, meeting his gaze, coated in bliss.

maybe it backfired, a little, though, when he let out a little groan at your touch, at the feeling of your careful hand undoing the knots in the pocket between his shoulder and neck. something stirred in your stomach. you exhaled slowly.

the moment felt oddly charged, a sensual eye in the hurricane of normality around the two of you.

he hummed. "consequence of the job," he said, giving you a slight spin.

"it's tough on you, eh?" you asked, genuine, his touch on your waist distracting. time seemed to melt like a fourth-of-july popsicle.

he shrugged, a movement you felt in your fingers. "'m tough," he said, and you could tell he knew it to be true, knew it to be a keystone of his being.

you nodded, because you knew this, too. "can tell," you whispered, giving his hand a squeeze. "feel it in your hands."

his eyes became glossy, for a moment, like your admission was too much for his consciousness to bare.

this glossy look spurred you on, made the flirt in you emerge with a vengeance. "like to break a bit of a sweat, yeah?"

and he was nodding before you got the words out, feverish, almost desperate.

the music felt far away, up in the clouds, below the surface of the sea. it felt like you two might have been there, too, waltzing in some misty sky dreamland, some foamy ocean kingdom.

it felt perfect, he felt perfect, and when you went to sleep that night, your waist felt cold without his wide palm against it. your fingers twitched without his firm grip around them.

the next day, you called one of your old friends from the city, who had known you for a long time, who was the kind of friend that, no matter how much time had passed from when you last spoke, you would pick up right where you left off, no matter what.

you asked her about how she was doing, how her partner was, her job, her house renovations.

"alright, enough about me, i'm boring myself to death," she said after getting you effectively caught up. "tell me about your summer adventures, so much more exciting than redoing the master bath."

you laughed, and you told her about the kellys, their beautiful home, this lovely town. you told her about how the air was just different up here, how everything tasted fresher, how you had made a friend who made you laugh.

"and who's the lucky guy?" she said, eventually, as you sort of knew she would. at your silence, you could practically hear her disbelief. "don't tell me you don't have a seasonal hire, yet? how small is this town?"

you rolled your eyes good-naturedly. "it's not that," you said, "i mean, there is this guy, and he's really, really-" you trailed off, kind of, tried to think of how to describe him. scarily kind? handsome and beautiful at the same time? you let out a small laugh. "well, he makes me nervous, i guess."

there was a pause. "you're telling me," your friend said, slow and pronounced. "there's a guy in this universe who can make you nervous? and he's in alaska?"

"it's weird, right?" you said, almost laughing at yourself.

"weird? it's unprecedented!" there was a squeal from the other end of the line. "so, you've been there for a couple weeks now, right? so you must know him pretty well?"

you looked down at your hand, flexed it, cleared your throat. "i, uh, haven't really, like, initiated anything with him," you admitted. "i don't know, it doesn't feel like how it normally does. like i feel like my order and timing is all wrong, like i'm behind and going too fast at the same time."

"holy fuck," your friend said. "you, like, really like him. that's what really being into someone is, babe. exactly that."

you swallowed, blushed, even though her words just confirmed what you already had suspected.

"you have to ask him out," she said, as if she had made up her mind. "or, like, i don't know, next time you see him, just, like, kiss him, or something."

you laughed, rubbed your palm against your leg. "pretty sure there's, like, laws against that," you joked, but you got her point. whether you liked it or not, all signs were pointing to you being completely taken with jeremy. and even if it had happened quickly, and even if it wasn't in your typical summer style, perhaps it was time to do something about it.

"next time you call i'm expecting a wedding announcement," were your friend's eventual parting words. "and i like a sweetheart neckline for my bridesmaid's dress." you said your goodbyes and hung up with well wishes and a plan.

a plan that involved picking up some crab from the fish market the following day.

of course, when you entered, the main space was empty, as it always was.

"jeremy?" you called out, "you there?"

"coming!" came that tell-tale voice.

if trent was there too, he didn't make his presence known, as it was only the brown-haired boy who came bursting in from the back, eyes wide with delight when he registered your figure. he actually gave a little laugh, short and boyish. "beauty!" he said, like he couldn't believe his luck. "so soon?"

he didn't stay behind the counter, either, this time coming all the way around to lean against the display case, face you head-on. it was hard to imagine a time when the sight of him like this wouldn't make your mouth dry, just a little. when him, close to you, wouldn't make your heart sing.

he looked conflicted, standing in front of you now, like he didn't quite know what to do with his hands. that made the two of you - because what lines did you still want to remain in place? what boundaries did you want to abolish entirely?

your exhale felt like a bloodstained white flag, waving. "couldn't wait any longer to see you," you said, simply, trying on some of his honesty like a hand-me-down leather jacket. it made you feel just as cool.

and it was worth it to see the way he practically melted at your words, the way his eyes softened, how he seemed to lean further into the display case for support more than comfort.

maybe to push your luck, maybe because you knew you weren't really pushing it at all, you swung your bag to your back, opened up your arms, only a little timidly, stepped forward a bit.

the elementary school bully in your head snickered at your awkwardness, but jeremy only pushed out of his lean immediately, wrapped his thick arms around your frame until your nose was pressed against the black cotton of his shirt. he was warm, so warm, and smelled like the sea, and you had to have been imagining how your limbs practically gave a sigh of relief to feel him hold you again.

how could this possibly be? for so long, you'd been the heartbreaker that boys warned their friends about, and now you were weak in the knees because of a hug?

jeremy laughed, and it rumbled through your body.

"what?" you asked into his firm chest as your fingers fluttered on his back.

he didn't say anything, only pulled his head back a bit, a motion your mirrored until you were staring up at him, curious.

his gaze was almost dazed as he reached a hand up, pinched at your cheek.

you made a sound like it hurt more on instinct than actuality, batting his hand away nonetheless. "what was that for?"

he laughed, leaned down and pressed his lips lightly to where his fingers had been, making your nose and cheeks erupt in strawberry pink. the most tender touch you'd felt, almost embarrassingly soft, enough to make you want to hide your face.

his humor was evident in his tone when he spoke. "had to make sure i wasn't dreaming," he clarified. "with you showin' up here, sayin' you wanna see me, and all. lookin' like this."

the memory of his lips burned like a flame on your skin as you looked up at him. "pretty sure you're supposed to pinch yourself for that," you told him.

something awoke in his eyes. "pinch me, then, beauty," he said, daring you, "'s only fair."

you scrunched up your nose. "only want me to so 'l kiss it better," you mused, knowing the look in his eyes, knowing exactly how that felt.

he hummed, greedy, guilty, let the pause settle like molasses. a moment during which you could have said a million things, but nothing felt quite right. nothing could possibly add to the peace you felt here, right now.

"i know," jeremy said, a self-deprecating sort of tease in his tone that didn't quite fit with the shimmery satisfaction in his eyes. "i know it, 'm so rotten for you."

and maybe you had been about to make some joke about him being rotten, but he had flipped this whole conversation on its head entirely by saying that he was rotten for you. because now this was no longer a joke, now this was just so, so serious.

so serious you cleared your throat, but didn't step away, couldn't bring yourself to. you swung your bag around. "brought you something," you said, tried to hide the shake in your voice as you took the plastic container from your bag, held it up to him. "extra portion of dessert, as promised."

he took it from your hands like it it was made of glass, smiled so wide his eyes crinkled at the corners. "thank you," he said.

there was something almost violent about his kindness.

"anyways," you said, moving right along, for fear that you'd forget what you came for if you looked in his eyes any longer. "was wondering if, i don't know, maybe, you, uh, wanted to-"

as you rambled and stuttered, which was like speaking a foreign language, to you, which made you feel like the tongue in your mouth was not your own, his grin grew, and grew, until you had to shake your head at your ridiculousness. "yes, please," he said, putting you out of your misery.

you rolled your eyes, your face hot. "if you'd only let me finish, i was almost there," you said.

"'course, beauty," he said with a nod, a gesture for you to continue, "didn't mean to interrupt."

you took a breath. "was wondering if you wanted to get ice cream with me, tomorrow?" you managed, the words rushed. "like a date?"

you'd ask him a thousand times, if he kept looking at you like his, as long as he'd take you in his arms, as he was doing now, as long as he'd hide your burning face in his chest and hold you like to let you go would hurt. "yes, please," he repeated into your hair. "did so well, beauty," he said, softer, a murmur. you hadn't known how much you needed someone to tell you that until he mumbled it into your temple, the affirmation sitting atop your head like a crown dipped in gold.

you made it back to the house that day with a package of crab and plans for tomorrow. you immediately texted tj, needing to tell someone, anyone, so much so that you would have told stan, if he'd been around, even though you knew how he would grimace, said something about you not making any sense.

free tomorrow morning? you texted her.

coffee place at eight was her prompt reply.

that was where you sat, now, across the table from your friend, filling her in on what you'd done, what you were doing later today.

she let out a low whistle when you finished, a little out of breath.

"ice cream date, eh?" she said, finally, raising a brow. "what, will you get his snap after?" she crossed her fingers and shook them at you, teasing.

you rolled your eyes and waved her off, but something about her words resonated with you. because it did seem juvenile, it did seem childish and weird.

but you'd never done the juvenile and childish. you'd skipped that part, right to the thoughtful flirting and manipulative mannerisms that you now associated with adulthood. was it so bad that you wanted some of that time back? was it so bad to want the ice cream dates instead of the motive-driven smiles? the bear-hugs instead of the whole let-me-buy-you-a-drink dance?

was it so bad to want it to just be easy, for once? for you not to have to do all the heavy lifting, just so they thought it had been their idea all along? you were tired of hiding your tracks just so they could feel proud when they discovered what you had led them right to.

you told tj as much, and she gave you a soft sort of smile, much more gentle than her usual expression. "well, in any case, i'm proud of you," she said, before looking down, swirling around her mug. "i could use a little bit of your courage."

you tilted your head. "oh yeah?" you asked, "got someone in mind?" of course, you had quite the strong intuition, but you knew it had to come from her.

tj just shrugged. "'m not really looking for anything, right now," she said, non-committal.

"not even from a certain sunshine?" you said, giving her a look, to which she rolled her eyes.

"jesus, not you, too," she said, which had you asking what she meant. "our families have been trying to get us together since we were practically babies," she elaborated, "our moms are best friends."

this new information rolled in your head like creamed butter in a stand mixer. you waited for her to continue.

"and 'm not the kind of person to do what everyone wants, what everyone expects from me," she said.

"oh, really?" you said, sarcastic, "news to me."

she hit your forearm playfully. "'m serious," she said, "and it was fine, because he was on the same page, too, until pretty recently." she looked down. "now he's making it pretty hard to maintain my stone-cold reputation." she said this like a joke, but there was an air of truth to it, too.

you took her hand and squeezed it, because if anyone knew what that felt like, it was you. if anyone knew what it felt like to feel that pull, that pull towards something, someone, who was just so unlike the person you had built yourself up to be, it was you. and you told her us much.

"to the death of the heartbreaker and the ice queen," you said, raising your mug to hers, teasing, but not really, "and the birth of the softie and the lover girl."

she laughed, clinked her mug against yours. "maybe not the death," she amended, "maybe the birth of the softie with a flirtatious streak and the lover girl with a mean one."

you'd toast to that, any day.

later, after you'd prepped for the day's meals, tended to the garden, and planned out tomorrow, you spent a little too much time deciding what to wear for your date, eventually landing on your typical summer uniform of jean cut-offs and a flimsy tank top. you spent a little too much time messing with your hair, a little too much time worrying about how you looked, about everything, but as soon as you saw jeremy that worry all melted away.

you had walked downtown, of course, to the ice cream stand towards the end of the pier, which was attached to the pizza place, and therefore run by the same teenagers. you'd made sure to be on time, but it appeared that jeremy had gotten here early.

he was already standing out front, notably not looking at his phone, just looking around, like he was taking everything in. it felt like a privilege, to see him before he saw you, to simply observe him for a second.

it seemed unfair that you still weren't used to what he looked like without his fishing gear on. this other version of him, this more intimate, everyday version, in goofy cargo shorts and some old t-shirt, seemed almost scandalous in comparison. you'd become so enamored with him, so attracted to him, and you'd only seen his arms bare once before.

it didn't help that he appeared to be wearing a suit jacket over his t-shirt, despite the heat that made the air wilt and waver. his hair curled over the tops of his ears, his face flushed with excitement that multiplied exponentially when he spotted you, now just a couple of steps away from him.

his eyes lit up, his body seemed to hum, like a kid waiting in line for a roller-coaster, finally up next. of course, the first thing he did was wrap you up in a hug. of course, the first thing you did was melt into it.

"beauty!" he exclaimed, "you're here!"

you couldn't help the delighted laugh that he pulled from you as you squeezed him tighter before looking up at him. you smiled, and it wasn't the practice-perfect one, the one that worked on everyone. it was a genuine one, the slightly lopsided one, the toothy one that lit you up from the inside out. "'course i did," you said, before your voice took on a teasing tone. you tugged on his lapel. "you dress up for me, jeremy?"

he blushed, slightly, and you wanted to feel the pink under your lips. for now, you settled with tracing your fingertips across his cheeks and nose, a touch he leaned into, ever so slightly. "you said it was a date," he said, simply, like that explained everything. maybe it did. maybe it explained him.

"you look so handsome," you told him, only because you wanted to, only because it was true. and it was worth it, to watch his eyes well up with bashfulness, to see the way his gaze grew boyishly pleased.

"can't think much 'bout how you look," he said, and it came out soft, almost strained, "know how distracted i get."

with that, with both of you making the other flush, he made to hold the door open for you, followed close behind you as you stood in line, surveying the different flavors.

"what's the chef's favorite flavor?" came his voice from behind you, making you scrunch your mouth up in thought.

"the chef loves a good strawberry," you mused, "what about the fisherman?"

he thought for a moment, appeared to be taking this very seriously. "the fisherman gets something different every time," he told you, and this made a lot of sense. that he wouldn't confine himself to a singular order. "and today, i think it's gonna have to be cotton candy."

"cotton candy?" you asked, surprised, amused.

"oh, yeah," he said, didn't stray from his decision, though, as you stepped up to the counter to order. "lukey knows what 'm talkin' about."

he held out his fist for luke to bump with his own, the teenager sighing, like he was used to this. "hey, jeremy," luke said.

jeremy waved him off. "i thought i said you could call me j-money," he said.

"you did say that," luke deadpanned, picking up a scoop. "i just didn't agree to it."

"what's up, j-money?" jenna, the other worker called, approaching now with a wide grin. "what can we get for you?"

jeremy gave her a fist bump, too. "that's more like it, jenner," he said. "and we're gonna do two scoops of strawberry and two scoops of cotton candy, please and thank you." he turned to you, looked at you like he was trying to read your face. "cup and whipped cream for the berry, cone and sprinkles for the candy."

it wasn't what you'd normally get, but you'd never let him know that. "how'd you know?" you asked, stepping to the side so that the line could move along.

he came up behind you, wrapped his arms around your torso, clasped them in front of you, urging you to lean back into his warm chest. you turned your head to the side, peered up at him. "'m physic about these kinds of things," he said, low, like a secret.

"must be," you mused, a quirk of a smile on your lips.

you both got your ice creams, jeremy insisting on paying, also leaving a tip for luke and jenna, urging the closest thing to a smile you'd seen from luke.

you walked together in stride down to the pier, eventually sitting down on the dock, during which he asked about the menu for this week (cherries, corn, and tomatoes were in right now, so those were your focus), how stan was warming up to you (pretty well, if you did say so yourself), how on earth you had gotten tj to be nice to you (you explained that her nice looked different than other people).

in turn, you asked about how the market was doing (well, especially now that scallops and rockfish had begun to make an appearance), what was new with camp (he'd finally gotten luke's younger sister to hold a rod correctly), what trent was up to tonight (his family liked to do board game nights every week).

as the sun began to sink deeper into the sky, and as your ice cream began to melt into a soupy pink at the bottom of your cup, the conversation naturally became a little more substantial, too. you were surprised at how easily you welcomed that from him, surprised how easily you answered questions about how you got into culinary arts (there was something about food that brought people together in a way nothing else did), what your favorite part of being a private chef was (learning new people and places so closely), what your least favorite part was (you'd always wondered what it'd be like to cook for a larger, more diverse audience).

and you asked him about how he had grown so close to the frederics (trent had been his best friend since he was in preschool), what he loved so much about this place (he knew everyone, loved everyone like they were family), what was so special about fishing (there was nothing quite like feeling as if something as powerful as the sea was on your side).

eventually, the sky was saturated with that blood orange haze, the heat had subsided into something much more drowsy, more pleasant, the kind of air that had your gaze lingering on his mouth as he spoke, as he laughed.

the kind of air that had his knee against yours feeling like something much more serious.

you both took last bites of your ice creams, hands sticky and heads clouded with sweetness. you set your cup down, looked up at him again, found the corner of his mouth blue and pink with residue.

"you have, uh, something, right here," you said, motioning on your own mouth where.

he wasn't embarrassed at all, of course he wasn't, as he made to wipe at the wrong side of his mouth. "did i get it?" he asked, his gaze growing heated, hooded.

you gave a slight shake of your head, bit your lip slightly. how shameless could you be, here? how rotten?

time seemed to slow, to liquify as you reached out a delicate hand, gently swiped at his lips until your fingers felt sticky.

pretty shameless, you decided, especially rotten.

you brought your fingers to your own mouth, sucked the sweetness off of them in a moment, watched the way his eyes practically glazed over, the air vibrating between the two of you.

there was no one else on the dock, the sun was almost done setting, its slow descent all but finished. even if there had been other people there, though, you doubt you would have felt their presence, doubt it would have mattered.

there was very little that seemed to matter, now, as you let him tug you onto his lap, facing him. very little that seemed to matter as your eyes searched his, very little that seemed to matter besides the feeling of him, under you, besides his exhales and yours.

"please," he breathed, entranced, like in a dream, and of course you pulled him to you by the lapel of his ridiculous suit jacket, of course your lips met his in a kiss that felt like waltzing through a rainstorm, like equal parts innocent and sinful, like something cinematic, something spectacular.

you wrapped your arms around his neck, urging the softest of noises from his throat, something like a sigh of relief, something like a whimper as one of his hands found the side of your face, the other pressing against the plane of your back, pushing you closer against his chest.

he tasted like sugar and something waxy, from the sprinkles, making you smile against his mouth, almost laugh. you much preferred this to the kisses of gatorade and vodka, of rum and coke from summers past. this was something beautiful, something so entirely him, and you, and no one else.

his mouth slanted across yours like a smirk, easy as a laugh, and when you pulled away, rested your forehead against his, both of your chests were heaving, mirroring swollen lips and flushed cheeks and heated gazes. his thumb drew barely-there hearts into your jawline.

he looked practically blissed out, from only a kiss, the rambler at a complete loss for words. you smiled. oh, to make the sweet-talker speechless.

he gave your cheekbone the lightest pinch, a thousand words you understood in the action, and then it was your turn to be speechless.

there was something monumental in this quiet, the lull of the ocean harmonizing with your exhaling breaths.

this harmony echoed in your head the whole night, into the next morning, when you got a text from jeremy asking if you were free that afternoon.

freddy wants to take the boat out on the lake, he texted, followed by please come, followed by can't stop thinking about you.

so, of course, because you were very much past being able to say no to him, and because you had finished your work for the day by three, you found yourself on the smaller dock on the lake, dressed for the heat, a swimsuit under your shorts and tank, your bag slung over your shoulder.

tj stood next to you, mumbling something about how you had conveniently left out whose boat this was, to which you mumbled something back about how she probably should have guessed it.

"sunshine?" that odd voice called out once the two of you approached. "didn't know you were comin' out."

"finally got somethin' i can use, eh?" tj said, that sharp tongue quicker than ever.

"should'a warned me," trent shot right back, "would'a worn my five inchers." tj rolled her eyes as jeremy hopped down onto the dock, immediately enveloping you in one of his hugs that you had come to crave.

"hey," you said into his chest, rubbed careful circles into his back.

he pulled back slightly, planted messy kisses on your cheeks and nose until you were giggling. "missed you," he said against your jaw.

"missed you, too," you told him, because it was the truth.

the memory of last night sat between the two of you like a weighted mist, like a velvety curtain, making your stomach flip, making his embrace feel hot. the heat was cut by a familiar voice.

"no wandering hands, frederic," tj said to trent with a warning finger as he made to help her into the boat, placing his hands on her waist.

he rolled his eyes. "relax, sunshine," he said, lifting her smoothly and placing her down, slapping the side of her thigh playfully. "these hands don't wander." his eyes grew teasing. "they know exactly where they're going."

tj scoffed and made to set her things down on the bench at the front of the boat as jeremy crouched down in front of you.

"hop on," he said, grunting slightly as you wrapped your arms around him. he held onto your legs, pushing up as you laid your cheek against the back of his neck. you hadn't had a piggyback ride in ages, and it was just as fun as you remembered.

jeremy stepped up onto the small deck area, walking you up to the front, shifting you and setting you down gracefully on the bench, next to tj.

"thank you," you said, giving him a smile as you put your bag down.

he winked at you. "anytime, beauty."

the lake was stunning this afternoon, like the inside of a snow-globe, without the fake powdery snow.

it was an afternoon distinct in its easiness.

easy, how you and tj chatted about where you'd gotten your swimsuits, you launching into a story that involved a surf shop in nantucket.

easy, when jeremy asked you to help him with his sunscreen. how you gently rubbed the white lotion onto his forehead, his cheeks, how he laughed when you scrunched up your face at the smell, how you squealed when he nipped at your fingers.

easy, how, when the sun began its drowsy dip, the temperature stirring slightly, trent dropped his zip-up hoodie on tj's shoulders and told her to "knock it off and put it on, teej," before she could argue.

easy, how trent insisted that the food you'd brought for them was the best he'd had, even though it was just sandwiches and fruit. how tj said she knew there was a reason she was friends with you, immediately citing the way you'd cut up melon into perfect cubes. easy, how jeremy's lips on yours tasted like watermelon, that afternoon.

it was a beautiful day, through and through, filled with refreshingly-chilly swims and hours laying out in the tart lemony sunshine, until you felt pleasantly tired, until you felt the weight of the day in your limbs, the evidence of a day laughing in your throat and voice.

at some point, jeremy had pulled you onto his lap by the slinky strings of your swimsuit bottom, shifted you until you sat on one of his firm thighs, your legs crossed over the other as you leaned your side into his bare chest. you'd thrown one arm around his neck, tracing your nails over his shoulder, his collarbone.

this, sitting with him like this, like neither of you were really quite sure where one of you ended and the other began, this was easy as breathing. you had nothing to prove to each other, and you felt that lightness like a breeze.

the two of you watched tj and trent bicker with knowing smiles. you commented on what songs were playing from tj's speaker, your favorite concerts you'd been to. you talked about your plans for tomorrow.

when jeremy felt you shiver, he helped you shoulder on the sweater he'd brought.

"you won't be cold?" you asked, balling up the soft fabric in your fists. he only shook his head, kissed your temple, making your smile come easy.

"i run hot, beauty," he said, shifting you closer.

you hummed, feeling just about ready to fall asleep in his arms. "i know," you told him, pressing your lips to his chest, the underside of his strong jaw, which made his exhale shaky. you smiled. "my own heater," you whispered.

"anything for you," he breathed into your ear.

it was almost too much, this confession of his that seemed to get you, every time, combined with the feeling of him all around you, under you, his bare skin against your palms. almost. just enough.

just enough that when you were back on dry land, when the sun had set, when trent and tj had insisted that they'd pack everything up, jeremy's gaze on your frame felt like fire. enough that his grip on your waist felt heavy, made your stomach twist with want. enough that you told him you'd walk back to his place with him, if only to get a couple more seconds in his presence.

until you stood in front of his door, and the air seeming to bend around you like refracting light. you looked up at him, his eyes leaden with desire.

and it was sort of weird, because what was so different about him was how he made you feel younger, more innocent, less of the heartbreaker and more of the easy-to-smile sap.

was it odd that there was something sort of innocent in the purity of the want you felt, then? that there was something almost angelic about just how deeply you wanted him, how it was so undiluted by any other motive. you wanted him because of him, and because of you, and because of everything that had led you to this moment.

did you imagine the halo of light around his head as his gaze caught on your mouth, like a snag on a record player?

"d'you wanna come in?" he murmured.

did you imagine the way that halo melted into something like mischievous horns when you nodded, let him reach around you to unlock the door, lead you inside?

and you'd pause, for a moment, think about how this was technically the first time you'd been in his place, about how much it meant that he had offered this piece of himself to you, about how you wanted him to see your apartment back home, some time.

but that pause would stretch like putty, like something you could hold, when his voice would come out rough, choked, when he would ask, "do you want a tour?"

and you'd tilt your head, like you knew something he didn't, as he'd switch on the hallway light. you'd lean back against the wall, wait for him to settle, right in front of you, a breath apart. "no," you'd say, softly. "later, maybe."

his gaze would grow thicker, and he'd lay a light hand on your hip, boxing you against the wall with his frame. "what do you want, beauty?" you'd reach up, lay an arm around his neck, tugging him down to you. "tell me."

"let me show you, hm?" you'd breathe, and he'd give a desperate sort of nod that'd have you clashing together in a kiss of teeth and flame and fairy-floss sweetness.

now, you whimpered into his mouth as his grip on you grew more forceful, more intentional. he pulled you flush against him, wide hands clutching at your thigh, rooting in your hair.

you hooked a leg around his hip, to which he moaned, his mouth falling open wider, neck falling back, allowing you better access. you left open-mouth kisses down his jaw, his neck, his slight stubble rough under your lips, your teeth, your tongue, as you nipped and sucked, relishing in the noises you drew from him, whimper-ish moans cut with breathy pants.

he was already impossibly hard across your front, you could feel how affected he was by this, by you. it made you smile. it made you pull away, barely, for a second. you brushed his eyelids with your fingertips, willed them to flutter open.

"lost you, there," you said, your voice rough. you were acutely aware of the slow, almost undetectable grind of his hips against you, even though it seemed as if he was doing it subconsciously.

he gave a short shake of his head. "not lost," he rasped, holding the side of your face in his palm. "'m here, beauty, swear it." and maybe lost wasn't the right word, maybe it was something close to blissed out, maybe even fucked out, even from just a kiss, a couple marks on his neck.

"good," you said, and you certainly didn't miss the way his eyes darkened. "then will you let me-"

"yes," he said, before you could finish, which tugged a laugh from your lips, somehow more significant, more telling than any moan could be. he took you by the hand and pulled you to his bedroom.

"didn't let me finish, rotten boy," you teased, to which something like sorrow flashed in his eyes.

"'m sorry, beauty," he said, shutting the door behind him, pulling you onto his lap as he sat on the foot of his bed, and it was something sort of innocent, to be having this same conversation, again. "please, please, tell me what you need."

you massaged the muscles in his shoulders gently with your palms as you shifted on his lap. "need you in my mouth, jeremy," you said, the words heavy in their honesty, weighted when spoken through swollen lips. "let me make out with your cock, yeah?" and there was that glassy look again, simultaneously like he was somewhere far away and in the palm of your hand. you sunk to your knees in front of him, peered up at him through your lashes. "please?"

"fuck," he bit out, tugged and twisted his clothes aside. "yeah, beauty. yeah, you can."

you smiled as you took him in your hands, spit onto his cock, pumped your gentle grip up and down, watched the way his head fell back, the way his thighs clenched when you dug your nails into one to ground you.

that slick, lewd sound echoed in your head, making you aware of how wet you were, how potent the desire inside you had become.

you ran your tongue up the length of him, could have laughed at how his choked exhale gave you butterflies, instead took all of him in your mouth, held your head down until you felt resistance, hollowed out your cheeks.

when was the last time you had done this with a fire in your stomach? the last time you'd wanted, more than anything, to make it so, so good for someone?

you'd known you were good at this, for so long, that you couldn't remember the last time you'd sucked someone off like you had something to prove.

that's what it felt like, now, with the hard, hot weight of him on your tongue. i'd work for you, you seemed to be screaming, i'd let you work for me.

his rooted grip on your scalp was firm, warm. "fuck, beauty, like that," he groaned, the other hand coming to rest on top of yours, on his thigh. like a reminder than he was truly present, that the act of you, like this, wasn't lost on him. like he understood. like he was grateful.

you tilted your head to the side, forced him deeper, the tip running along the inside of your cheek. his neck rolled at the sensation, making you pick your head up off of him, continue to run your hands over his cock, wet with your spit, look up at his flushed face. "like this, baby?" you asked, your movements painfully slow. "bein' so good for me, hm?"

he was nodding, and when he spoke, it was a whine. "please, beauty, can i see you?" he asked, "wanna see all of you, need it."

you were long past being able to deny him something he needed so deliriously, so you let him pull your shirt over your heart, tug your shorts aside, paw at the strings of your swimsuit until there was nothing obstructing his view of you.

you pulled at the edge of his shirt, helped him out of it, and sighed at the sight, at the already darkening bruises on his neck, the solidity of his stomach and chest.

his gaze had grown awestruck, and you found yourself embarrassed, sort of, maybe just restless, at the heaviness of his eyes on you, coating you like a red candy apple.

"get my good side," you managed, throat rough, voice rougher, a smile on your face at the nostalgia of the moment, how you'd been here before.

he laughed, then, a genuine one, pulled you to his chest and kissed you, so gentle and soft your heart sprouted angel wings. "never seen anything so pretty," he mumbled against your lips, urging a flush you felt up your neck.

you grinned, not the one that worked on everyone. the one that worked because it was for him. "please, can i have-"

"yes," he said, and it sent both of you into breathy laughs, because how many times would he say yes to you before knowing what you were asking? then he flipped you onto your back, though, the cottony fabric soft under you. "yeah, beauty, you can have me inside you."

you wanted to ask him how he'd known, but then he dragged his fingers through your folds, found you practically dripping, caught his thumb on your clit, making you jolt. "please," you moaned, "dyin' for it, baby, 'm soaked for you."

"don't need to beg me, beauty," he said, running the head of his cock along your center, making you whimper. his grin grew wicked. "sound so pretty when you do, though."

your reply would have been witty, you were sure of it, but it was mangled, torn from your throat in a strangled sound when he pushed inside of you, finally, slowly, making you clutch at his shoulder for something to hold onto.

the stretch grew as he pushed further into you, until you felt him in your bloodstream, in the back of your head like a memory, in your palms.

"fuck," you bit out, "fuck, just there, hm? stretch me out, baby, want it so bad."

he finally bottomed out, fluttered his molten eyes open again. you watched them soften when they regained focus on you, witnessed yourself become his beacon, calling him home from dreamland.

he pulled back slowly, pushed forward again, began a slow rhythm that had your head spinning, had your vision clouding over, sun showers exploding behind your eyes at the impossible stretch.

time oozed like strawberry jam, thick, you almost expected the clock on the wall to stop ticking entirely, for its face to stare back at you, frozen.

"how's that, beauty?" he rasped, at some point, when his pace had progressed into something more mind-numbing, when your thighs began to feel the start of the coming-soreness, when his stomach and shoulders started to contract and tense in the most delicious way. "that good?"

you nodded, choked on a whimper when he moved his hand to your lower stomach, stretched his thumb to swipe methodically at your clit. "that's, fuck," you tried, exhaling shakily, "fuck, that's so good, baby, you're so good."

you clenched around him, making him stutter, his hips jerking. "won't last like this," he warned, "can't, beauty, feel too perfect. too, fuck, too perfect for me."

he pressed you down harder until you could feel the outline of the mattress against your shoulder blades. "'m close, too," you breathed. "just need, just-"

your words were lost as he dragged the heel of his hand along your clit and back, the friction so stunning that your fingers twitched. "please cum, beauty," he pleaded, like he needed it, like he'd die for it. "cum on my cock, yeah?" you practically writhed around him. "fuck, give me it, hm?"

your high came abruptly and brutally, so sharp and consuming you barely registered his own orgasm, the warmth and sensation of it, the way he dipped his head down to bite gently on your chest, just sharp enough to leave a mark. you only really noticed the way the heavy weight of his body collapsed onto yours, pinning you between his damp chest and the bed.

breaths came slowly and drowsily, as you regained a sense of the room, of time, of space, as he rolled over slightly, just to give you more air, laid a massive arm on the outside of your thigh, pulled you half on top of him.

he looked so beautiful, then, a glossy adoring gaze paired with swollen lips, traces of your mouth all over him. you had a feeling you looked in a similar way, fussed hair and watery eyes.

you could have stayed there for hours, the measure seemed irrelevant, as he palmed, kneaded your thigh softly, as you twisted his messy curls around a finger.

at some point, he brought his free hand up, pinched at his own cheek.

you smiled at the cyclical sense of it all. "you're not dreaming," you rasped.

"oh, i know," he said, a smug, lazy grin peeking through his lips before he turned his cheek to you, expectantly. "i still think you should kiss it better, though."

butterflies stirred in your stomach as you gave a playful roll of your eyes, leaned your head forward to press your lips to his cheek.

"rotten," you breathed.

"for you," he clarified.

dreamland had nothing on here. on this.

you know, i hear she used to be a real heartbreaker, the big hand on the clock whispered, low and secretive.

really? the little hand said, shocked, her? there was a pause. what happened?

the big hand shrugged. don't know, it said. shame.

a real shame.

fin.

637 notes · View notes

hellavile · 1 year

Text

LUV THIS SHIT | eren yeager.

‍ ‍ ☆. warnings — 3.1k. fem!reader, eren’s pent up from working out, asmr sexting, submissive reader, impact play [ face smack, spanking ] public arousal, indecent behavior, mating press, f!oral, fingering, profanity, established relationship, lots of making out, unprotected sex, eren’s aggressive, floor sex, riding, creampie, artist!reader, pet names, reader has black features, minors aren't allowed!

‍ merry christmas! ♡

eren starts his day the same every morning. the alarm goes off at six o'clock which is never your favorite thing to hear considering you're not an early bird. usually groaning in your state of sleep and tugging the blankets away from him after he kisses you on your forehead and steps out of bed. you always snuggle on his side before the warmth he created grows cold. proceeds to take a steaming hot shower, tilting his neck back to let the heavy beats of water dampen his long hair. lathers his body with african black soap you picked up from a shop while SONDER plays from his speaker, careful not to blast it too loud to wake you up. it's your off day so he's respecting your wishes to hibernate all day.

he honestly hates leaving you alone in bed. sue him but being your little spoon is the best thing he's ever known. he's never slept so good in his life until he met you. never knew it felt so comfortable being in another persons arms. eren’s next step is to dress for the gym, the only reason he's up this early three times out of the week. a dark gray towel is wrapped low around his slim waist, tatted chest and arms running with water droplets as he wipes the foggy mirror clear to see his reflection. washing his face with a kale, spinach, and green tea cleanser along with brushing his teeth, cleaning his tongue with a scraper and gargling mouthwash. he forgets to do this backwards sometimes considering he has to eat first. the taste lingers and makes his food nasty.

afterwards, he’s moisturizing his face with cerave healing ointment and his pouty cotton candy lips with one of your babylips sticks. lathering his body in vaseline coca butter lotion and slipping on a olive green colored sweatpants with a black cropped metallica muscle tank, wrapping a matching black bandanna over the top of his towel-dried chestnut hair. he spritz this cologne you picked up at the mall when thinking of him called art deco amberwood by clive christian. makes you fall to your knees to suck him off every time now that he thinks about it.

by then it's near seven and he's down in the kitchen with his black airpod max’s over his ears listening to jazz while he blends his smoothie with spinach, kale, strawberries, blueberries, and pineapples. he gulps that down after filling a mason jar completely. and for further consumption, he makes avocado toast topped with chia seeds, himalayan salt and pepper and two strips of bacon each.

before he leaves he makes sure to run back up the stairs to double check on you to see if you needed anything before he left such as picking up a coffee from dunkin or anything from the art supply store. he peaks his head through the door to see you sprawled out, mouth open and snoring peacefully, cuddling his pillow. he smiles to himself, mumbling ‘my pretty girl’ before quietly tiptoeing close to the king-sized bed with satin sheets to give you a kiss or two before heading out, moving your bonnet aside to whisper that he loves you.

he's got his gym bag and his car keys when he leaves, taking the elevator down the parking lot of the loft you two live in, three years now. he finds his car parked directly next to yours. cute. the pretty wolf gray kia k5 besides his onyx lexus rc 300. there's a gym located in the building but he prefers the one your brother owns a few minutes out of the area.

it's around ten o'clock when you fully wake up, missing his presence already and pouting about it before heading to the shower yourself. sitting in a towel for a full hour stuck on tiktok and getting a craving for samyang carbonara noodles and rice cakes. it's really the only thing that made you leave the house today, throwing on a pair of eren’s gray nike shorts you had to roll up to properly sit on your hips, and a black tank, jewelry remaining on your skin everyday from layered necklaces to multiple bracelets.

you're sitting in the starbucks drive thru which has an incredibly long line but you're not minding the wait, craving a pink drink suddenly. the sun was hitting nicely into your car so you decide to take photos to pass a little time, thumb slipping and accidentally opening the voice memos app with only four recordings, one of them fairly new. created about two weeks ago and you vaguely remember that night. it's about an hour and fifteen minutes long

'luv this shit <3’ is what it's titled. not remembering exactly how it went. you and eren only used this app whenever you're having sex, meaning those four audios were strictly nsfw. you bite your lip in curiosity, deciding to press play to hear it, flinching when you hear how loud you were screaming on top of forgetting that your phone is connected to your cars bluetooth. you swallow in panic, turning it off and sitting back in silence, twiddling your fingers, becoming impatient with the line now because you wanted to hear it. it had to be something the two of you made when you were intoxicated. or else you would've remembered it.

you've retrieved your pink drink, and now it was time to park, too impatient to wait and hear this. sipping your drink, you get comfortable, holding your phones speaker to your ear and pressing play yet again. there's music playing in the background, luv this shit by august alsina in specific, now you knew where the title came from. probably eren’s doing. a rush of heat swarms your cheeks and gut as you hear your boyfriend’s voice, deep and stern as he talks to you while skin connects and your moans overshadow the music. the sound of you kissing wetly makes you shift in your seat, feeling his soft lips on yours at the moment. you loved kissing him.

it lasts for about two minutes before eren’s voice becomes louder than yours when he's fucking you hard, your voice muffled by your hand you assume, doing that a lot since you think you're too loud. “let me fuckin’ hear it,” there's his voice again, unconsciously whimpering along with yourself in the audio. eren’s whining with you, the two of you gasping and listening to how wet you were. a loud smack erupts and you're crying his name, the memory slowly coming back. he smacked your face. the jewelry on his wrist prominent when he does it again, this time it's the outside of your thigh.

“rennnnnn! fuh-uuck.”

“i hear you, baby. come on, come on, come on, cum, cum, cum.” with every thrust he gets louder, hissing as your pussy constricts around his dick. “that's it, pretty. yeah.”

you nearly spill your drink over your lap, the cup slowly slipping from your grip after you zoned out, catching it quick and collecting yourself, setting it in the cup holder. you need to leave. actually, you need to send this to him. he has to be done at the gym by now. then again, you're never sure with him. the man could work out all day if he wanted.

being risky, you grin, pulling up his contact and sending him the audio, following with a text that said . . .

NEW MESSAGE

kuromi princess hello kitty baby star ♡

don't we sound pretty? <3

follicles of eren's hair stick to his sweaty forehead, putting it up before he started his workout, going on for about three hours now. RICH FLEX blasts in his headphones. the neckline of his top is doused with sweat, removing the boxing gloves off his hands to sit down and gulp a full bottle of water. checking his phone, he sees your message. lifting his brow at the audio you had sent, reading your response, and clicking it without hesitating. immediately when he hears your desperate pleading and skin smacking, his pupils dilate, clenching his jaw and checking his surroundings. not many people were in this area of the gym.

“fuck me, baby. fuck me, baby. fuck me, babyyy,” eren listens with wide eyes as he hears your pretty moans, skipping through the audio to hear bits and pieces.

“yeah, speak to me like that.”

eren grows shamelessly aroused from what he's hearing, swallowing hard and shifting his dick back in place, breathing heavier. he's mad at you. mad because you know he's in public and he gets easily turned on by anything regarding you. whether it be your scent, your smile, your eyes, or your fucking voice. when you talk, or scream his name. it's all the same. he's triggered by it all. and you know this, so why test him? not to mention the two of you haven't been sexually active because you've been caught up with work and painting and he's been working doubles. the only time you spend together is brief mornings in bed or one day weekends, usually sleeping all day or being lazy.

all he can think of this moment is fucking you rough and raw. gathering his belongings without another thought and sending you a brief text.

pretty boy ren <3

yea, okay.

it's so stressful walking with a hard dick, and eren really can't wait until he gets home to fuck you up. such a dirty girl needing to be put in place. he forgets his headphones have noise cancellation, so when he's speeding home like a dummy, music continues to thrum in his ears, acting like a complete madman. exactly five minutes before he enters the apartment, you're sitting in your usual corner of the loft where you've made your art station. sitting on the ground while incense flows and sza’s new album plays soundly. a canvas laying on the ground where you sat on a cushion, finger painting a collage of the weeknd’s discography since it's the 11th anniversary for echoes of silence. unaware of the message you received.

that is until you hear the familiar sound of keys jangling and in a matter of seconds, the front door flies open, there standing a big, tall, visibly irritated man. your eyes go wide from seeing him, eren kicking off his shoes, heavy feet stomping towards you and you sit up with curiosity, trying your hardest to hide your devious smile. you knew it'd have that effect on him. eren’s hot hand grabs your jaw fervently, clenching his before yanking your face close to his to connect your lips in a heated kiss. smacking his lips roughly over yours, moaning into his mouth, his eyes focused on your face as you close your eyes too comfortably for his liking. as if you're not in trouble for the shit you pulled.

your hands kept to yourself on either side of his wide shoulders, eren dragging you down to lay on your back onto the cushion you previously sat on, slipping off the black panties covering your neglected pussy, weeping, and waiting for him to get home to do exactly this. staring up at him with glee in your eyes, it's the opposite in his. he can't hear a thing you say because of his headphones, not bothering to toss them off because the only thing on his mind is sliding his dick inside of you and getting his nut off.

raising your knees without his help, he's pushing them further up to your chest, folding you still before arching his neck to release globs of spit onto your cunt three times max, each one emitting a ‘puh’ sound. you clench from his dirty act. his big body hovers over yours, heavy dick practically drenched in precum resting on your mound before eren angles his hips to slip into you. he doesn't give you time to brace yourself, gasping as he groans and thrusts his hips fast, your skin clapping and body jerking under him. beautiful green irises switching darker as he stares into your soul, your moans faintly being heard.

“think you fuckin slick, baby?” eren rasps, your mouth agape, his grip on your thighs harsh. “did that shit on purpose just so i can fuck that pretty pussy stupid on my cock, right?”

“y-yess,” he watches you nod drunkenly, your hands digging on your sides into the rug beneath you. every pound into your slick pussy vibrates into your throat, following his rhythm. happy tears brim your eyes.

“s’okay. ‘cause i got something for you.”

his pace hastens, heavy balls slapping against your ass as he drills deep, jackhammering almost, like a needy, inexperienced boy. your cunts squelching loud, hand pressing at his abdomen in attempt to slow him down but he only fucks you harder, air knocking from your lungs. it's so fucking hot the way he's handling you right now, like he's been so deprived of you for so long he couldn't stand it. couldn't even take his clothes fully off, keeping every piece on because he needed you that badly.

“ooh, i'm fucking cumming. ssss, fuck,” eren moans. you squeal as eren takes both your arms and crosses them over your tummy, holding them there while he puts his weight on you and grunts in your face. sweat dampening his bandanna, breath mixing with yours as he cums inside you. coating your walls with thick spurts of white. your knees buckle from the feeling, his lower halve twitching from the rush.

eren licks his lips, stilling his movements to take a breather, knocking back one of the ears to his airpods to hear how desperate you sound, slowly pulling his dick out, still hard.

“eren, i didn't cum,” you whine, squirming with an attitude.

“i think i knew that.”

you put your middle finger up to him for his smart ass tone, eren arching a brow and scooping you up without another word. smiling, you cling to him as he moves towards the couch, deciding to stay seated on the floor, lifting you so you sit on his lap. his cock resting on his stomach where you're able to see toned abs and a dark, neatly trimmed happy trail to match your cute brazilian strip all cause of that slutty, grunge crop top he has on. his back rests against the furniture. you take the initiative to remove these stupid headphones so you could put your hands and mouth around his neck.

“i don’t think you understand how much i thought about fuckin’ you today. you really fuckin’ don’t.” eren lands a heavy hand on your ass causing you to jump and scoot forward from leaning back on his knees. “could barely fucking focus. all because you sent me that shit.”

“and because you miss me,” you whisper, delicately skimming your lips over his, arching into him as he spreads your ass cheeks apart after smoothing over them. spanking you hard on either side until you gasp into his mouth and he could kiss you again.

“sink on it real slow,” eren taps your clit with the tip to say he wants it done now. sucking on your lip, you raise yourself till he's kissing the entrance and gently easing down, indenting crescent moons into his broad shoulders momentarily. dragging your hands to your waist, you rub over your body, hissing and throwing your head back, feeling a storm of euphoria fuel you. eren hums in fascination as you lose yourself in the bond.

“g’na say sorry with your pussy, baby?” eren taunts in a baby-like tone.

“mhmm,” what eren wants, eren gets. and if he wanted you to ride his dick you were going to. getting up on the tips of your toes and rode only on the tip first, eren choking on his spit with brows furrowed and praising you. soon, inching lower to bounce yourself up and down to his liking, being sure to clench your walls a little tighter just to hear him whine. when eren gets really feral he gets really loud. unable to control what his vocal cords let out. he used to think it was embarrassing, but the two of you have shared enough time together to dismiss judgment. he sounds so pretty when he's getting fucked good.

“shit, you keep fuckin’ me like that m’ not gonna last,” ignoring him, you continue to clap your ass down, skin interaction picking back up, eren’s hands on your hips just for leverage. he never needs to guide you. a few squeezes occasionally since he's so sensitive. painfully aroused it makes no sense.

“i can't last long,” you warn, pawing at his chest as you raise your ass and fuck him faster, eren moaning and helping you out by pounding up into you. you fall forward into his arms, yanking you down each time you'd rise back up. smacking your ass just to hear your voice pick up. “eren, fuck baby!”

“unh huh, keep goin’,” eren’s face scrunches up, whining in your ear while keeping one of his tatted arms wrapped around your backside. your thighs begin to burn but you know stopping isn't an option when he sounds that good in your ear. eren gets aggressive and hits into you harder, same time ass you drop down with more force, tugging at his hair and he whimpers your name. “keep that shit up, baby. yeahh.”

it feels so good you start crying, missing this so much. holding onto him for dear life as he somehow moves quicker, slouching in his spot so his neck settles back onto the couch, slipping his right hand under your right thigh and raising his hips to fuck up into you, lifting you like you're one of his weights at the gym. you watch as he mumbles ‘fuck’ with his eyes scrolled back and mouth wide open, jawline sharp, and adam’s apple in his throat prominent. he looked so fucking good right now you just had to kiss his neck. eren hitting that spot so good you can't control yourself from screaming, mouthing at his neck and leaving hickeys. he smells good, hints of musk and that damn cologne you love, feels good, looks even better. then wonders why you act the way you did. he’s made a monster.

“you fuck me so good, ‘ren. love you so much, missed you so much,” at this point you're babbling, saying anything that comes from your brain mindlessly. it's enough to make eren bellow streams of curses before hiking your ass off and nutting over your back, eren releasing a high-pitched gasp as he stares up at the ceiling in a daze. vision blurry.

before you complain, eren’s lifting you higher and scoots further down to sit you on his face, hot mouth munching on your soaked cunt with puffy lips. your eyes cross and you scream into the air, gripping the couch as he slides two fingers, middle and pointer, deep into your hole, thrusting while his fat tongue laps at your clit, silver cuban link on his wrist cold on your stomach. he's swallowing your arousal like he's drinking a glass of water, moaning into your pussy and spanking your ass with his unoccupied hand.

“oh my . . . god,” you're breathless as you cum, legs twitching and squealing from the intensity of your orgasm, losing balance and falling forward. eren smirks and smacks your ass one last time before moving from below you, sitting on his knees behind you and pushing your back down to fix your arch, turning your head to face him, fucked out face staring at him like he was crazy for putting his dick back inside you. you already feel so sore.

eren arches his brow. “oh, you thought i was done?”

˖ ࣪ ⌨ ˚ ﹢tags :: @sailewhoremoon @dejwrites @getosbunny @massivelynervousprincess @gatoru @satotokii @sintiva @shamelesshoefairy @minniecums @kiitysstuff @itsn0ct @7inaa @444yeager

#☆. hellavile.#eren x black reader #eren yeager x y/n #eren x y/n #eren x you #aot eren yeager #eren yeager x you #aot smut #snk smut #eren smut #eren jaeger x black reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren jaeger x you #eren x reader

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honeytonedhottie · 5 days

Text

it girls guide to fragrance⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🎀

MY PERFUME COMBOS ;

strawberry pound cake (bath and body works) + fresh cream warm cashmere (philosophy)

pink sugar body mist (aquolina) + candy baby (victorias secret)

PERFUME LAYERING GUIDE ;

choose complementary or contrasting scents based on whatever u like the smell of

start off with a base layer and use a body wash that enhances the base (try and keep the scents similar)

if ur layering perfumes, spray the stronger scents first and top with lighter scents so that u won’t overpower the more delicate notes

COMPLEMENTARY SCENTS FOR LAYERING ;

pair a rose scented fragrance with a fruity vanilla fragrance (rose + fruity vanilla)

pair a vanilla scented fragrance with a fruity fragrance (vanilla + fruity)

pair a spice scented fragrance with a floral fragrance (spice + floral)

pair a fruity scented fragrance with a musk fragrance (fruity + musk)

SMELLING LIKE A SCENT ALL DAY ;

after u get out of the shower, spritz ur dry body with ur favorite fragrance and let it dry onto ur skin before u apply ur cream

hot tip : when ur putting on perfume, press and dont rub bcuz then the scent will stick and last longer

WHERE TO PUT THE SCENTS ;

the back of ur knees

ur ankles

the base of ur back

the insides of wrist

behind ur ears

on ur neck

in the crease of ur elbow

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shaylixie · 1 year

Note

Can you please do headcanon of Em being with a girly/soft girl ?💗

Marshall Mathers Headcanons:

Being with a girly / soft girl.💗

Choosing a specific shade of pink for your nails.

Readily accepting your cuddles and falling in love with your cuddly nature, even if he doesn't go out of his way to show it.

Buying you the big, fluffy teddy bear with a red heart for Valentines Day because he knows how happy this cheesy gesture will make you.

Picking out your outfits for you - "Yo, babe. You should wear that dress today...y'know, the short one with the flowers."

The pure giddiness of seeing him in your soft, elegant, pink and white bedroom. Bonus when he stays over with you and he's surrounded by fluffy throw pillows and tucked under your pastel pink comforter, his tattooed arm sticking out.

Using your bath products the next morning because he forgot his and slept over spontaneously. Coming out of the shower smelling like fresh jasmine and strawberries.

Buying you the sweetest perfumes for special occasions. They always come in pretty, feminine bottles with the most elegant handwriting. Every spritz makes you feel like the princess you are. His princess.

Spoiling you with candles and roses all over the room on nights that he wants to be especially romantic. He knows how lovely candles are to you and how much you love sweet, fresh roses.

Holding you gently like the precious thing you are, but tightly enough against him that there's no space between the two of you. You don't complain.

Encompassing your hand in his; secretly melting at the feeling of your fingers playing with his own.

Doing face masks with you. His favourite is when you do clay masks because he goes out of his way to make you laugh and watch it crack on your face.

Matching your jewellery with his, with yours being the daintier version.

He's highly amused at your habit of not swearing, or trying your hardest not to use foul language. Part of him admires you for it. Most of him is entertained by it. He always tries to get you to slip up once or twice.

Seeing you in pretty silk night gowns and being driven crazy at the sight of you.

Slowly taking said night gown off of you, kissing down your neck and shoulder as he does it.

Seeing your pretty, delicate self under his hard, rough, masculine self. Or on top.

Kissing your forehead goodnight every night.

Finally knowing the meaning of "opposites attract."

#eminem imagine #eminem x reader #eminem headcanons #marshall mathers imagine #marshall mathers x reader #marshall mathers headcanons #headcanons #eminem fluff #marshall mathers fluff #eminem smut #marshall mathers smut #shay's requests

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abiiors · 8 months

Text

three's a party 🍸// george daniel x reader x ross macdonald

a/n: hi. thank you so much to my darlings @bookish-strawberry and @ughgoaway for helping me with some of the scenes!!! this is quite tame compared to some of the others i read for "research" but it is still quite...porny. this note is so long, but i'm just rambling because i'm nervous!!! anyway, here, have this unholy piece of writing with barely any plot

cw: threesome (obv), "good girl" and other feminine words/pronouns, uhhhh...yeah, just. general nastiness.

wc: 3.6k

the pub lights are dim, ambient. people chatter around you in low volume, a friendly humdrum of couples out on date nights and old friends catching up, it’s nice—this place. the food is good, the alcohol is even better; the playlist is just the right mix of sensual and exciting. absolutely perfect for a casual first date.

except for the man in front of you who drones on and on and on about one thing or the other—none of which you have given two shits about in your entire existence. but now you have to sit there and pretend that the local football team—the bulls or the foxes or some other inane animal—are the most riveting conversation you’ve ever had.

you also have to pretend like you haven’t been checking out other people sitting at the bar, laughing and joking and having way more fun than you in general—the group of drunk girls out on a friday night, couples on dates, two men sat at the edge of the bar who haven't stopped glancing your way since you first walked in.

a blond and a brunet, one with a sharp, clean-shaven face, the other with a softer face and a thick, dark beard. one with close-cropped and buzzed hair, the other with long hair tied up. two ends of the spectrum, yet they both have the same aura of je ne sais quoi about them. it’s tempting, distracting. and certainly a million times better than whatever’s happening in front of you.

every time one of them looks over at you, you lower your eyes coyly, pretend to be engrossed in a conversation with your date—nodding along to whatever he’s saying and laughing when he pauses expectantly. it’s truly a testament to his intelligence that he hasn’t caught up to your little game yet.

the blond man looks at you again, intense eyes and a full pink mouth. his eyes linger, lazily staring you from head to toe in your tight black first-date dress. then out the corner of your eye, you watch him mumble something to his friend.

he’s a bit subtle, turning only slightly and checking you out from the corner of his eyes, making sure he doesn’t get caught every time you look over in their general direction.

your date clears his throat.

“so i was thinking we could get one more drink and…take this back to my place?”

well… shit

“i had a lot of fun…” you begin, trying to hide the wince in your words but your date’s face falls as realisation finally dawns. “but i don’t—”

“so you’ve wasted my time then,” he cuts you off, nostrils flaring in anger as he clutches his beer pint harder than necessary.

“excuse me?”

“bitch,” he spits under his breath yet you hear it clearly.

all you can do is roll your eyes at his petulance. the glasses clatter as he stands up abruptly, gathering the attention of a few people nearby. you’re beyond feeling any sort of embarrassment; and why should you? it’s not you making a scene.

“classy,” you mutter, taking a leisurely sip of your aperol spritz.

it’s great, no reason for you to ruin a perfectly good evening for a little bitch baby. in your peripheral vision, the two men snicker. the rational part of your brain knows they’re laughing at an inside joke; nothing to do with you. but your delusional brain can’t stop imagining the two of them listening in on your conversation, smirking at your date’s little temper tantrum. you take your own sweet time finishing your drink after he leaves. he’s already out of your mind before he’s even halfway across the pub. you can finally indulge in your other pursuits after all.

“well, that was a pathetic date."

it's after fifteen minutes when you've sought solace in the first floor balcony of the pub. a few people loiter in the nooks and corners, making out and sneaking quick puffs of cigarettes, some wait for their turn to use the loo. some linger in search of peace.

you focus your attention on the stranger.

his voice is deep, deeper than you would have imagined. there’s a gravelly and rough edge to it that makes his words skitter down your bones. even just the way he walks towards you, slow and leisurely, has you hypnotised and transfixed on him. but you won’t be swayed so easily.

“are you always this straightforward with strangers?”

he comes to a stop a few inches away from you and leans against the railing; his body mirroring yours. his spicy cologne permeates the air around you. it's a struggle to not inhale sharply and get a lungful of it. even in your heels, you’re a good few inches shorter than him.

“no,” he shrugs and the movement makes his arm brush against yours ever so slightly, “i guess you caught my eye.”

you attribute the goosebumps on your arms to the chilly night air even as a small voice in your head reminds you that it’s august.

“george,” he extends a hand. it’s big, rough-looking with callouses all over his palms. either he’s a gym rat with pretty show muscles, or… you can’t exactly place the or. but it leads to quite a few interesting theories.

“your…friend didn’t come out with you?”

the man—george—raises an eyebrow, either at the way you leave his hand hanging in mid-air or at the mention of his friend but he does a rather good job of hiding his surprise. if he even felt any, to begin with.

“why? you’re more interested in my friend?”

a small part of you almost purrs in delight at the tinge of jealousy in his tone. good, possessive men know how to make nights like these into memorable ones. his fingers curl slightly, ready to put the extended hand down. the nicotine stains on them should have put you off a long time ago. instead, you find yourself looking at those fingers; imagining things you really shouldn’t.

“you always answer questions with more questions?” you bite your bottom lip, letting just the hint of a smile ghost over your mouth. let him work to figure out your tone. your intentions.

george chuckles deeply, sucking air between his teeth, and about to say something when you hear the second set of footsteps. these are imperceptibly heavier, almost like you know who it is…

a smirk curls up your mouth as george turns around to look at—

“ross…” he says quietly.

possessive men know how to have wild nights.

possessive men are also…incredibly easy to predict.

george is behind you, pressed up against your naked ass, hard and thick. the only thing that separates you are his cotton brief. it only took you fifteen minutes to decide to take both the men home with you. and judging from the minimum resistance you got from either of them, one thing is clear—this isn’t their first rodeo.

“you feel this, darling?,” george whispers, mouth brushing over the shell of your ear while rolling your nipple softly between his fingers.

it’s a lot of stimulation. it’s the good kind of stimulation, the kind that has your toes curling and your thighs shaking. and if it weren’t for the other man kneeling between your legs, holding you up with his hand on your hips, you would have fallen to your knees a long time ago.

“mm–yes, fuck, it feels good,” you moan, head rolling back to rest against george’s chest. your fingers are tangled up in ross’ hair, long graceful fingers twisting and turning traces of his soft hair between them, guiding him as he licks and sucks your clit until you’re nothing but a wet trembling mess.

ross won’t be outdone so easily. he hums against you, sending vibrations that shoot through your entire body at lightning speed. “is he making you feel better than i am, baby?” he pouts, stopping entirely.

his beard glistens in the ambient lights of the room as he stares at you with intense, blown-out eyes. a whine escapes you, your fingers tighten in his hair—tugging at it harshly and making him groan. it’s so close to your cunt, enough for you feel it but not close enough. you writhe against george, trying to thrust your hips back into ross’ face, trying to get him to continue. but george tsks.

“not before you answer him, baby.” his fingers are back to pinching your nipples; pain and pleasure blending in together in a heady mix. “don’t we deserve to know?”

his voice is gruffer than before, barely restrained—a man so used to commanding people that it rolls off his tongue effortlessly.

ross smirks when you mumble something incoherently, ready to finish what he started but george is not satisfied. “use your words, darling.”

it sends a spark of desperate annoyance through you, clearing the fog in your brain. “ross is better,” you grit out, guiding the man back between your legs smirking at the way george tenses behind you.

for someone who seems so calm and composed he certainly has a competitive streak…

ross grazes his teeth against you, licking it after—almost like a reward for declaring him the winner. you throw a leg over his shoulder, hissing at the way his tongue has better access now, crying out when he swipes his fingers against your folds almost lazily.

you suck in a sharp breath, ready to cry out again but the scream dies in your throat. rather, it’s strangled—literally—by george wrapping his free hand around it, applying pressure to the sides.

“you want to be a brat?” he tsks again, “she wants to be a brat, ross.”

ross laughs breathlessly, letting go of you for just a second, “you’re just a sore loser.” he smirks, eyes alight with mirth. there’s a hint of danger in them, not the kind you sense in george—one that comes with a touch of sadism. ross’ brand of danger feels more arrogant. someone who knows what effect he has on people, on women. he’s not a taker. he’s a giver. and right now, he looks at you like he’d give anything to watch you fall apart with his name on your lips.

the almost lack of oxygen has your head spinning, combined with the knot pulled taut in your stomach—it’s almost impossible to stand up, to make your legs hold you up. but that’s what george is here for.

his fingers adapt a rougher pace, pinching and flicking your nipples, matching ross’s movements. your mind feels like it’s torn both ways, fighting hard to keep track of two sensations, two feelings. it’s too much.

a string of curses fall from your lips. “gonna cum,” you plead, struggling against ross, desperately trying to get more and more and so much more. “can i cum, please. please–fuck.”

“what should we do, george?” ross hums, ignoring you entirely. his nails dig into your ass, feeling up the curves and the firm muscles. you are nothing but a toy in his hands, for him to use and control. all your bossiness from before melts away as soon as george snakes a hand around your waist, stroking ross’ head and guiding it the way he wants to.

ross doesn’t resist, he only chuckles, making you cry out pleas once again.

“have you earned it, sweetheart?” george asks, whispery rough voice burrowing on the insides of your skull.

have you?

you nod, or try to at least. it’s hard when your head rests limply on his chest, throat gripped between his hands.

“please, yes. i’ll do what you want, pl–fuck, fuck.”

“whatever we want?”

“whatever yo–you want.”

“go on then,” george pinches your nipple, twisting it between his fingers, “give him a taste.”

he’s barely halfway through the sentence when you scream out incoherently, falling apart as waves after waves of pleasure hit you all at once. everything goes white for a split second, all that remains is intoxicating pleasure. you have no sense of time, of self. only that one man holds you up as the other laps at your folds greedily, licking away every last drop of what you have to offer.

“want a taste?” ross smirks. his voice sounds like it’s coming from somewhere under water. you’re unsure if you can stand up on your own just yet. vestiges of the orgasm course through you, heady and hot. “she’s fucking sweet, george, like honey.”

ross stands up, right in front of you, tall and imposing. and for the first time, you’re between both of them, feeling their sweaty skin on yours, inhaling them greedily.

“open your mouth,” he commands, fingers taking hold of your chin and roughly tilting it up. you know what’s coming as you watch the sinister half-smile on his face. and oh how delightlfully right you are.

the moment you open your mouth for him, ross spits in it; saliva mixed with your slick still coating his tongue.

“good girl,” he whispers, turning your face to george who captures your mouth in a rough kiss. his tongue flicks on the insides of your mouth, searching, tasting you and ross together. he moans, satisfied. “now about that promise…”

“be a good girl and get on all fours”

it’s a shock to you how ross takes charge when he wants to. george doesn’t contradict him, he only watches with vague amusement as you try holding yourself up on shaking arms and legs, drenched in sweat and thighs sticky with your own slick.

your entire body buzzes with adrenaline, shivers racking down your spine, still needy for more and more, still wanting to please the men who have been pleasing you for… what feels like hours now.

“now,” george says, walking up to you and stopping just in front of you, “you can take both of us, can’t you?”

you peer up at george, tall and imposing george who looks at you with such blatant lust that it makes a tiny moan slip out of you. you can, you have been dying to do just that. now you look at him through your eyelashes and through the sweaty hair sticking to your forehead, falling in your eyes.

“yes,” you nod eagerly, “please, yes.”

the men smile, all teeth and hardness and intensity—it’s intoxicating. almost hypnotising, you get on your knees, hand drifting between your legs one more time just to feel the friction again but ross is quicker.

“ah–ah!” he quickly catches your wrist, before it’s even reached past your navel. “that’s our job, darling. all you need to do is get on all fours and look pretty.”

“but she already is so pretty,” george tsks, palming himself through his briefs. his cock is a stark, thick outline that stands out, making you drool. if he already looks so big and delicious then how good would it be to feel him on your tongue and stretching out your mouth?

the moment stretches on—you on all fours, on trembling, shaky limbs, waiting there like a good little slut for either one of these men to fill you up.

george continues to play with himself, fingers dipping in and out of the waistband of his underwear, touching and teasing. until finally he pulls his boxers down. you watch, transfixed as george shamelessly pumps himself in front of you, head thrown back, throaty moans echoing in the room as he slides his fist around his cock. you stare, eager and waiting, almost leaning forward.

behind you, ross is silent. you can almost imagine him staring at the scene in front of him in awe and lust. you try to imagine it from his perspective. your dripping swollen cunt right in front of him growing wetter still the more you watch george.

“don’t tease,” you almost whine, unable to take more of this. you need to know what he tastes like. and you need it now.

“eager, are we?” george asks, walking up to you. “are you not pleasing her enough, ross?” he tuts and ross chuckles; throaty and distracted.

you get little warning before you feel ross sliding a finger up your slit, lazily collecting your wetness and then the tell-tale sound of his tongue lapping it up from his fingers. it’s filthy and disgusting, it makes you arch your back and drives you almost crazy with want.

“i could do better than your hand.” your grin matches george’s who comes to a stop in front of you.

“guess she likes me better, ross.”

ross huffs, “we’ll see.”

before you have the chance to respond, ross draws a hiss of pleasure out of you. his length drags against your cunt, almost between your ass cheeks, sliding just the tip in. no further. red, hot need spears through you. if the men are determined to tease and taunt you then it’s for you to take matters into your own hands.

before george can registers it, you cup a hand around his ass, pulling him forward until his cock practically rests on your face.

a thick vein runs along the side, pulsating, practically inviting you to trace it with your sharp fingernail. you let your tongue swirl over his slit, humming at the salty taste of his precum. george moans as the vibrations of your hum hit. ross moves his hips slowly, almost pulling out before slamming into you fully. the force of it has you choking on george, gagging around him, drooling messily.

“breathe,” he commands softly, stroking your hair. you do as he tells you, relaxing your throat more and letting his weight rest on your tongue.

the sides of your mouth burn from the stretch, black, glittery mascara tears stain your face. and yet all you care about is this, here, now. it’s fullness like you’ve never experienced before, delicious and thick, drawing out gasps and moans from you that mix with his grunts.

“such a perfect girl,” he coos, “isn’t she ross? doesn’t she feel fucking great?”

ross hums behind you, thrusting into you again at a steady pace. shameless need and lust pools in your belly, bleeds through your veins as you trace along george’s cock with your tongue. his fingers remain tangled in your hair, guiding you, commanding you to please him as he wishes.

you hollow our your cheeks, licking and sucking until his hips move in much the same pace as ross’ do.

ross’ hand snakes up your waist, between your legs again, finding your clit again to rub and pinch, to make you whine. each one of his flicks makes you moan around george, sending small hums of pleasure right up his spine. he looks blissed out, head rolling and eyes half-lidded. a surge of pride runs through you at the sight.

ross’ fingers dig into your hips, bruising the soft flesh. twinges of pain intertwine with sparks of pleasure as he pushes in, stretching you out and filling you in.

“taking me so well, sweetheart,” he praises. the term of endearment from his mouth makes your knees weak and your legs tremble but ross holds you up, slamming into you until he bottoms out again and again.

flesh slaps against flesh—rhythmic sounds punctuated by guttural grunts. the position you’re in allows ross to thrust deeper each time, hitting your g-spot repeatedly. if your mouth weren’t otherwise occupied, he would have had you mewling by now. but that doesn’t mean you don’t let out the occasional whimpers as you continue to bob your head up and down george’s dick.

the man is close, you can tell. his cock twitches and spasms in your mouth. he has lost some of his rhythm, hips bucking wildly as he chases his pleasure. you can’t help but caress the base of his cock with your hand, moving it lower to softly squeeze his balls.

“shit–shit,” he curses loudly, “do that again.”

so you oblige, letting your nails graze on the sensitive skin. within seconds, you feel his hold tightening in your hair. george fucks your mouth with wild abandon, careless thrusts—he couldn't care less about the drool dribbling down your chin, about your tear-stained face. the burn around your lips.

“gonna cum, darling, doing so well,” he grounds out. your own body mirrors the feelings as ross continues to thrust faster and faster.

the knot in your stomach tightens, blood pumps through your veins, infused with lightning until the bitter-salty taste of cum fills your mouth. george cums, groaning loudly and shooting spurts of his release down your throat that you lap up hungrily. some of it dribbles down the side of your chin but you don’t swallow just yet. instead, you open your mouth wide open for him to have a look.

“you’re killing me,” he swears, trying to get a grip on himself. only then do you swallow, whining loudly when ross pinches your clit, kneading the bundle of nerves in rough circles.

“go on,” he commands, “cum for us. wanna feel you around me before i fill you up.”

it only takes one more thrust from ross before you’re almost falling down face first from the force of the orgasm that hits you. vaguely you’re aware of ross cumming inside you, of it spilling down your thighs, mixing with your own release. vaguely you’re aware of george falling to his knees in front of you, legs still spasming as he watches you fall apart again and again.

you cry out something unintelligent—perhaps their names, perhaps something else. the world blacks out, until slow, blurred images creep back into your line of sight.

the beginning of the night, the pathetic date is long gone from your mind. right now all you can think of is ecstacy.

and then perhaps a round two.

lemme know what you think <3

taglist: @scooby-doodoo, @partoftheairforce, @beachesgetpeaches, @justgoatsbreakinghearts0855

add yourself to the taglist

#RIGHT. GOODBYE.#ross macdonald #george daniel #ross macdonald x reader #ross macdonald x you #george daniel x reader #george daniel x you #ross macdonald smut #george daniel smut #the 1975 #the 1975 smut #matty healy #adam hann #smut writing #smut fic #minors do not interact #female reader #the 1975 fic #three/some

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kkpwnall · 1 year

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just a little rain

((edit: now on ao3))

“Alright you little gremlins, pick up is 3:30 sharp. If you’re late, you’re walking home in the rain.” Steve holds his umbrella over the kids’ heads as they pile out of the beamer and under the awning at the entrance to the school.

“Wheeler! Don’t forget your lunch!” He holds the paper bag out, and Mike trudges back, grumbling a ‘thank you’ under his breath that sounds more like ‘fuck you’.

One hand on his hip, he watches until they’re all safe inside, pushing and shoving and cackling way too much for first thing on a Thursday morning.

He turns back to the beamer, looking to kill time until the store opens at ten. Across the parking lot, Steve spies Eddie still in his van, struggling with his leather jacket like he’s trying to hold it over his head and open the car door at the same time. Steve jogs over with his umbrella held high and taps on the window. Eddie jumps about a mile in the air, but relaxes when he sees Steve grinning at him.

“Can I walk you to class?” Steve teases when he opens the door.

“Ooo only if you’ll carry my books, Stevie,” Eddie snarks back. But Steve just takes the book bag from his hand and slings it over his shoulder. Eddie stares at him, a pretty pink flush brightening his cheeks.

“Can’t let the rain flatten these gorgeous curls.” He wraps one around his finger and tilts his head so he’s smiling at Eddie through his lashes, holding the umbrella over both of them.

Eddie’s frozen, just for a moment, his eyes wide. Then he frees himself from the tangle of his jacket to lean into Steve’s space with a wicked grin. “Better watch out, the girlies are gonna get jealous if they see Steve Harrington trying to make me blush.”

“Good,” Steve leans closer, his voice low and deep in his throat as he gives Eddie his most charming troublemaker smile.

Under the guise of needing to stand close to keep them both covered by the umbrella, Steve puts a hand on the small of Eddie’s back as they walk towards the school. But instead of heading directly for the shelter of the awning, he gently steers them to one of the cramped little alleyways back between buildings. Once they’re out of sight and under cover, he tilts the umbrella to hide them just a little more, and kisses Eddie against the bricks.

He’s unhurried, thorough, as if they have all the time in the world. He’s always wanted to kiss and be kissed in the rain, there’s something so quintessentially romantic about it, hidden away from all the elements of the outside world in their own little bubble. With Eddie. Eddie, who he never wants to stop kissing, who he wants to kiss in every timeless and cliched and sensual way known to man. And then invent a few of their own.

It’s a tricky bit of maneuvering, trying to keep the umbrella up and the rain off and get his hands on as much of Eddie as he can reach. But Eddie’s anything but passive. He pulls Steve in by his ‘stupid polo’, one hand sliding up to the hair at the nape of his neck, tilting his head just so. His other hand tugs at the zipper of Steve’s windbreaker, slipping inside to pull him closer by his waist. A gentle swipe of Steve’s tongue is all it takes for Eddie to whimper into his mouth, a small nothing of a sound that Steve devours.

Now that Steve’s had a taste of early morning Munson, he doesn’t want to stop. The heady mixture of a fresh spritz of old spice filling his nose, the taste of cigarettes and coffee and strawberry pop tarts on his tongue. Steve settles his free hand in the small of Eddie’s back, spread flat against the warm, soft skin under his shirt.

A group of girls rushes past the alley they’re hidden in, talking loudly and giggling. Eddie freezes as they walk past, and Steve takes the opportunity to kiss along his jaw, down his neck. The girls are gone as soon as they appeared, eager to get out of the rain, but Steve doesn’t stop his thorough exploration of every part of Eddie’s neck that makes his breath hitch where Steve’s lips touch. Eddie’s hands grip hard at his shoulders, fingers flexing like he can’t decide whether to pull him closer or push him away.

“Don’t you - ah - have better things to do than - hmm - robbing the cradle?”

Steve laughs into his neck. “You’re older than me, asshole. And the store doesn’t open for another 3 hours, I’ve got nothing but time.”

Eddie’s fingers tangle in Steve’s hair, holding his head to Eddie’s neck as Steve grazes his teeth along the strong, trembling tendon.

“Doesn’t change the fact that you’re dating a high schooler, sweetheart,” Eddie pants.

“Mmm,” Steve hums, sucking gently at Eddie’s pulse point. He pulls back just enough to look at Eddie’s flushed face, his eyes a little dazed. “You’re right, we should fix that. What do you say, my place, six o’clock? We can…” his eyes travel back down to Eddie’s swollen lips, “study.”

Eddie laughs against Steve’s lips as he swoops in for another kiss. Bright and carefree and safe under the privacy of the downpour and the umbrella. Steve deepens the kiss, pulling out all the stops to make Eddie swoon. Little nips and licks and sucks on his lips, gently laving and massaging and soothing with his tongue. Pushing Eddie against the wall with his hips. Rocking slowly against him.

The warning bell rings and Steve finally steps away, grinning. “Don’t want to be late for class, Eds.”

“God you’re the worst,” Eddie says breathlessly, but he pulls Steve toward him again by his jacket.

One of Eddie’s hands falls to his belt, pulling him closer. Steve slips his free hand into Eddie’s back pocket as Eddie bites at his lower lip. He captures Steve’s gasp in his open mouth, swiping his tongue against Steve’s with a gentle firm pressure.

It’s over all too soon when Steve nearly overbalances and stumbles from the sudden lightness on his shoulder. Eddie grins at him, shouldering his heavy book bag, and looking far too pleased with himself.

Steve pulls him in for one last kiss, still holding the umbrella to shield them from the rain and prying eyes. It’s a soft, almost chaste kiss. ‘Good morning’ and ‘I missed you’ and ‘I love you’ in the tender press of his lips. He cups Eddie’s cheek with his free hand, relishing the way Eddie relaxes against him, tilting his cheek into Steve’s palm with a sigh.

“Have a good day at class, love,” Steve says with a wink.

Eddie reaches out to straighten Steve’s windbreaker, zipping it back up and pressing both hands to his chest. He ducks his chin and looks up at Steve. His wide, innocent eyes immediately betrayed by the mischief in his sly grin. “Pick me up at six?”

*title from ‘the rain song’ by led zeppelin

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 9 months

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Comet Donati [Chapter 5: I Should Have Kissed You]

Series Summary: Sex, drugs, boy bands. You are a kinda-therapist recruited (via nepotism) to help Comet Donati through a recent crisis. Things are casual with Aegon, very not-casual with Aemond. Loosely inspired by One Direction.

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+), drugs, alcohol, smoking, mental health struggles, bodily injury, sloths, public indecency, another important conversation on a balcony, angst!

Selected Chapter Quote: “I’m sorry about what happened tonight.”

Word count: 8k (+1 meme).

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: ��@doingfondue @catalina-howard @randomdragonfires @myspotofcraziness @arcielee @fan-goddess @talesofoldandnew @marvelescvpe @tinykryptonitewerewolf @mariahossain @chainsawsangel @darkenchantress @not-a-glad-gladiator @gemini-mama @trifoliumviridi @herfantasyworldd @babyblue711 @namelesslosers @thelittleswanao3 @daenysx @moonlightfoxx @libroparaiso @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @mizfortuna @florent1s @heimtathurs @bhanclegane @poohxlove @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @heavenly1927 @mariahossain @echos-muses @padfooteyes @minttea07 @queenofshinigamis @juliavilu1 @amiraisgoingthruit @lauraneedstochill @wintrr13 @r0segard3n

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜

There’s turbulence over the Indian Ocean as the jet staggers towards Singapore, pitching and reeling, dark clouds churning beyond the windows like the malevolent brew of a caldron. Each time the plane plummets fifty or a hundred feet, you clutch reflexively at your armrests and try not to think of Cast Away. No one else seems bothered by it; that’s what years spent on international flights will do to people, you suppose. It dulls their instincts, tames them, sands down vestiges of primeval survivalism like a file taken to canine teeth. Cregan is ostensibly napping beneath his sunglasses, Daeron is propelling Mario through a maze of toxic fumes, Luke is watching The Crown on his laptop with Rhaena and Baela, Jace is applying shimmering, gelatinous, golden under-eye masks with great care, Criston is answering emails, Aegon is being forced by the label to click through online substance abuse education modules and sighs dramatically and often. And Aemond…

The jet loses a dozen meters of altitude and your stomach drops. You stifle a yelp with one hand as tears—unwanted and unforeseen—prickle into your eyes. You peek across the aisle to see Aemond watching you with his gaze of two blues: one like a clear cool river, the other an otherworldly maelstrom like the atmosphere on Neptune, beautiful yet barren. His expression is intense and searching, his brow low. You try to ignore him. You try to collect yourself.

“Honeybunch?” Shelby croons. Yes, she calls him honeybunch, freaking honeybunch, and occasionally Honey Bunches of Oats. It’s almost as nauseating as the turbulence. He turns to her after the briefest of hesitations. Shelby is crouched by a table, her project for the past hour: artfully arranged red roses, glass bowls of fruit that she spritzes with a spray bottle of water—like you’d use to discipline a cat—to keep it glistening, and bubbling flutes of pink champagne. When the careening of the jet sends anything sliding precariously towards the edge of the table, she casually pushes it back into place. Shelby is no stranger to flying either. She is an angel, born with wings.

“Yeah?” Aemond says distractedly.

“Can you come over here for a sec?”

The jet shutters; ripples quake through your ginger ale. You swallow down a pathetic mewing like a wounded animal’s, swiping a tear from your cheek. You nestle against the window so no one will notice. “Sure,” Aemond tells Shelby, casting you another glance as he stands. He goes to her—gripping the backs of chairs to keep his balance—and, after looking back at you one last time, swipes one gleaming strawberry from a bowl.

“Don’t!” Shelby whines, knowing that now she’ll have to rearrange things.

If Aemond heard her, he gives no indication. He chucks the strawberry as hard as he can at Aegon; it hits the side of his head with a wet thump. Tiny black seeds pop free. Juice like blood stains his blond hair.

Aegon rips out his earbuds and spins around in his seat. “Okay, what the fuck?”

“Whoops,” Aemond says dully.

“How does someone do that by accident?! How does that even happen?!” Rubbing his head with one hand, Aegon stretches and peers around the jet. His eyes—not a blue like clear water, but a deep murky cobalt, a difference you cannot help but notice again and again like the stinging of a papercut—catch on you. “Aww, Stargirl, what’s up?” He drags himself over, knocked to his knees once by the swerving of the jet, and plops down into the chair beside you. “You okay? Don’t worry. I’m a good swimmer. I’d drag you to shore.”

You laugh, pressing a napkin to your eyes. It comes away shriveled and damp. “I’m sorry. We get tornadoes back home sometimes, I can’t stop picturing wreckage.”

“You should have seen this flight we took last year over the Pacific. The jet was practically sideways. Jace threw up like ten times.”

“Three times,” Jace says, peeling off his under-eye masks like little gold jellyfish with his feet kicked up on an ottoman.

“Ten times?” Aegon replies innocently. “Ten, you said?”

“Three, you idiot.”

“Ten?”

“Three.”

“Ten!” Aegon confirms merrily.

Jace holds up an under-eye mask and jiggles it in the air, soft and wiggling and shapeless. “Hey guys! This is what Aegon looks like naked.”

“I don’t want him getting any of the money from my donut merch!” Aegon shouts. “Criston? You hear that? Criston? Hey Criston? Criston?!”

“Do your modules,” Criston replies without looking away from his emails.

“Fine,” Aegon huffs. The jet is gliding over the ocean more smoothly now. Still, he says to you after smacking a single sloppy kiss against your temple: “Follow me. You can help.”

You accompany Aegon back to his seat and laptop, a neon green MacBook Air. Shelby is snapping photos to post on Instagram, recording clips for TikTok: the meticulously arranged table, her long fingernails decorated with palm trees and Merlions and the flag of Singapore, selfies of her and Aemond…always taken to show his good side, of course. Your guts twist with hostility, mistrust, envy, wrath.

As you pass Jace, he holds out his discarded under-eye masks. “Wanna touch?” Jace invites you, leering. You peel one gluey under-eye mask from his open palm and examine it. As you massage the pool of viscous gold, Jace ogles, dangerously close to drooling.

“So soft,” you admire. “So smooth. Not a single wrinkle.” Then you fling it back at Jace. The adhesive side sticks to his forehead. “Just like your brain.”

Everyone howls, even Cregan—not asleep after all—and Criston; he tries to choke it down until his face floods red. Aemond is staring at the floor, but he is beaming. Shelby recaptures his attention and begins posing his hand around a glass of champagne, readjusting fingers like a physical therapist stretching and flexing half-healed limbs. She gets to touch him. She gets to speak to him.

“You’re always so mean,” Jace tells you as he pries the under-eye mask off his skin, unfazed, simpering, flirtatious. “You might have to make it up to me one day.”

“Unlikely.”

“We’ll see.”

“We certainly won’t.”

Aegon shows you the quiz that has popped up in his modules. “Okay, Stargirl. Time to prove yourself. Does coke make someone’s pupils bigger or smaller?”

All you can hear is Shelby’s high, sing-songy voice; all you can picture are her exquisite fingernails skimming their way down the ridge of Aemond’s spine. “I honestly can’t recall at the moment. Go snort some and we’ll find out.”

Aegon grins. “Don’t tempt me.”

Fifty minutes later and under blessedly clear skies, the jet touches down at Changi Airport: 88 degrees Fahrenheit, 80% humidity. Aegon groans as he trots down the airstair, slides on his aviator sunglasses, and wipes away sweat—already beading on his pink forehead and wetting the hair at the nape of his neck—with the back of one hand.

“Jesus Christ, I need a Double Chocolaty Chip Frappuccino.”

“Do you really?” Jace jabs, and you don’t have to scold him this time. Baela gets there first, hissing something to him that is brief and fearsome. You’re only half paying attention. Once Comet Donati makes it through security, there may be paparazzi waiting for them inside the airport. Everyone knows this; it’s the same in every city and on every continent. And as Shelby strolls across the tarmac with one arm looped through Aemond’s, you cannot help but see—you cannot help but absorb like nicotine through the capillary beds of a lung—that she reaches out with those beautiful yet claw-like fingernails and taps the front pocket of his button-up shirt, black with white lilies, until he pulls out a pair of sunglasses and shields himself from the pitying eyes of the world with them.

And you think with puncturing clarity like a shard of glass through flesh: I hate her, I hate her, I hate her.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Pan Pacific Orchard Hotel is brand new. You can’t breathe without inhaling fresh paint, glass walls, the bakery, the greenery that climbs steel like a trellis, the roomy emptiness of starting over. You wake up tangled in a nest of white sheets that your body has heated into an inferno. You don’t remember your dream, only that Aemond was there. It was the opening of the door that woke you. Aegon stands in the slanting early-afternoon sunlight, vivid red swim trunks and matching Crocs, his sunglasses knotted in his hair.

You yawn and peer blearily at him. “Aegon? What are you doing?”

“Every day I wake up hoping you’re still here,” he says. And then: “We’re all headed down to the pool. You wanna join?”

You smile; you can smell him in the air, Axe body spray, Tiger Beer, sunscreen that he never seems to apply often enough to stop his skin from burning. You haven’t been with him—not in that way—since that day in Paris. But time never feels quite linear with Aegon. He swings wide and then comes in close again, and when he does it’s like he never left. He’s with you always, and never, and sometimes, and forever. “Yeah. Give me ten minutes.”

“Cool.” He turns and studies himself in the full-length mirror that hangs on your bedroom wall. His eyes wander down to his bare chest and belly. He frowns, pensive, far-away, critical. It is an expression that looks entirely unnatural on him.

“Hey.”

He spins back around, running a hand self-consciously down the front of his torso. “Hm?”

“I think you’re perfect exactly the way you are. I am wildly, helplessly, pathetically attracted to you. I would fight off twenty fangirls with my bare hands for you. I think you’re one of the most ludicrously gorgeous men I’ve ever met in my life. ”

He grins, radiant again. “One of them, huh?” And he winks at you as he clops towards the door in his Crocs. “Maybe it runs in the family.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“So. College applications season will be here in a few months.”

Baela looks at you, started. You’re in a whirlpool with her, Rhaena, Luke, and Aegon, sipping pina coladas and kicking feet idly beneath water misty with bubbles. “Okay?” Baela says. Her swimsuit is an elegant white one-piece that—unintentionally you think, unconsciously, and yet truthfully—closely resembles a ballet leotard.

“Elaborate?” Luke says, then slurps noisily on his pina colada.

Aegon already knows where you’re going. He chuckles into one closed fist; you can see yourself reflected in his sunglasses. In the massive main pool punctuated by an arcing bridge and a miniature island, Cregan is lounging on a float shaped like a pineapple and eating his way through a heaping plate of juicy slivers: papaya, mango, starfruit, banana, lychee, rose apple, dragon fruit. Criston is sitting under an umbrella and reading a New Yorker profile of shipping tycoon Viserys Targaryen—a Greek by birth and a Brit by choice—with narrowed, vexed eyes. Jace and Daeron are attempting to do a TikTok dance for Shelby to post on her account and repeatedly screwing up, laughing hysterically and pushing each other into the pool. She always wears eye-catching patterns, leopard prints and retro geometric shapes and plaids and Swarovski crystals and tassels. Currently, she is dressed in a scarlet bikini and a sheer coverup of tropical flowers. Her blond hair flows down her back and swings like a horse’s tail when she leans in to direct her cast, pointing and waving. You see her like this, not in whole but in pieces: long beachy waves, nimble ankles and wrists, lip gloss, veneers, sugary perfume, tall like Aemond. Shelby has no idea why you’re here. She made a few tentative inquiries—So who introduced you to the band? So how did you and Aegon meet?—before being discouraged by the ensuing stilted silence. Aemond rarely acknowledges you. Presently, he is wading in the pool up to his chest, occasionally talking to Cregan but otherwise content to be left to his own…reverie? Observations? Machinating? Brooding? With his sunglasses on, it’s difficult to tell.

Back in the whirlpool, you ask Baela: “What if you applied to a few ballet programs?”

“What?”

“Just to see what happens. Just to have options.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t do that.” She says this so quickly it’s clear that it’s a reflex: something she does not think about, something she’s trained herself not to.

“Sure you could. You click a few buttons and it’s done.”

“I’d have to send in video clips and stuff.”

“Okay. Rhaena and I will help record you.”

“Absolutely,” Rhaena agrees right away. She drinks her pina colada with large, skittish eyes, watching you like you’re poking a tiger, a viper, and dragon. She’s tried to have this conversation before. She knows how it usually goes.

“I’m really not in shape right now,” Baela protests.

“You still have time to work on that. It’s only July.”

“And who says I want to work on it?” Baela snaps. “Have I ever mentioned ballet school? Have I ever said that I want to go?”

“But you do,” you say simply.

She frowns as she casts her gaze across the pool. Beefy men dressed in black—security guards, some employed by the band, some by Shelby—mill around aimlessly like ants when you lift a rock.

“I think you should apply,” you tell Baela.

“I can’t,” she replies, pained.

“Why not?”

“Because.” She’s flustered, cross. Rhaena and Luke look between the two of you anxiously. Aegon just smiles and gnaws on the hunk of pineapple that came perched on the rim of his pina colada. “Am I supposed to send Rhaena off into the world without me? Nothing against you, Luke, I like you, I trust you, but when you’re on stage or in an interview you can’t watch out for her. What if something happens to Rhaena? Or what if I go back to school and I’m a failure? What if I humiliate myself? What if I’ve lost whatever talent I once had? What if I couldn’t keep up with my classmates? What if I get injured and have to drop out? What if I’m too old, or too out of practice, or what if I don’t even enjoy dancing anymore? What would I do about the band? What would I do about Jace?”

“Those are all valid concerns,” you say. “But they’re also concerns for after you’ve applied to schools. If you get acceptances, that doesn’t mean you have to go. But it does give you options. And options are always good.”

Baela shrugs. She catches handfuls of bubbles in one cupped palm, preoccupied. “It just seems like a waste of time.”

Aegon snickers as he tosses the pineapple rind over his shoulder. One of the security guys snatches it up off the concrete and throws it in a trashcan. “Baela, please babygirl, don’t give up on your dreams for freaking Jace.”

“And who the fuck solicited your life advice, blond Nikki Sixx? If I want to know what Narcan feels like, I’ll ask you.”

Aegon sighs, rubbing one eyebrow. “You are never going to let that go.”

“I bet you’d get in,” Luke tells Baela. “To at least one school. You’re too good not to, even with the time off. Rhaena’s shown me old recital clips. You were fantastic.”

“Were,” Baela mutters. “Past tense. Very distant past tense.”

“If you don’t get in, then you know it’s off the table,” you say. “And you’re in the exact same spot you are now. But if you do get in, you have time to figure out what to do with that information. You have nothing to lose except application fees, and I don’t think those are much of a barrier for you, oh great connoisseur of Gucci and Hermès.”

“I’ll think about it,” Baela replies, and her intent to end the conversation is clear. A few awkward moments creep by like afternoon shadows stretching across pavement. “So, what are we doing for dinner?”

“Something quick, right?” Luke says. “Takeout? We have a meet-and-greet in two hours.”

“Jollibee!” Rhaena exclaims, clapping her hands. “They have coconut pineapple pie!”

“Chicken Up,” Aegon says.

Luke laughs. “What the hell is a Chicken Up?”

“A chicken restaurant.”

“Groundbreaking” Baela quips.

“I’ve been to one in Seoul. Great wings.”

“But…but…Jollibee!” Rhaena pleads. “I need a coconut pineapple pie!”

“You’re literally drinking a coconut pineapple smoothie right now. When am I supposed to get my wings?!”

“Out of loyalty, I will have to vote for Jollibee,” Luke informs Aegon apologetically.

“I saw a Five Guys when we were driving here from the airport,” Baela suggests.

“Oh, I love Five Guys!” you say…and then you realize how it sounds. All of you giggle so loudly that Aemond looks over at the whirlpool, a little intrigued, a little miserable. He sinks down into the transparent blue water, Godzilla retreating from his wreckage.

Baela teases you: “Like, all at the same time, or…?”

“No, definitely one after the other. I don’t want an audience.”

Aegon chuckles, low and devious. He sets his empty pina colada glass on the rim of the whirlpool. Then, unprompted, he takes off his aviator sunglasses and puts them on you instead. Strange.

Rhaena is saying: “Okay, but seriously, I cannot overstate the merits of Jollibee…”

Beneath the water, obscured by riotous bubbles, Aegon settles a hand on your thigh. You glance over at him. He glances back, so subtly that the others don’t notice; they are deeply entrenched in their dinner debate. Now Baela is pitching MOS Burger.

Aegon arches an eyebrow. Okay? he’s asking. In reply—and after a moment’s hesitation—you open your thighs a little wider for him. His lips curl into a furtive smile. His palm skates excruciatingly slowly over your skin, taunting, electrifying, fingerprints dragging lightly. He’s still carrying on a conversation with the others, gesturing with his free hand. You sip your pina colada and try to act just as casual.

“Look,” Aegon is saying. “I’m not gonna eat someplace where they serve spaghetti with hotdogs in the meat sauce. It’s unnatural.”

His fingers slip beneath your swimsuit bottoms. You gasp before you can stop yourself.

“You okay?” Baela asks with concern.

You nod, blood rushing in your cheeks, blood rushing everywhere. “Oh, yeah, sorry. I saw a bug.”

Luke says: “Man, the insects here are insane, some giant buzzing black-and-gold thing flew into my face earlier today and I almost cried.”

“A cicada,” you murmur. You grip the rim of the whirlpool and try to keep still, fixing your gaze on the palm trees that surround the pool, waving lazily in a hot humid breeze. “We have them in Missouri too. But ours are green.”

Rhaena is saying: “Apparently Singapore is famous for some super-rare beetle that’s been around for like 50 million years…”

Aegon’s expert fingers are circling, applying pressure, experimenting with different rhythms. He knows he’s found the right one when you suck in a breath and almost drop your pina colada; his smile is filling up his face, he’s fighting a grin. That feeling—a heat, a glowing, an unfurling like an opened letter—builds until it hits a blissful yet constraining plateau. It’s a ceiling, it’s a landing with no more steps. You stare at the swaying palm trees and try to relax, grateful for Aegon’s aviator sunglasses to hide behind. He’s half-watching you as he chats nonchalantly, wondering what more you need from him.

The conversation that whirls around you has revolved back to dinner: Shake Shack, Yoshinoya, Nene Chicken, Marrybrown, Wingstop.

“We should go somewhere that has vegan options,” you say shakily.

“What? Why?” Rhaena asks; she has forgotten, but you never do.

“For Aemond.”

You steal a glimpse of Aemond over in the main pool and see him taking a piece of starfruit off Cregan’s plate. Aemond bites into it—those pristine, glistening, golden angles—and wipes juice from his lips with the back of one hand. Then he looks over at you: two people pretending they don’t see the other, two pairs of sunglasses meant to render certain things invisible. And immediately, without planning to, you are thinking about Aemond touching you. You are thinking about his lips and his fingers, his shoulders, his throat, his eye devouring parts of you he’s never seen. You are thinking about where you would both be now if Reykjavik had never happened. And as Aegon’s hand works beneath the veil of bubbles, you are close, so close, agonizingly close. You are incapable of following the conversation. It takes everything in you not to moan and reach down into the roiling water to press him even more forcefully against you. His fingers glide through folds that are slick and achingly ravenous. Your pina colada is melting.

Someone makes a restaurant suggestion; you can’t register it. Aegon holds up the index finger on his free hand. “One moment. Allow me to consult my associate.” He leans into you, his hair brushing against your face, smelling like beer and sunscreen and pina coladas and Axe body spray. And he whispers as he pushes two fingers inside you and strokes you insistently with them: “Come for me, pretty girl. Right now.”

And while these words are in Aegon’s voice, for a split second you image them as Aemond’s; and then your climax shudders through you, silent by necessity but mind-numbing, a reset button, a deleted message, an echo chamber of nothing, nothing, nothing. For a moment, there’s no past and no future, no Kansas City, no Rome, no Reykjavik, no Singapore, no shame and no guilt and no desire for anything. And then slowly, like drops of rain, the world begins to fill back in again.

Aegon turns your face towards him so your lips are to his ear. You have to say something. “You’re unbelievable,” you exhale, so softly no one else will hear. “You can’t be real.”

He tells the others: “She says she votes for Chicken Up.”

When Aegon leaves the whirlpool, you follow after him a few minutes later, just long enough of a gap not to arouse any suspicions. You find him alone in the band’s private cabana and talking to someone on his iPhone. You kneel down beside his lounge chair and bend over his neon red swim trunks, palming him through the fabric—almost immediately, he is hard—and untangling the knot of the drawstring.

“Okay. Sounds good. I gotta go. Emma? Hey, Emma? I gotta go now. Yeah. See you soon. Uh huh. Bye.” Aegon hangs up and sets his phone down. Then he hooks a finger beneath your chin and lifts it. “What are you doing?” he asks, amused yet kind.

“Taking care of you.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

Your hands go still; your face is lined with wounded bewilderment. “You don’t want me to?”

“Well obviously I want you to,” Aegon says. “But only if you’re really into it. Not just because you see it as a debt to be paid. This isn’t about reimbursement. This isn’t an ATM transaction. And, you know…” He shrugs, rueful. “I can tell you’re kinda going through it. And you’re the one who needs to be taken care of right now. That’s cool. That’s not a problem.”

You sit back on your ankles, feeling guilty but undeniably relieved. “It seems unfair to you.”

“Stargirl, I don’t mean this in a braggy way, but at all times I have a line out the door of women begging to take care of me. I think I’ll survive.”

“Okay.” You smile up at him. “Okay, Aegon. I get it. Thank you.”

His sunburned brow crinkles. He is confused. “For what?”

~~~~~~~~~~

Comet Donati is scheduled to play three nights at the National Stadium. On the afternoon of the second show, Luke and Rhaena go to Fort Canning Park to explore the archaeological excavation site, Jace and Baela depart to procure his tattoo to commemorate Singapore (a Merlion on his left pec), and you, Aegon, Cregan, Criston, Daeron, Aemond, and Shelby receive a private tour of the Mandai Wildlife Reserve to promote the conservation of endangered Southeast Asian species. There are conversations with the staff and generous gift baskets and photo ops—which each time you quietly step out of the frame for, while Shelby steps in—but what snags in your mind, what you will remember forever about this day is Aemond. Because when he holds the animals, he lights up like you haven’t seen since those YouTube videos of Comet performances before the accident in Tokyo; he becomes at peace, he becomes whole again. He lets a blue tarantula creep across his palm and forearm, he feeds pumpkin slices to Asian elephants rescued from circuses, he walks around with Bunny the sloth draped over his chest like a napping toddler. And he smiles wistfully the whole ride back to the hotel…even when Aegon makes Criston stop the Escalade at Starbucks so he can get a venti-sized Double Chocolaty Chip Frappuccino.

Shelby likes to be in the front row with you, Baela, and Rhaena, but she spends less time dancing and cheering than she does taking selfies and recording video clips. During your now least-favorite song, A Girl Named After A Car, you spend a few minutes covertly scrolling through Shelby’s latest Instagram posts. She’s been sharing Stories relentlessly, but her last photo is from the private jet: her beaming smile, Aemond’s more reticent one (and only his good side, his smooth cheek and clear river-blue eye), a meticulously-arranged bouquet of flowers clutched to her chest like a gift. The comments are a waterfall of praise worthy of a saint. I was praying you two would get back together! You have such a kind and selfless heart, Shelby! You are so good for him! You are so brave! Thank you for showing the world that beauty is only skin-deep! Like she’s goddamn Mother Teresa. Like she deserves an Olympic medal for finding the strength to love him.

And you think once again, not for the first time and not the last: I hate her, I hate her, I hate her.

After the concert is a ritual, like drawing a pentagram or burning sage. People converge in Jace’s suite to mingle and drink and smoke and find someone to fuck if that vacancy isn’t already filled. You loiter by the bar even after you are handed your Bramble, a drink that should be poisoned by the fact that Aemond introduced it to you; but you can’t stop craving it. Criston is pacing and trying to make a call out on the balcony; from the look of his expression, the person isn’t answering. Cregan is in a velvet lounge chair with three models on his lap; they are taking turns feeding him the dripping cherries that bob in their cocktails. The rest of the band is sitting nearby and discussing their plans for next year once the tour has ended. You overhear Rhaena saying that she wants to visit the Mammoth Site in South Dakota. Luke wants to finish writing a new album. Aemond is conspicuously quiet.

Security guys float through the room between currents of musicians, label executives, friends, acquaintances, assistants. Shelby has her own detail that follows her everywhere; approximately every eight hours they switch out and new faces show up. Sometimes you recognize them from a prior shift, sometimes not. They look through you like you don’t exist at all.

A seat is waiting for you between Aegon and Baela, but you are in no hurry to sit opposite of Shelby and be forced to bask in the radiance of her flowing zebra-print dress, red-lipped, California-sun perfection. As you procrastinate with your Bramble, you listen to Daeron ask her about the Met Gala next May.

“Yeah, I finally made it onto the planning committee!” she gushes.

“Yay!” Baela trills, palpably sarcastic.

“Make it donut themed,” Aegon slurs. He has had a lot of Tiger Beers.

“I was thinking a masquerade ball, actually,” Shelby says, then looks at Aemond and settles a hand on his thigh. “We can go together, honeybunch! The timing never worked out before, but I’ve always wanted to attend with you.”

Luke asks: “And what’s the inspiration for the masquerade ball…?”

“Well, you know.” Shelby gestures vaguely. “Aemond won’t have to feel bad.”

Because everyone will be wearing masks. There is a long lull as people piece together what she means. Jaws drop open. Eyes grow large and then blink at her, incredulous, appalled.

Finally, Jace chuckles awkwardly. “Oh fuck, did you really just say that?” He looks around at everyone else. “Did she really just say that?! I mean, I wouldn’t even have said that!”

“It’s fine,” Aemond says, getting up off the couch.

Shelby reaches for him. “Honeybunch, wait, you know I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine,” he repeats roughly. He takes his Bramble with him as he escapes to the balcony. Criston returns inside just as Aemond goes out.

“What’s his problem?” Criston inquires. Nobody answers.

Shelby sighs and—as furious blood swirls hot in your veins—approaches the bar. “Can I get a gin and tonic?” She takes out her phone, scrolls for a while, sighs again. You are glaring murderously at her. Shelby doesn’t even notice. The bartender slides her a tall glass full of clear carbonated liquid, ice, cucumber slices. She takes a picture of it before she plucks out the straw, lays it on the counter, and swallows a single, ladylike sip straight from the glass. She says to the bartender: “Drinking out of straws gives you wrinkles, you know.”

You say to her suddenly: “What is wrong with you?”

Shelby turns to you, startled. “Excuse me?”

You take a step closer, your pinkish Bramble still clasped in your hand. “I’ll ask again: what the fuck is wrong with you?”

She’s backing away, jumpy, clicking in her black heels. “What are you talking about?!”

“How dare you say something like that about him. In front of him.”

“Oh, so now I’m a bitch?” Shelby snaps. “Because I want him to have a good time at the Met Gala? Because I don’t want him to be humiliated?”

“No, because you think there’s anything humiliating about him at all, that’s what makes you a bitch—”

She shoves you backwards, only a few steps. You throw your Bramble in her face. She screams like you’ve stabbed her; it’s a scream that says I don’t know what it’s like to be hurt. And instantaneously, one of her security guards has his monstrous hand around your wrist.

You hear the pop before you feel it: bubbles bursting, tethers snapping. Then the pain explodes into your consciousness like a flashbang grenade. You’re shrieking, and suddenly there are voices all around you and people tugging in every direction. The security guy still has a grip on your wrist; each time he moves, he yanks you along with him, igniting fresh flairs of agony, impossibly red Morse code.

“No no no no no!” Aegon is shouting, pawing at the security guy. “She’s with us, she’s with us—!”

“Let her go!” Criston booms. Rhaena is crying. Baela is punching the security guy in the kidneys. Comet’s security guards clash with Shelby’s security guards, a miniature civil war. Within seconds the misunderstanding is resolved and you are freed. You are engulfed by Aegon and Criston, who try to examine your wrist; you are holding it gingerly to your chest, not even aware that you are sobbing. Baela is berating the rogue security guard. Rhaena, Luke, Jace, Daeron, Cregan, and Cregan’s soon-to-be one night stands are gaping at the scene. Shelby is being comforted by several fellow influencers; they coo sympathetically and give her napkins to mop the Bramble from her face.

Aegon, drunk but not far-gone, coaxes your wounded arm from your chest. “Shh, shh, you’re okay, let me see it…”

“Broken,” Criston pronounces. “Or dislocated. Time to go.”

“I can’t go home,” you say, petrified. Your thoughts are muddled by shock and pain.

Criston shakes his head. “No, not home. To the hospital.”

“I can take her,” Aegon volunteers, lurching as he grabs a barstool to keep his balance.

“No!” you, Baela, Rhaena, Luke, Jace, Daeron, and Cregan burst out simultaneously.

“I’ll take her,” Criston says. “But you can come along, if you behave yourself and don’t try to steal morphine or anything. Bartender, I need ice…”

There is a commotion as Aemond bolts in from the balcony, moments too late. He looks at your swelling wrist, Shelby dripping with a Bramble, Baela taking a cloth full of ice cubes from the bartender and passing it to Criston. “What happened?!”

Aegon seethes as he pushes him aside: “Ask your fucking girlfriend.”

And Aemond watches, thunderstruck and horrified, as Criston escorts you out of the suite with Aegon and Baela following like shadows. When you glance back at him, he is growing smaller and smaller, like an object fading away in the reflection of a rearview mirror.

Under bright white lights, a gentle and mild-mannered Singaporean doctor maneuvers your bones back into place. It feels like you’re dying; Aegon tries to distract you with stories of shenanigans from tours long past, Baela finally begins to talk about ballet schools, which programs she likes and which she doesn’t and what exactly she’ll have to show in her audition tapes. The doctor informs you that you have a mild dislocation, no surgery needed, no cast, only a splint. He tells you to rest it and try to keep it elevated. He gives you pain medication that doesn’t do enough.

“That is an interesting saying,” the doctor says when he glimpses your tattoo, black ink between the straps of your pale pink dress, like the color of a healthy lung or brain: I’ll come back for you if it kills me, Comets clip by again after eons and so can I. You try not to think about these words. You don’t know what to make of them anymore. “Is it from a poem? Or a movie?”

“From a song,” you reply, studying the tiles of the floor. “One I used to love.”

Criston goes to pay the bill. Baela goes to get you a soda from the vending machine. “I’m sorry,” Aegon says miserably when the two of you are alone in the hospital room. Beer and remorse sweats out of his pores. “I’m sorry I fucked everything up in Reykjavik.”

“I know, Aegon. I’m not mad at you.”

“I shouldn’t have said it. I had way too much Icelandic beer, that was my bad. But it was supposed to be a compliment.”

“It was kinda sweet. In an unhinged, debaucherous sort of way. An Aegon way.”

And he burrows his head against your chest, and you comb your fingers through his messy blond hair with your uninjured hand, and you wish you understood why the coincidences of the world had brought you together if it was only a blip, an error, a momentary crossing of orbits before you returned to your designated places on opposite ends of the universe.

In the elevator, as the four of you zoom up to the top floor where the band’s suites are, you check your phone to discover that in addition to well-wishes from Luke, Rhaena, Daeron, and Cregan, Jace has sent you a WhatsApp message: A meme to make you feel better…

“Ugh,” you groan, and toss your phone back into your purse. You try to ignore the fact that there is nothing from Aemond, not a single word, not a missed call, nothing.

“You good?” Aegon asks.

“Yeah. The drugs the hospital gave me aren’t quite cutting it.” That’s very true, although that’s not the whole problem.

“You want some Vicodin?”

“No thank you, Aegon.”

“Oxy? Percocet? Klonopin? Codeine? Demerol? Coke? Speedball? Valium? Weed gummies?”

You blink at him as Criston and Baela stare at the elevator walls, trying not to listen in. “I think I’ll just go to sleep now.”

“Okay, Stargirl. Sure. Whatever you want.” He grabs your face, lands a kiss on your forehead, staggers off to his suite when the elevator doors ding and open. You walk in the opposite direction to yours after thanking Criston and Baela. As you pass Aemond’s suite, you can hear people arguing inside, heavy footsteps and sharp words.

“You need to get better control over your people,” Aemond is saying.

“Who even is she?! I know she’s not Aegon’s girlfriend. Aegon doesn’t have girlfriends.”

There is a gap of silence, and you wonder what Aemond will tell Shelby. She’s a fan, she’s an employee, she’s a groupie, she’s a slut. At last he says, drained: “She’s a therapist.”

“Oh, for you?”

And you can hear Aemond sigh through the door, perpetually a broken thing now, forever someone in need of being stitched back together; they got the flesh back in December, but the soul is still unmended.

You go to your suite, wash the night off of you, and pull on your Cookie Monster pajama pants and an oversized One Direction t-shirt. You can’t sleep yet; the pain in your wrist is too bad, the chaos in your mind is too loud. You take another pill from the bottle the doctor gave you and go out onto your balcony and sit in the sounds of Singapore past midnight: sparce traffic, buzzing cicadas, the ocean, the wind rocking the palm trees. When you hear the sliding glass door open, you aren’t sure who to expect: Aegon, Baela, Criston, Cregan, Jace. It is none of these people. It is Aemond. He stands there rigidly, like he hadn’t planned to get this far. He is in black—as usual—but he wears no sunglasses.

“Criston really needs to start keeping a closer eye on those extra room keys,” you say.

“I’m sorry about what happened tonight.”

“You don’t need to pretend to be worried about me. It’s fine, just leave.”

“I feel responsible.”

“I’m not someone you consider worthy of concern,” you say. “You want me to be honest with you? You want to keep a running list of my sins in your little black-paged notebook? Alright, sure. I’ve been hooking up with Aegon. Only after Reykjavik, and not…like…all the time or exclusively or anything. But occasionally. And I know exactly what you think of me and how I’ve chosen to live my life. So don’t come out here acting like you care when you clearly don’t.”

“I know what you told Shelby. I don’t…” He stares at you, a little mystified, a little grateful. “I don’t understand why you keep defending me after what I said.”

Because I believe you deserve better. And I care about you. And I can’t stop. And honestly it fucking sucks and so if you could just leave, that would be great. “That’s just what I do.”

You expect Aemond to go. Instead, he sits down in the other chair, lights one of his Benson & Hedges cigarettes, takes a drag and exhales smoke in a long, slow breath like a hushed confession. “I once asked what made you want to be a therapist.”

“And I didn’t tell you.”

“No.”

Your eyes list to him like a ship in a storm, groggy, clawing for purchase. “Do you still want to know?”

“I do.”

The night sounds like wind in clattering wet leaves, car horns and rolling tires, ocean waves, indistinct echoes of laughter like a memory. Aemond waits for you, patient, eternal, or at least so long-lived it’s practically the same thing. You wonder what he sees when he looks at you like this. You wonder why you can’t outrun what you feel for him, a curse or a spell or both tangled up together like veins beneath skin. “I had a boyfriend when I was in high school,” you say. “And I took pictures for him. Because he asked me to, yes, but also because I wanted to, because it made me feel desirable, and powerful, and like I was choosing to share something special with him. No one talked me into it, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. And when we broke up, he sent those pictures to his friends. And they sent them to their friends, and they sent them to their friends, and I’m sure you can do the math from there.”

Aemond doesn’t look disgusted or horrified or pitying. He looks furious, and not at you. “That’s illegal, right?”

“In some places, sure. In Missouri? Ten years ago?” You smirk cynically, shaking your head. “The only person anyone was condemning was me. And it wasn’t just the students. They said things, obviously. They wrote notes and they whispered. But it was the teachers too, and the parents, and the administrators. It was everyone. Staring at me. Talking about me like they understood who I was.” You meet Aemond’s eye. “And you called me a slut.”

He voice is hoarse. “I didn’t know.”

“But you still said it.”

“What I said…” he sighs shakily, rubbing his face with one hand. He crushes the end of his cigarette beneath his Adidas sneakers and then lights another. “What I said wasn’t a reflection on you or what you did with Aegon. That’s not what it was about. It was about me, it was about how I interpreted things, and…I mean, you get that, right? You know that. You’re a professional. I took what Aegon told everyone and I bounced it off a few mirrors and ran it through my filter of how I’ve been taught to believe the world operates, and that’s why I said what I did in Reykjavik. It wasn’t about you. It wasn’t true. And I could never express to you how sorry I am.”

Tell me the whole story, you think, you plead, watching him like parched earth looks for rain. That you were afraid my feelings for you weren’t real. That you wanted me then and you still want me now. That you’ve never wanted anything the way you want me. But that’s not what Aemond says.

“What happened next?” he asks gently.

“What do you think? I had to be homeschooled. I lost every friend I’d ever had. I was terrified to leave the farm and go anywhere…to Walmart, to McDonald’s, to 7-Eleven, anywhere. And my parents…they’re Southern Baptists, okay? They tried to be supportive. They really did. They didn’t shame me, and that alone was a huge leap for them, and I’m very grateful. But they had no idea how to talk to me about what had happened. What they did do was find someone else for me to talk to. She was a therapist, and she saved my life. And when I got into UChicago, I decided that the only thing I wanted to do was help people in the same way.”

“Why didn’t you stay in Chicago?” Aemond says, bewildered. “I mean, why would you go back to Kansas City after the way people treated you there? So fucking closed-minded and hypocritical and…and…and evil? You were a kid. You were a goddamn kid and they tried to destroy you. Why would you go back there? You could have gone anywhere else. You still can.”

“I considered it,” you admit. “But my family has lived in Missouri for almost 200 years. It was once a place of opportunity, somewhere for people who had nothing to carve out a piece of the world and make it their own. Why should I let anyone banish me without my permission? And besides, I think Missouri could use more people like me. I can make a difference there. Someone like me in Chicago or London or Los Angeles or New York or Miami? I’m a dime a dozen. In Missouri, I’m part of the change. In Missouri, I can save people like I was once saved.”

“Hmm,” Aemond says. And then he smiles at you, kind and tender. “Pretentious.”

“Oh shut up,” you laugh, shoving him with your uninjured hand: his deep, warm, rolling chuckle, his broad shoulders that barely give beneath your palm.

His eye flicks down to your One Direction t-shirt. “And a traitor.”

Want me to take it off? you almost say. Instead: “As if you don’t idolize them. As if you wouldn’t deign to have a favorite One Direction song.”

“I couldn’t divulge information as sensitive as that.”

“Aegon tells me you spend a lot of time brooding to The Script.”

Aemond groans, but good-naturedly. You got me, his face says, surrendering. “True.”

“What’s your go-to crying on the floor song? Breakeven? Nothing?”

“The Man Who Can’t Be Moved. But now you have to give me one in return.”

“If You Ever Come Back. A certified tragic bop.”

He nods, thoughtful. He slides his phone out of his pocket to check it.

“Sexts from Shelby?” you ask with undisguisable vitriol.

“No. Favorite Coldplay song?”

You remember that night with him in Rome: the concert, the motorcycle, the lingering in the hotel room doorway as you waited for him to ask to stay. “Every Teardrop Is A Waterfall. What’s yours? You strike me as a The Scientist stan.”

“Viva La Vida,” he counters.

Of course. “I used to rule the world,” you quote.

“Now the old king is dead, long live the king.” He looks out into the city, streetlights and ocean and wind, sounds of the planet you call home. Again, you think of Rome. “I should have kissed you,” he says softly.

Your heart stops like a car against a brick wall, glorious euphoric shattering. “What?”

“My favorite One Direction song. I Should Have Kissed You.”

“Oh, right. Yeah. Yeah, that’s great.”

“Yours?”

You have to think about this. At last you decide: “Through The Dark.”

“Ah. A deep cut.” Aemond checks his phone again. “Look up,” he tells you.

“Why…?”

“Right now. At the sky. Look up.”

You go to the balcony railing and peer up into the sea of darkness and moon and stars. And at first you don’t see anything extraordinary…but then you do. There’s a thin flash like white ink on black paper, tracing its way along the arc of the Earth. There’s a visitor, there’s a time traveler. “What is it?” you ask Aemond, entranced.

He gets up to stand alongside you. “The Perseids. A meteor shower that happens every summer. They’re difficult to spot from a city. Too bright, too much light pollution. There are hundreds, but here we’re lucky to glimpse one or two.”

“But they’re always there,” you muse, remembering what he told you in Rome about the comet that gave the band its name. “Whether we see them or not.”

Aemond points up at the faint silvery glimmer in the indigo night. “The Perseids are from a comet too. They’re debris left by Swift-Tuttle.”

“Doesn’t quite roll off the tongue like Donati, does it? And no potential for cute donut merch.”

Aemond smiles. “Comet Swift-Tuttle is the largest object to cross Earth’s orbit so closely. Very, very closely. Luckly, it only swings by us every 133 years. It’s been called the single most dangerous object known to humanity.”

“I thought that was Jace.”

He bursts out laughing, gazing over at you with a face that in this moment he is unashamed of. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

“I’m a universe away from Shelby, that’s for sure.”

Aemond’s smile dies. He clears his throat and puts out his cigarette. “I guess I should get going.”

“Yeah, I need to go to sleep.”

“Okay.”

He hesitates, he acts like he’s going to say more, he leaves you on the balcony as he retreats back to his own suite, his own life, his own past and future and secrets.

And before you crawl into your empty bed, you look up at the Perseids one last time as they hurtle through space and time and gravity, through a landscape of constellations that Aemond could tell you the names of, through the dark.

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