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starsandhughes · 10 months

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Penalty Box— Imagines Edition: Knight in Shining Armor

SERIES MASTERLIST

well… what was going to be a short imagine inspired by a scene in tsitp s2 e6 turned into this… enjoy <3

warnings: underage drinking, swearing, makeout sesh, one singular mention of weed

word count: 3.3k

December 2017 (Junior Year- Pre Dating)

Going to parties after a win, for both the U17 and U18 team, wasn’t unusual. In fact, it was pretty much expected at this point. This time Spencer’s parents were leaving for the weekend, so naturally his house became the party house. The parties started out small, but over the last couple of months they’ve grown since more people have found out about them. Virtually any student that attended the game knew that they’d receive a text soon for the location. A lot of people brought alcohol and other various substances to share with everyone so that it wasn’t all on the thrower’s shoulders. It was always quite the experience for everyone that showed up.

You tended to drag the boys into helping set up for the party if someone on the U17 team was throwing it since that was their team. It had been this way since the first time someone on the team threw a party.

“Ohhhh Knight!” you hollered as you entered the house. “I come bearing beer and boys!”

“Dos Equis?” Spencer questioned when he saw the four six packs in Jack’s and Cole’s hands. You held up a bottle of lemon juice in response. “Yeah alright.”

“It makes them taste even better!” you defended yourself. “It’s better than those nasty ass Natty Lites!”

“Leave our taste in beer alone!” Trevor shouted.

“Until you turn into big boys and find some taste, I will continue to belittle you! Modello, Michelob Ultra, anything but Natty Lites!” you shouted back.

“WHY HAVE YOU HAD SO MANY DIFFERENT BEERS?!”

“MATTHEW!”

Trevor threw his hands to his face and groaned dramatically, throwing his head back, “Of course that’s the reason.”

“Sissy hung out with Matthew, Quinn, and Brady after a game in Calgary and came back thinking she was better than us because she had different beers,” Jack laughed. “You’re not, by the way!”

“Matty thinks otherwise,” you smirked.

You looked at Trevor as soon as you said his name to see his reaction. Once you found out how much it bugged him, you found it somewhat entertaining to bring him up. You weren’t sure why. Maybe it’s just because of how much you constantly talked, especially towards the beginning of the year, but no one else minded like him. This time, Trevor slammed his head down on his folded arms on top of the kitchen island. You unsuccessfully stifled a laugh, causing him to lift his head up and glare at you.

“What do you have against Matthew?” Spencer asked.

“Nothing,” Trevor grumbled. He sat up and grabbed a giant bowl and a chip bag to make himself useful.

It only took half an hour to set things up. Alex helped Spencer take breakables to his upstairs bedroom, you put the beers in the fridge and set up a liquor station complete with cups, shot sized red solo cups, Titos, 1800 Tequila (it was all Cole had because it was cheap) and various sodas and mixers. A few people had already said they had some bottles they could spare, more beer, and some “girly” spritzers which really just meant Trulys and White Claws.

Within the hour, Spencer’s house was full of people. Most people you at least knew their names from being in classes with them, but a lot of people were seniors that you didn’t know because they were friends with the U18 guys. There were some senior girls that you’ve become party friends with, but that’s about it. You tended to stick with your friends. Tonight, however, you were feeling social. You had a good day and the guys had a big 5-1 win, and all your friends were spread out throughout the house anyways. You grabbed a random bottle of tequila, one of the bags with the shot cups, and decided to wander around handing out shots to various groups of people.

You found the group of girls you normally hang out with at parties first in a corner of the living room first.

“Y/N!” Grace exclaimed. She was in your grade and you shared a couple of classes with her. She was one of those friends that you spent time with in classes and parties only and not really anywhere else. That was the case for pretty much everyone you knew that weren’t the guys.

“Grace!” you echoed with just as much enthusiasm.

“Does our girl have a bottle of tequila?” your other friend, Meagan, asked with a smile.

“That she does! Care for a group shot, ladies?”

“I’m offended that you asked that,” Paris, the lone senior, said.

You poured each of them a shot and set the bottle down after you poured yours and raised your cup, “Here’s to our fine asses and the trashy rap music Spencer won’t let me change!”

“Cheers!” the three girls laughed.

You held your breath after you tapped your cups together before tossing the shot back to not taste the harshness as much, but you couldn’t hold back your scrunched up face at the after taste. You spotted Cole laughing at you across the room and you flipped him off in response.

“Excuse me, I have to go whack my best friend for laughing at me,” you told the girls before you walked away.

You had to maneuver yourself through some people to get to Cole. While you could spot each other across the room easily, getting to him was not that easy. Being short was definitely not a plus in this situation either. Cole knew exactly what was coming and tried to get to the other side of the kitchen island, but he was experiencing the same problem as you. You caught up to him before he could get too far and whacked him outside the head.

“Ow!”

“That’s what you get for laughing at me!”

“What was I supposed to do?! Tell you that you’ll do better next time?!”

“I didn’t even react that bad!”

“Wanna bet?” Cole asked with a raise of his eyebrows. You narrowed your eyes at him, “You’re on, Caufield.”

You called Alex over to be the judge as to who made less of a face after a tequila shot. No chasers were allowed, but now that you were determined instead of just casually doing a shot, you fully intended to hold everything in. Just doing one apparently was not big enough of a competition, so you were doing two in a row as fast as you could with the goal of not making a face.

At the end of Alex’s countdown, you immediately threw the first shot back. You held your breath, a trick you’ll die by, and didn’t let yourself breath until after the second shot was down. The boys always refused to do that for some reason. Your eyes widened and the burn was terrible, but you were holding it together for the most part. Cole clearly tried to be a tough guy, but his face mirrored what you’re sure yours looked like after the shot with the girls.

“Did you even try, Coley?” Alex laughed. “Y/N beat your ass by a long shot!”

You threw your arms up and cheered, “AHA! Suck it, Caufield!”

“That stuff’s cheap!” Cole tried to defend himself. “It was disgusting! And you had a shot before and could prepare yourself!”

“Sucks to suck,” you tutted. “Guess your talents end at the rink.”

“I can still smoke you out,” Cole rolled his eyes and shoved you playfully.

You three stayed in the kitchen for a while just hanging out. You grabbed yourself a beer to sip on since you just did three shots in a row and needed to slow down. You stayed with the guys even as more people came over to talk to them and just laughed along with them despite not caring at all about the conversation. You suddenly did care when a certain someone was brought up.

“I’m just glad Trace is actually talking to Z instead of just constantly talking about him to me,” one of the guys said. “I swear, my sister is borderline obsessed with him!”

You felt something heat up inside you. Trevor is a flirt, sure, but he hadn’t actually shown any real interest in anyone as far as you could tell. You and him always tease each other and playfully flirt, but that’s all you two were doing. You were friends. That’s it. So why did you care if he was chatting it up with some girl that was “borderline obsessed with him?” You looked around and spotted the pair by the back door. Tracy was leaning against the back door, twirling her hair with her fingers. Cole and Alex sent each other a knowing look.

“Hey, Y/N–” Alex started speaking.

“Excuse me,” you cut him off.

You made your way through the sea of people a little more forcefully this time to get to Trevor. You didn’t know Tracy; you didn’t have any classes together. But you did know that a lot of guys were attracted to her. She could have any of those guys, she didn’t need to have Trevor. You hated the idea of him with her and you didn’t know why. All you knew was that the alcohol swarming in your veins was probably impairing your better judgment. Trevor isn’t yours, but you sure as hell didn’t want him to be hers.

You were a foot from them when you tripped over somebody’s foot. Trevor’s reflexes acted quickly. He caught you before you could fall on your face in his arms. He was holding you as if he was dipping you during a dance. He had one arm behind your shoulders, and his other around your waist with his hand settling on your hip. Your eyes met his, the dark atmosphere brought out the green in his eyes in a mesmerizing way.

“You don’t need to hurt yourself to get my attention,” he whispered in your ear.

He kept holding you like this, and despite your balance being back, you let him. You bit back a smile at the look of his face. He looked at you like you were the only person in the room and that his arms were where you belonged. You felt as if you could stay in them forever. It was weird. It was new. You smirked, knowing that you now had his attention and no one else did.

“I think she’s okay now,” Tracy said, annoyed.

You tried to not express your disdain at the sound of her voice as you stood back up.

“I guess alcohol doesn’t fix my clumsiness,” you fake laughed. “Thank god for my knight in shining armor, yeah?”

“I’ll always save you, Princess,” Trevor replied with a smile.

“Anyways, as I was saying, Trevor–”

“I just came to tell you I beat Cole in our little competition to not make a face after some shots!” you cut her off. She huffed and crossed her arms. You smirked at her before continuing, “Wanna take me on, Z-Baby?”

“We were actually–”

“Lead the way,” Trevor interrupted her. “Nice talking to you…”

“Tracy,” she finished for him, seething.

“Right,” he nodded. “Have a good rest of your night!”

You waved bye to her smugly knowing that you’d won. You felt satisfied at the scowl that took over her face. You’d never been a petty girl, and you certainly had never felt like this. But the thought of Trevor with a girl was a feeling you didn’t want to feel again. Was this how Trevor felt when you talked about Matty?

You brushed it off as you took Trevor’s hand and led him to the kitchen where Cole and Alex still stood. Jack had joined them and it looked like the three of them had been talking. The three of them looked at you two with looks that you couldn’t name. They almost looked amused.

“I’ve been summoned for a no-face-post-shot competition,” Trevor said. “Want to make it a group one?”

“Line ‘em up,” Jack said.

You cheerfully grabbed a handle of Titos, not being able to find tequila, and poured everyone a shot. Same rules applied, no chasers, and to have as little of a reaction as possible. Spencer was the judge this time since there were more of you this time. You all lifted your shots and tapped them on the table after Spencer’s countdown and threw them back. You barely felt it since you were already a little drunk, okay maybe decently drunk, so you were proud at your lack of reaction. Cole’s face was better, but not as good as yours. Jack hates vodka, so his face was full of disgust. Alex you were pretty sure faked his reaction so that you could win, but Trevor showed no mercy.

“Y/N and Trevor were pretty head to head, if I’m gonna be honest,” Spencer said amused.

“What?! No way! I took that like a champ!” Trevor protested.

“You gotta declare a winner! We can’t tie, Spencer!” you practically screamed. You were way too competitive to tie.

“I saw them both,” Cole said. “I think we both know who won.”

Spencer gave you a look telling you that he hated what he was about to do to you.

“Trevor…”

“TRAITOR!” you shouted.

“Sucks to suck,” Cole said, copying what you told him earlier. You stuck your tongue out at him in retaliation.

Trevor leaned his back on the island to face just you, “What’s my prize, Princess? I feel like I deserve a prize. Plus, you called me your knight in shining armor after I saved your life from imminent death, so I deserve a really good prize.”

“Doesn’t the Princess normally kiss the knight that saves her?” Alex said with a smirk.

“I think she does,” Cole agreed.

“I do believe that is how the story goes,” Spencer added on.

Trevor’s face was red, but he held onto his smooth guy demeanor. You looked at your friends. All of them had the same expression of amusement on their faces, even Jack. You gave Cole one look and he read your mind. He put his hands over Jack’s eyes, and as soon as he did, you stood on your tiptoes and slammed your lips onto Trevor’s. He was taken aback at first, but quickly started to kiss you back. His hands found their way to your waist and he turned you so that you were pressed up against the island. You brought your hands up into his hair to deepen the kiss and parted your lips to allow his tongue to slip in.

If you were sober, you’d be embarrassed by the cheers from your friends, but it only made you kiss him harder. The only reason you parted was because your air supply was running out. You leaned back against the counter panting, absolutely entranced by the lust in Trevor’s eyes accompanied by his now messy hair.

“That was one hell of a prize,” Trevor said dazed.

“I can lose gracefully sometimes,” you said back.

“That was anything but graceful,” Cole laughed.

“And way too long,” Jack said, making the other three boys laugh even harder.

“We should have competitions more often,” Trevor flirted.

“You wish, Zegras,” you brushed him off teasingly.

That feeling you felt when you saw him talking to another girl was obliterated, and a desire for more took its place. You said “you wish, Zegras,” but you were really the one wishing. Wishing for more. Wishing for his attention to always be on just you. But you were drunk. That’s all this was, right? This wasn’t a kiss brought on by the raw need for each other. This wasn’t a kiss after a first date. This was a party. Your friends were around, egging the kiss on in the first place.

It didn’t mean anything.

And yet, it meant everything.

But you knew it wouldn’t happen again. Trevor is Jack’s best friend. This was a party, and you’re drunk. It might as well have happened during spin the bottle, because that’s what the kiss had to be. You’ll wake up tomorrow and the heat of the moment will have worn off and you’ll go back to how things were. You’re just friends. These weren’t real feelings because they couldn’t be.

It wasn’t too long before the party started to wind down and you, Jack, Alex, Cole, and Trevor all got into an uber back to your and Jack’s house to stay the night. Luke was away at a friend’s house for the night, so Alex took his room. Cole took Quinn’s, and Trevor practically had permanent residence in the spare room from staying over so much. Jack took you to your room to make sure you didn’t fall and stayed in there while you showered and got ready for bed. Once you were clean and changed, you came and laid down next to Jack in your bed on top of the covers.

“So… that was a pretty heavy kiss you had tonight,” Jack said.

“And? It was a party, we were drunk, and I couldn’t not kiss him after you four were making so many comments about it,” you said nonchalantly.

“True, but it could’ve been a simple kiss.”

“It was the heat of the moment,” you said, reaffirming it to yourself as you had been since it happened. “We’re friends, Jacky. That’s all.”

“You wouldn’t have kissed Cole or Alex like that,” Jack continued.

You dramatically fell forward into his lap with a groan, “Drop it, Jack! I don’t have feelings for your best friend, stop worrying!”

“I wasn’t worrying!” Jack laughed. “Admit it, Sissy. From the day you two met there were some flirtations blooming.”

“Who the fuck talks like that?” you mocked him. You rotated your body so that you were comfortably laying in his lap. “We just happen to both have flirty personalities. You’re looking too much into nothing.”

“Are you saying that because it’s true, or are you saying that because you think I’ll hate the idea of you two liking each other?”

That stunned you into silence. Sure, you tended to target your flirting and teasing to Trevor, but that was just how you two are. And yeah, maybe Tracy talking to him brought on a feeling that you guess could only be described as jealousy, but that doesn’t mean you like him! You had already dated a guy this year, and yeah, it ended up in flames, but that obviously meant you haven't had feelings for Trevor since you met.

“He doesn’t like me and I don’t like him and that’s that, Jack!”

“Alright, alright, I’ll drop it,” Jack caved.

You got silent and curled up closer to Jack. The high of the night was wearing off and you were finally tired. Jack’s words were swarming around your brain. A part of you felt that Jack was saying that Trevor actually likes you without saying it. But that was an insane thought.

“If you’re going to fall asleep, at least let me put you under the covers,” Jack said softly.

You sat up and allowed Jack to reach over to unmake your bed. You got off of him and slid under the comforter set and laid down.

“Want me to stay?”

“I’m okay. Goodnight,” you said.

“Goodnight,” he responded.

You turned over and laid flat on your back when you heard your bedroom door shut. You couldn’t stop thinking about this kiss. You couldn’t stop thinking about what Trevor said when he caught you. You couldn’t stop thinking about how Trevor left Tracy without a second thought. You couldn’t stop thinking about how much Trevor deepened the kiss on his end. You couldn’t stop thinking about Trevor.

You had feelings for your brother’s best friend.

You had feelings for Trevor. The drunkenness was gone. You were level headed. You had feelings for Trevor and you were sure of it this time.

Fuck.

#penalty box series #penalty box series: imagines #trevor zegras #trevor zegras x reader #trevor zegras imagine #trevor zegras fanfic #trevor zegras x hughes reader #jack hughes #cole caufield #alex turcotte #spencer knight #hockey imagine #jack hughes imagine #cole caufield imagine #alex turcotte imagine #trevor zegras au

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el3ctric-trag3dy · 6 months

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Some of my personal rules: trying to quit bingeing...

I mainly fast for 18-20 hours a day, but after work I tend to bindge 😭

I try to keep my c4ls at under 1000 a day max, ideally around 500 c4l.

Alone:

-Skip breakfast-

-if you have to eat-

-wait till 3pm

-protien shake

-salad as much as you want with lite dressing

-only serve yourself enough for 6 bites of each thing

- tea and dark chocolate to curb cravings

-no gluten

-no dairy

With family:

-drink water before and after meal

-never finish anything, period.

-eat the protiens first

-veggies second

-eat starch and carb heavy last

- go for a 15 min walk with dog after dinner

Out to eat:

-order healthiest thing on menu

-never get dessert

-no alcohol

-water or kombucha

-only one glass of soda

At work:

- salad

-low fat milk

- only one dessert a day

- only 6 bites of each food

- no juice

-10 min walk around bloc during lunch break.

-never finish ANYTHING other than drinks.

#@n0r3xia #ana rant #ed life #trans ed #tw b1nge #i wanna be tiny #disordered eating cw #34t1ng d1s0rd3r #low cal diet #tw ana rant #@nor3×14 #@na trigger #@na rules #@ana #male ed #enby ed

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streetlightyeri · 1 year

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so it goes... ; jake "hangman" seresin

"met you in a bar, all eyes on me, your illusionist . . . all eyes on us."

so it goes . . . - taylor swift

warnings: pwp, dom/sub dynamics, begging, praise, rivals to lovers, misogyny from external characters, SA, angst, smut. very cheesy ending. not proofread. 18+ MDNI.

a/n: i honestly don't know where the plot came from this was supposed to be straight smut if i'm honest <3 there's no description of the character, I just find y/n and 2nd person extremely corny when writing

word count: 7.6k

It was absolutely no secret that Ivy hated Lt. Jake “Hangman” Seresin; from the moment they met and he gave her his signature “I’ll make your panties drop” smirk, she was ringing the bell on him more times than most people could count. On nights the pilots went to the Hard Deck with him, some didn’t even bring their wallets, knowing that they would be getting drunk on his dime. It never stopped him though. Their playful rivalry was seemingly never ending, but both knew that if Ivy put her foot down and told him to stop, he would, no questions asked. It started as her ignoring his advances and trying to continue serving him normally before it eventually turned into her pouring everyone else shots but him, purposefully leaving him for last then leaving Penny to serve him before going on break. After he learned her tricks and waited for Penny to go on break before approaching the bar, that’s when the bell ringing began. She was no stranger to the bell - oftentimes men would start making comments about her when she turned around, leading to the group of aviators (often led by Jake himself) to surround the man and herd him out of the bar.

The first time she rang the bell on Jake, he had leaned his elbow onto the bar, his cellphone slipping out of his jacket pocket and onto the wood. Ivy all but lunged for the bell, causing a roar of cheers to erupt around the bar. The Lieutenant rolled his eyes and placed his card on the counter; it was the first time he had ever seen her smile at him, even if it was dripping with sarcasm as she swiped the card on her kiosk, opening a tab before turning around and grabbing three bottles of tequila to begin pouring out. A few times after that, she served him without a fight, but on the night he forgot his card at the bar after picking up four shots in his hands with a “thanks, sweetcheeks,” she called out his last name. The whole bar nearly fell silent as they watched the girl yell to him that he forgot something. He slowly turned around, making sure to not spill any alcohol, only to see her fake reaching into her coat, pulling out a middle finger instead before dropping to hold his card up.

This Saturday in particular was busy - the Fourth of July festivities were in full swing, bringing people, both regulars and newcomers, from all over San Diego to the Hard Deck. Ivy and Penny were so swamped that they had to keep telling the other “I’ll go on break later, when it gets less busy.” Ivy’s UCLA shirt was wet from sweat and from the bottle of top shelf vodka she had accidentally spilled on herself while she kneeled on a barstool trying to reach them. Her hair was pulled back into a claw clip, baby hairs plastered to her forehead and neck from sweat. The AC was never able to cool down the room with the constant opening and closing of the door, the whole room heavy with humidity. Penny and her took turns “getting more ice” from the freezer which was just code for standing there with the door open to cool down.

The night officially won the award for worst shift ever when she had been flagged down by a table of newcomers as she was finishing cleaning off a table. They ordered a round of beers and vodka sodas to be delivered, handing her a heavy tip to compensate her for leaving her post at the bar. When she returned with the Miller Lites in hand the group twisted their caps off with their shirts, but the one to her right let the cap fall to the floor, making it seem like an accident. When she squatted down to pick up the trash, the one to her left landed his hand to her ass and squeezed. Ivy shot up, an angry gasp leaving her throat, and, without thinking, grabbed one of the vodka sodas off the table and threw it into his face and swung her tray into his side full force. The scrape of the chairs from all of the men getting up caught the attention of the Top Gun pilots who were engrossed in their game of dirty pool. Ivy realized her mistake in attacking a person who was about half a foot taller than her who had 4 more people for backup. She took a small step back, but bumped into a strong chest. Scared it was a 6th member of the group, she quickly turned around, instead seeing Hangman standing there, backed by Fritz, Fanboy, and Coyote, with a few others approaching. Her view of him and the other pilots didn’t last long, as she was yanked by her hair to the space behind the group of men, hitting her head on the corner of the table and falling over one of the chairs as she went down.

There were strict rules on fighting in the academy, but there was an unspoken agreement amongst the group that the tale of this fight wouldn’t make it out of the room. There were some situations that only violence could fix. So, that’s how each of the group of men ended up with their heads similarly banged up and on the gravel outside. Other than the scuffle that was happening, no one made a noise - newcomers watched, aghast, and regulars stood by on the ready. If Ivy didn’t have blood pouring into her eye from her cut, she would’ve seen said regulars standing in pairs near any exits to stop any men who dared to make a run for it from escaping.

Phoenix had her hands placed under Ivy’s arms, helping her up and to the bathroom. She helped Ivy run her head under the faucet, the clear water turning crimson as it went down the drain. After a few minutes, and with her eye flushed clean, Phoenix helped her up from her near-upside down position under the faucet to standing up, the water droplets making the blood still producing from her cut make its way down her face even faster. When she looked down at her shirt, a drop of blood fell and dotted the “i” on the BRUINS written on her shirt in gold. Phoenix helped her apply pressure to her cut while she turned to look at herself in the mirror. Her hair was nearly falling out of the clip, her shirt collar darkened still from the sweat and vodka from earlier, now accompanied by the water and blood. She was paler than usual and the brown paper towels held to her head were darkening, “When I said I wanted to get more up close and personal with medicine, this is not what I meant.”

“What better way to succeed as a premed student than to experience everything you learn about firsthand?” Natalie led her over to the stool they kept in the bar bathroom for tipsy girls to sit on while their friends did their business. Hygienic? No. But appreciated by patrons? Yes. “I should check your eyes, see if you have-” She was cut off by a knock on the door. When Phoenix asked who it was, her hands still on her friend’s shoulders to make sure she stayed upright, she received a response that Phoenix had been expecting since the sound of the fight outside had subsided.

“It’s me,” Hangman’s voice was undeniable. Ivy’s gaze shot up, looking between her friend and the door, silently begging her not to leave her. Phoenix gave her an awkward smile before standing up and unlocking the door, letting him in. He pushed past his fellow aviator, coming to a kneel on one knee in front of the stool Ivy was sitting on, putting his hand behind her neck to keep her in place as he checked her for any harm aside from the obvious.

Ivy swallowed hard, not sure what to say, opting to keep their rivalry going because she wasn’t sure how to even go about thanking him, “You did good for being the same height as them.”

Jake normally would have laughed and said something along the lines of, “It’s my ego that did the heavy lifting,” but seeing the paper towels soaked with blood had his mind far away from banter and cemented in the moment at hand.

The silence was eating at Ivy’s ears, causing more words to spill from her to keep it at bay, “At least respond to the momentarily blinded girl.”

His jaw tightened for a moment, “How the fuck are you joking right now?”

She shifted uncomfortably beneath his gaze, “Come on, it’s not that big of a deal. It’s just a cut. It’s only bleeding so much because it’s on my temple. At least it’s an excuse to get me out of the rest of this God awful shift.”

“What were you thinking? Starting a fight with someone like that - he could’ve smashed a glass in your face.”

Ivy scoffed, slapping away his hands with her free one, “Oh, so I’m supposed to just let whoever waltzes into this bar grab a handful of my ass? I’ll keep that in mind for the next shift. Might show up naked.”

He let out a breath through his nose. He wasn’t positive about what happened prior to Ivy’s retaliation, but he knew it was most likely something along those lines, but hearing her confirm it just made his blood boil even more, “No! You get someone and let them take care of it, not hit them with a plastic tray.”

Ivy pulled away from him again as he applied pressure to her wound, “I’m not a fucking child. I’m going to stand up for myself. I’m not going to hide behind some man. You can’t seriously be blaming me for this!”

“That’s not what I’m saying! I’m-” He was cut off by Phoenix saying his name sharply. Her eyes met his before flickering down to Ivy, a cue for him to focus on the real problem.

He stood, pulling a few more paper towels from the dispenser. Phoenix pulled the trash can away from the door and closer to Jake, allowing him to dispose of the bloody wad before dabbing at the cut on her temple with the towels he had run under the water. It was silent as he ran his thumbs across her head and through her hair, checking how far back the cut went. “I don’t think you’ll need stitches, but you need to go to the ER in case you have a concussion.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa - absolutely not, Seresin. I have much bigger problems on my plate right now than a possible concussion. One of my summer classes ends next week and I have 5 more shifts after this. I’m going home and sleeping this off.” She stood up, annoyed at his belief that he could tell her what to do. When he went to protest her refusal, he found himself lunging to help balance her as she wobbled after standing. He and Phoenix each had an arm and helped her back to the seat. He looked over Ivy’s head and mouthed for Natalie to go get her a bottle of water and something to eat before handing her his truck keys for her to bring it around. She took the chance to leave the tension filled room with pleasure and almost flew out the room. From the pressure he had applied earlier, the bleeding had mostly stopped.

“After that attempt to walk, I’m taking you to the ER. If you don’t have a concussion, then I’ll take the blame. If you do, I’ll never forgive myself for letting you sleep on it. That’s final.”

Ivy rolled her eyes, “Fine. But We’re taking my car, not your ecological disaster of a vehicle.”

He helped her up and had an arm around her shoulders to keep her steady. His size dwarfed her, his large hands wrapping around her upper arms easily. “Your car’s so small that I’m going to have to drive from your backseat.”

“You seem like the type to be a backseat driver, so I guess all your training’s paid off.”

He did his best to hide her from the crowded bar, and she kept her gaze down. The night air was cooling down, the breeze from the sea sweeping across the island. Fireworks popped in the distance. Ivy dug in her pockets for her car keys, lighting up her small prius at the back of the lot. Jake knew her car, as he often was volun-told to walk her back to it after the Hard Deck closed, so he could tell something was off when he saw the interior light on. The two walked a little faster, Ivy mentally scolding herself for not checking if she had properly shut the door when she locked her work bag in the backseat. The crunch beneath their feet that sounded different from the rocks that made up the rest of the parking lot made the pair look down, Ivy taking her phone out to turn on the flashlight. It was glass. Car window glass - Ivy’s car window glass.

The sound of Phoenix calling for them in confusion made them turn around, seeing her jogging to them, his keys dangling in the air as she held them up, “I thought you guys were taking Hangman’s?”

Jake delicately thrusted her back into her friend’s arms, “We definitely are now. Take her to my truck.”

Phoenix looked confused before looking past the pair and seeing the broken window, immediately taking Ivy and leading her back towards the front of the parking lot. She opened the passenger door to the F350, helping her step in before shutting it and getting in the driver’s seat, allowing her better vantage to see anyone trying to approach.

Jake reached through the broken back window and unlocked the car, ducking his head down to be able to kneel on the seat, a few pieces of glass digging into his knee. Her backseat was strewn with clothes that were clearly from the bag that had been emptied. There was a tilt to the car, telling him that one of her tires was slashed. The contents of her glove compartment were strewn about the front seat. He circled the car, trying to find something that had identified her to the group of men - there, on the inside of her windshield, was a UCLA parking pass. He took pictures of everything, intending to get a list of everything that was missing once she was medically cleared. When he switched places with Phoenix, he threw his phone in the cup holder.

Two 400mg Ibuprofens, multiple butterfly bandages, and confirmation of a mild concussion later, Jake had opted to show her the photos on the drive back to her house after practically forcing a pair of sunglasses onto her face. She zoomed in and out of the photos, trying to identify anything that was missing. Ivy felt her face flush with embarrassment as she realized the item that was gone; she couldn’t help the burning feeling in her throat or the tears that pricked at her eyes. Her new silence made Jake glance over to the passenger seat. Her hand was quick to wipe away the tear that escaped, but was nowhere near fast enough to not be seen by him.

“What? What is it?”

“I- I, um,” She swallowed, her voice breaking every time she went to speak. “They, uh . . . they took my underwear from my bag. It’s the only thing missing.”

Ivy may have been the one with blood in her eyes, but Jake saw red in that moment. He vowed at that moment to track them down and make them regret ever making Ivy feel unsafe. The rest of the drive was silent; Ivy pulled her knees to her chest, her eyes staring vacantly out the windshield as she gave him directions. Her driveway was empty, despite the house being advertised for rent for 2 people. She’d had a roommate for the first 3 weeks of the summer, but the girl fell homesick and moved back to Maine, opting to pay the rent and be with her family than pay it and be alone. Ivy was absentmindedly picking at her nails, the polish chipping off in tiny bits of purple, when Jake pulled into her driveway. The truck was silent, save for the AC running on max. Ivy still didn’t look his way, too scared to see any pity in his eyes, “I- um, I don’t know how else to thank you than just saying it.”

His response was immediate, “Don’t.”

She reached her hand back and pulled the claw clip from her very tangled hair, allowing her to run her hands through it and give an excuse as to why she wasn’t looking at him. “No, really. You didn’t have to do any of this. And I was a dick to you when you were just trying to help. I know that I shouldn’t have done it - that I should’ve just . . . let someone else handle it or kick them out or something. But I’ve lived my whole life being afraid, being forced to ignore the way men act around women - around girls. I’ve carried pepper spray for longer than I’ve carried a house key. For fuck’s sake, I can’t get into my car without having to check the backseat with my flashlight because I’ve read too many stories about girls in this country getting murdered. I’m a bartender, and I’m too scared to drink alcohol in public because I’m afraid someone will roofie me. I just - I wanted at least one man, just one, to understand that women aren’t their toys. I wanted someone to understand there are consequences to their actions. And, well, look where it got me.” She held her hands up, “Mildly concussed and prius-less. Even with their heads knocked into tables, they still had to violate me in the most disgusting way. Touching me wasn’t enough because they felt like they were owed it. They went out of their way to find which car was mine and left everything but the one thing they knew would make me feel sick to my stomach. Hell, even now, I’m scared to be in my house. I didn’t have a key that they could’ve stolen in my car, but there’s so many ways they can break into my house. And the fact that it’s not even insane for me to think that they tracked down my house is so disheartening, because stuff like that happens all the time. It’s just - so exhausting being a woman, I wanted to be able to say I did something to protect myself. And I’m sorry for dumping this all on you, and I know you’ll never fully understand, but I need you to know I didn’t do it because I’m stupid or something. I needed to do it for me.”

Hangman was silent. Ivy expected that. If someone spilled their guts out to them like she just did to him, she also would be silent. Her thumbnail was bare at this point.

She opened the passenger side door before climbing down, giving him a small, brokenhearted smile after she took his glasses off and placed them in the cupholder. “Thanks again. Drive safe.”

She cringed at the sound of the door shutting, her brain pounding in response. Once she made it to the door, she struggled to find her house key, the limited light from the streetlamps making it hard to identify. She was too scared to use her flashlight; the nurse at the urgent care was adamant about reducing light hitting her eyes. Her struggle was stopped by a hand, making her jerk back and drop her keys, stumbling back a bit, scared it was one of the men. When she tilted her head up and saw Jake instead, her worry disappeared, but her heart was still hammering. She rested her forehead against the doorframe to catch her breath before she dropped to pick up her keys. “Jesus Christ, don’t do that.”

“I’m sorry.” Those words made her look up at him as she rose back up. They way he said it was more than just an apology for scaring her. It was an apology for everything she had confessed back in his truck, an acknowledgement that he would never understand, but he would try his best to - an apology for the way he acted towards her, even if both knew it was never really serious. A promise he would be there to back her up. He pulled her into a hug, cradling her head against his shoulder, making sure her cut was facing outward instead of against this uniform shirt. Her throat was tight once again, a few more tears escaping. She didn’t wrap her arms around him, but both knew it was because she was just too tired to do so. “Do you want me to stay? I’ll crash on the couch.”

She nodded against this chest, too scared to talk, not trusting her voice.

He took the keys from her hands, unlocking the door. He made sure to keep her behind him on the way up to her bathroom connected to her room, where they split off and he searched the rest of the house while she cleaned up; he left to get a bag of emergency clothes he kept in his backseat. Once he heard the water shut off, he made his way back to her, seeing her emerge with new bandages and a set of oversized sweats. In silence, she showed him the way to work her shower, not noticing the way he was staring at her rather than her hands.

When he left the shower, he opened the door to the sight of her asleep on top of her bedsheets. He walked over, taking the blanket that was folded at the corner of her bed for decoration and covered her with it before leaving a crack in the door and making his way downstairs.

The next few days passed by in a blur. Jake spent the nights he wasn’t required to stay on base crashing on Ivy’s couch - and eventually her bed. Ivy finished her summer class and got so black out drunk in her living room that she fell asleep sitting next to him, her head falling onto his shoulder. On top of driving her to and from the shifts he could, he took her back and forth between the mechanic, standing behind her with his feet planted and arms crossed, his face stoic, to ensure that the workers there wouldn’t upcharge her simply because she didn’t know any better.

The third or fourth time he had fallen asleep in her bed, he woke up when he normally did: before the sun. Even when he wasn’t required to be at the base, his sleep schedule was punctual - he couldn’t sleep in if he tried. The streetlights were still lit, but soon to disappear. The sky wasn’t pitch black anymore, more of a purple with a thin sliver of yellow very close to the horizon. He was shirtless, a pair of sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He was on his back, his arm wrapped around her, pulling her onto his chest. He could hear her breathing in and out, deep in sleep despite his awakeness. Her TV was in sleep mode, the DirectTV logo bouncing around the screen from when they paused My Cousin Vinny the previous night because he made her laugh so hard she couldn’t breathe. They spent the rest of the night talking, leaving the TV paused, too engrossed in each other.

He directed his gaze down to her, taking in the light ring of yellow from the slowly disappearing bruise on her head and around her eye. The bruises across her thighs from where she fell over the chair on the way down had a little longer to go in the healing process due to their size, but they were getting there. He tightened his hold around her, making her stir before she tucked her head further against his chest.

Ivy was dizzy with the way he was kissing her, like he was sucking all the air out her lungs while simultaneously being the reason she was able to breathe. Every touch of their lips was euphoric and she could feel herself slowly slipping away from the present into a place that only the two of them occupied. She had never been more thankful for Maine being on the other side of the country than now. His hands were under her shirt; his calloused thumbs were rubbing her stomach while the other fingers splayed across her back. He was also keeping her hips from rolling against his from her spot on his lap. His mouth attacked her neck, leaving her gasping as she buried her hands in his hair.

“Oh, yes - Jake,” her words were almost whiny with need, her hands switching to run down his torso to the bottom of his shirt and tug. “Need you. Need you inside me.”

He leaned back against her headboard, his stupid smirk on his face again. His right hand came up to cup her chin and bring her to make eye contact with him, “Oh, sweetheart, I gotta get you ready first.”

He hadn’t even touched her and her brattiness that coaxed every conversation along was already diffusing from her, “No! No - I can take it. Please.” Without his hand to hold her in place she took her chance and rolled her hips against him, her flimsy sleep shorts allowing her friction against his clothed cock. She was willing to try anything, so the words fell from her mouth without her brain okaying them, “Please, lieutenant.”

Her grip on her chin tightened, his eyes darkening and his smirk dropped. Ivy’s heartbeat picked up as she saw his face change, but before she could react, he was flipping them over, leaving her back to the mattress and him using his forearms to hold his hover over her. Her hips bucked of their own accord at his display of strength, her thighs pressing together for friction. His gaze flickered down before using his knees to push her legs apart, keeping her from having any relief that wasn’t delivered by him.

“Say it again,” He commanded. His pupils were so blown out that the blue of his eyes was almost invisible.

“P-pleas-” A sharp smack to the side of her ass made her gasp, his hand rubbing it slowly to soothe it before coming up to push a piece of hair out her face.

“Now, sweet girl, say it like you just did. All needy-like.”

She did as he told. He went back on his haunches, looking down at her splayed beneath him, running his fingers so lightly up the sides of her legs that she squirmed from the ticklish feeling. His fingertips ghosted under her shirt again, his eyes silently looking up to her for confirmation. She nodded quickly, helping him rid her of the shirt. His quickly followed, leaving him in nothing but his sweatpants. He groaned at the sight of her breasts; there was no reason for her to sleep in a bra, leaving her fully naked up top once her shirt was gone. He slowly ran his hands up her sides, his thumbs ghosting over her ribs before landing under her boobs. The feeling of him palming at her tits was driving Ivy crazy; her whimpers were filling the room as he leaned down to kiss and suck at them. Her back shot up in an arch when his teeth grazed her left nipple before his tongue came down to soothe the pain, repeating his actions on each breast before Ivy was practically crying from need. Her hands were grabbing onto any part of him she could reach - his hair was already a disheveled mess and his shoulders and biceps were littered with crescent moons from her nails. Both of their necks and upper chests were already starting to bruise.

“J-Jake, please. Please touch me, fuck me, anything! Or let me suck you off, I just need you so fucking bad.” He was taking pictures of her in his mind right now. She was so frazzled and the most he had done was kiss her tits. He swore that if a breeze came by she would fall over the edge.

He kissed the apples of her cheeks before looking back down at her, “I told you, I gotta get you ready for me. Don’t wanna hurt you.”

“Is it as big as your fucking ego, lieutenant?” She thought maybe being bratty again would get her what she wanted. “Having a big ego doesn’t make up for dick size.”

At that, his fingertips tugged her shorts down, taking her panties with them. He didn’t give her a moment to prepare before he was diving down, her thighs on his shoulders and his hands holding her hips down, eating her out like it was his last meal. She let out a scream when his tongue circled around her clit. Her back arched and her hands flew to his hair, wrapping in his blonde. He groaned into her cunt, making her moan out his name. He pulled back, lowering one thumb to pull her pussy apart. Her wetness gleamed in the morning sun that was shining through the window, her hole clenching around nothing. He looked up to her, his tongue running across his bottom lip, “Ask me to continue.”

She threw her head back onto the pillow breathlessly, a frustrated, needy “fuck you,” coming out before she adjusted her hips as best she could with his other hand still holding her down, trying her best to give him a better view of her pussy. “Please, please, lieutenant Seresin, eat me out ‘til I cum on your face so I can be ready to take your cock. You know what’s best for my pussy.”

He definitely was not expecting that to come out of her mouth - he was expecting a “please continue,” not something that made his dick harden even more than he thought was physically possible. “You want me to continue? To help you finish?”

Her head was nodding so much she thought she was going to reconcuss herself.

“How can I deny my sweet girl when she asks so nicely?” He lifted his hand to tap on her lips which she immediately parted to suck on his fingers. She moaned around them, thinking about the possibility of them inside of her. Her dreams came true when he pulled them out, a string of spit connecting them to her mouth before it broke. Jake lowered his hand and pushed two fingers inside of her. Her gasp was loud enough to alert anyone else in the house as to what was going on had anyone been there. Her fingers grasped the sheets below her, twisting them in her fists. Her whole body shuddered when he added his mouth, leaning down to suck on her clit again. Her ears were ringing, preventing her from hearing how loud she was, but that volume was spurring Jake on more. He switched from sucking to blowing to spelling his name on her clit. When he added a third finger and curled them inside of her, she fell apart. Her vision went white, her throat almost raw with how loud she was being. Her eyes were in the back of her head. Her hands went to run through his hair to pull him off from her sensitive core, but he grabbed her wrists in his free hand, pinning them to her stomach as he continued to ride her through her orgasm before bringing her to another. Her legs were shaking, her hips bucking, thighs tightening around his ears to try and escape his mouth and fingers. After her second orgasm, he relented, pulling away at her strangled “Jake, I-I can’t.”

She looked up at him as he removed himself from between her legs, keeping eye contact with her as he slipped his fingers from her pussy and sucked her cum off of them, groaning around them. “Baby, it’s a shame I’ve never tasted your cunt before. Fucking delicious. Gonna have to deploy me to keep me away.”

Her already unbrushed hair was even crazier from the way she was writhing under him, but he found her as intriguing as ever. Her lips were plump from their kissing and her biting; her cheeks were flushed. He once again tucked a piece of hair away from her face, wrapping his hand around her neck to pull her into a kiss, his thumb rubbing against her jaw as the coldness from his dog tags made her shiver as they passed over her bare chest, leaving goosebumps in their wake and leaving her nipples hard. He smirked against her lips as he heard her gasp at the metal. He leaned back once more to slip his tags off of his chest, slipping them over her head, letting them rest in between her tits. His thumbs passed over each nipple, breathing out a “perfect” as he watched her slightly arch her back at the touch, giving him a full view of his tags sitting perfectly at home in her valley. He never wanted to be discharged from the service so badly just so he could see that everyday instead of having to take them back later.

After his few moments of admiring her, he began to kiss from her sternum down to pussy again.

“I-I don’t know if I can handle an orgasm like that again,” she admitted, making him give one last kiss under her belly button.

“Oh sweet girl, that was just the start. I told you, I was getting you ready.”

Her gaze snapped back to him, abandoning the hole they were burning into the ceiling. Jake started to slide his sweats off, showing his lack of underwear under them. When they were far enough down, his cock sprung up, finally escaping. He finished riding himself of his pants before taking her hand delicately and pulling it to her mouth. “Spit.” Once again, she did as he told without question, eyes following her own hand as she sat up. He led her hand down to wrap around his dick, her thumb and middle finger not touching as she wrapped her hand around it. She slowly began to jerk him off, rubbing her thumb over his slit to spread the precum around. He threw his head back as she worked him, “Fuck.”

“Fuck my mouth lieutenant, please.” Her mouth dropped open as she began to move forward. His hand dropped to her shoulder to stop her. She looked up at him through her lashes, making his dick twitch in her hand.

“As much as I want to fuck your mouth, the only thing I’m fucking right now is that sweet pussy of yours.”

Her eyes widened a little, her eyes flickering between his eyes and his dick that she was still slowly stroking. “I don’t . . . I don’t think that will fit in me.”

That stupid smirk was back. He cupped her cheek, using his other hand to stop her motions on his cock and guided her down on her back. “I thought ego’s didn’t make up for dick size? Isn’t that what you said baby? But it’s okay, this pussy was made for me, of course it’ll fit.”

She nodded, trusting him, but didn’t say anything.

“Do you wanna do this? Just say the word and we stop, no questions asked.”

“Yes! Yes, yes I want this. I trust you.”

His jaw clenched at those words, determined to make this everything she wanted. It was already everything he wanted. He wasn’t expecting this, honest - the two of them just thought it’d be easier for him to stay there that night since he promised to bring her to her shift that afternoon. Never did he think it’d end with her calling him lieutenant in a way that wasn’t designed to ignore him. He wasn’t prepared for her glossy eyes that looked at him like he created the universe.

He lined himself up, his face hovering above hers as his weight rested on his left forearm. He looked at her for confirmation once more, her bottom lip between her lips as she nodded. He pushed the tip in, his head dropping to rest in her neck. He groaned into her ear as he went in, her sharp whine filling his senses as she clawed into his shoulder blades. He pushed in a little more, her nails scraping down his back. She let out a low moan paired with her cry of, “Fuck yes, Jake. Feels so good. So big. Filling me up so good.”

He couldn’t help the small laugh that came out of him despite the absolute euphoria he was feeling being in her. He ran a hand over her hair before pulling himself out of her neck where he was busying himself with giving her another bruise. “It’s not all the way in yet, baby.”

Ivy’s eyes widened again, “How much left could there possibly be?”

He responded by pushing all the way in. She swallowed hard as she felt him hit a place inside her that had never been touched before. He watched as a small bulge protruded at the bottom of her stomach. He led her hand to rest over it - once again leading her hand to feel his dick, but this time through her own body. He pulled out before slowly pushing back in, “You feel that, sweet girl? That’s me. That’s how deep I am in you. I told you, this pussy was made for me.”

After a few more thrusts of letting her feel the way he moved inside of her, once again rendering her speechless, he leaned down to capture her lips again before picking up his pace. He broke the kiss but only to lift one of her legs to rest on his shoulder, his lips pressing a kiss to the inside of her ankle. The bed posts were hitting the wall so hard her nightstands were shaking just like her legs were. Her hands were once more locked in the sheets, her eyes rolling back with every thrust. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck - yes,” she couldn’t stop the few tears that rolled down her cheeks. He was enamored with the way she looked - naked, beautiful, his tags jingling every once and a while when he gave a particularly hard thrust. He was using her leg as leverage to fuck her even harder.

“That’s it baby, come on, you’re doing so well for me. You heard? You’re my good girl.”

She let out a moaned sob that was interrupted by a particularly hard thrust, “Yes, lieutenant, wanna be y’good girl.”

He cooed at her, “Look at you, can’t even talk right cause I’m fucking you so well. If you wanna be my best girl, show me what you cumming around my cock would feel like.”

She reached her hand down to rub her clit, but he swiped her hand away, placing it back on the bulge that was protruding, pushing down on her hand so that she was pushing down on it. It was like a damn had broken, her entire body seized up, tightening every muscle as he continued to thrust home, watching her eyes disappear behind her eyelids, her mouth opened in a shattered moan of his name mixed with “yes”es and “thank you”s. He had to hold her leg to keep it from shaking off of his shoulder. The way she was squeezing him was enough for him to feel his own high approaching.

He gently let her leg down, planning to pull out and cum into his shirt that he had discarded, but Ivy clearly had different plans. Her hands grabbed her tits, massaging them together. “Make me pretty, lieutenant. Please, please, make me pretty. Wanna be covered in you.”

“Fuck, you’re gonna kill me.” But he couldn’t deny he wanted to see it too. He stroked himself a couple of times, looking at her fucked out state beneath him, her tongue out to catch anything that made it that far. With a groan as she begged him once more for his cum, he finished onto her torso. Ropes of his cum covered from her lower belly to a few drops on her tongue. Most of it landed on her tits, and by proxy, his tags. She made sure to keep eye contact with him as she lifted the metal and licked his cum off of them, humming as she did so. She dipped a finger in cum on her chest, dipping it into her mouth as she moaned around her own finger at the taste of him. “So good, lieutenant, You made me so pretty. Only you can make me pretty like this.”

He dove back in for another kiss which started heated, but eventually turned deeper, both of them trying to show the other how much they enjoyed what just happened. When she pulled away for air, he kissed the tear tracks on her cheeks and climbed off the bed, picking her up and leading her to the bathroom. He sat her on the edge of the bathtub as he started to fill it up, not trusting her legs to keep her upright while they showered. While it was filling, the sound of the running water and the intense orgasms had her in a dreamy state, her head resting on the arm he was using to keep her up. Once the water was high enough and hot enough, he helped her get in and sit down, cupping his hand to take some water, directing her to swish it and spit it out so that her mouth wasn’t a desert anymore.

“Get in,” her sleepy voice let out.

He kissed her forehead, “Gotta make sure you’re taken care of first. Come back to Earth with me, sweet girl.” He continued to coax her out of the haze she was in, bringing her back to coherent thinking.

He then cupped the hot water over her shoulders before standing and climbing in behind her. It was awkward for him due to his size, but eventually they were able to settle into a comfortable state. Jake continued to cup water over her shoulders, making sure to keep her warm, massaging her shoulders and thighs every once and a while to release any tension as he soaped her body. When he finished washing her hair, he noticed how limp she was. Looking down, he was met with her asleep figure. Sensing that was her body trying to tell him she wanted her bed, he finished washing himself before waking her up and getting her out, wrapping her in a towel and sitting her in her chair in the corner. He wrapped his own towel around his waist, stripping the sheets and having her direct him to where there was another set. He made the bed as she was cuddled up in the towel, her hair dripping beads of water down her shoulders.

Jake pulled himself back into his sweat bottoms, foregoing the shirt for now, rubbing the water out his hair with the towel before disposing of it with their clothes heap. He helped her into a standing position, grabbing a pair of underwear for her to change into, turning away as she did so.

“It’s not like you haven’t seen everything.” She let out a laugh that turned into a yawn.

He turned back once he heard the drawers close, but instead of seeing her in one of her oversized sleep shirts he was so accustomed to, he instead saw her in the white Hanes t-shirt she had nearly torn off his body earlier. He couldn’t help the way his eyes traced her figure - wet hair, no pants, his shirt, sleepy smile. She went to give his tags back, but he shook his head, “Not yet.”

“Come on,” she nodded towards the bed, getting into one side as he got into the other. He reached over and pulled her into his chest, placing a kiss on the top of her wet hair, his fingers absentmindedly scratching up and down her bicep. She listened to his heartbeat as she reached her hand out to intertwine with his fingers. “I said ‘fuck me’ not ‘ruin any man for me ever again.’”

She felt his chest rise with the laugh he let out. “Oh sweet girl, if another man who isn’t me touches you, I’ll kill him.”

She hummed a laugh, sitting up on her elbows, one eyebrow raised, “Lieutenant Seresin, is this you asking me out?”

“Though that was clear, baby,” She leaned down to kiss him before laying back onto his chest; his thumb rubbed over her arm again. “But two things.”

“Yes?”

“One: if you call me lieutenant, you can’t be upset if I try to jump your bones immediately. Two: don’t call me Seresin unless you plan on letting me call you Mrs. Seresin.”

Ivy bit her lip to stop her laugh, “Yes, sir, lieutenant Seresin.”

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whathannelblogs · 2 years

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Rite 'n Lite Peach And Root Beer Review

Rite ‘n Lite Peach And Root Beer Review

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#beverage #beverage with no sugar #calamansi soda #diabetic soda #ginger soda #green tea soda #lemon and lime soda #lime soda #lychee soda #no calorie soda #no carbs soda #no sugar soda #peach soda #rite &039;n lite #rite &039;n lite peach #rite &039;n lite review #rite &039;n lite soda #root beer #soda for diabetics

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roosterbruiser · 1 year

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𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ✯ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞

✯ 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 "𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐦𝐚𝐧" 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐧 𝐱 𝐘𝐨𝐮 (𝐍𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞: 𝐅𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲) ✯ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You and Jake go to your house after a night of celebrating your high school graduation. Things get cloudy quickly. ✯ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 8.7K ✯ 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✯ 𝐅𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲'𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐱𝐭𝐚𝐩𝐞 #𝟏 ✯ 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞'𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐱𝐭𝐚𝐩𝐞 #𝟏 ✯ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ✯ 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩, 𝐓𝐗 𝐌𝐚𝐲 𝟐𝟒𝐭𝐡, 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟖

The ugly little radio on your cluttered desk is on right now, playing very lowly.

Free Bird by Lynyrd Skynyrd is playing now and you’re bobbing your head along as you steady yourself by gripping the edge of the desk. You’re definitely drunk--can feel the beer pulsing in your veins. You can feel the lining of your stomach practically deteriorating in a pool of Busch Lite.

“Careful now,” Jake teases quietly, chuckling. “Don’t disturb all your study materials.”

He’s saying this because your desk contains precisely zero studying materials--and it never has. It has random Monopoly cash with little notes written on them, expired nail polish, a few empty containers of Bug Juice, some plastic butterfly clips you stole from the local beauty supply, a dinky slinky, soda-flavored chapstick you also stole from the local beauty supply, and a couple bottles of Citrus Mistress that are all half-used.

“Didn’t need to study as hard as you,” you quip, “and we still graduated with the same GPA. Life is such a mystery.”

“What’s a mystery is how you sleep on this tiny bed,” Jake groans softly, trying to get comfortable on your unmade bed.

“Well, I’m not a six-foot baseball player,” you respond, shrugging. “So that definitely helps.”

“Aren’t you supposed to have Southern hospitality or somethin’?” Jake complains, a smile still tugging on his lips.

It makes you giggle. You and him climbed in through your bedroom window only ten minutes ago and already he’s insulting your hospitality--rightfully so, really. You’re not doing much to make him comfortable in your cramped and unruly room. Not that you ever really have to--he has been coming in through your bedroom window a long time and doesn’t ever require an invitation or welcoming. He’ll moan all day about your tiny bed, but will still sprawl himself out on top of it and rifle through the books you keep at your bedside. You will sometimes even come home from work and find him already there in your bedroom, blowing cigarette smoke into the little blanket you keep at the end of your bed just like you always do.

“Can’t help the way I was born,” you sigh, tapping your finger on the worn wooden grains as you search for a matchbook among all your clutter. “Which was apparently without hosting skills.”

Jake laughs, shaking his head softly.

“So, it’s in your DNA to be so rude all the damn time?”

You nod, grabbing the matches finally. They were hiding beneath a few Dum-Dum suckers.

“Exactly,” you breathe, shooting a grin over your shoulder.

Jake’s grinning at you, pretending to roll his eyes.

“Smells like fuckin’ oranges over here,” Jake mumbles.

Of course he’s also pretending like this fact bothers him--like he isn’t fighting an overpowering urge to bury his face in your quilt and smell you. He doesn’t even love the scent of that body spray you practically bathe in--he only likes it because you wear it, because he associates the smell with you now. He can never remember the name of your body spray--something dumb like Orange Cream Dream or Obscene Tangerine--but he could pick that scent out of a line-up.

“Anythin’ else you wanna complain about?”

You peer at Jake from the corner of your eye, biting your lip. He thinks for a moment before shaking his head.

“Not presently.” He smiles.

“From now on, you can start submittin’ your complaints to the official complaint box,”' you tell him, cheekily nodding towards the overflowing wastebasket stuck beside your desk. “Your feedback is valuable to us here at Filly’s Lodge.”

“Noted,” Jake says with a grin. “Love that face, too. Service with a smile!”

You poke your tongue out at him, ignoring the burning in your cheeks.

Jake smells like springwater and cigarettes. He’s sitting on top of the tired quilt that covers your twin mattress, leaning against the wall lazily with a half-smile on his wet lips. Whenever he leaves, carefully climbing out of your bedroom window and over the buttonbush that sits below it, your bed will smell like him. You’ll be able to bury your face in the quilt, that worn cotton pressing into your cheeks and lips, and pretend like he is still here.

You think he’s still high and know he’s still drunk.

“Wanna play Misty,” Jake whispers, narrowing his eyes at you as you try to fruitlessly strike a match. “C’mon, I’ll play quietly!”

You’re drunk, too--drunk enough that you keep having to lean against the wobbling three-legged dresser and blink away the bleariness in your eyes. But you’re not drunk enough to take his words at face-value. He can’t play his guitar quietly any easier than you can fucking light this match.

“Is it that you’re stupid or that you think I’m stupid?” You whisper. “Just tryin’ to get the full picture here.”

The match finally strikes in a wisp of sulfur; you light the candy-scented candle and settle it on your dresser before shuffling across the carpet to the bed. Jake doesn’t move from his spot in the middle of the mattress, limbs strewn all about. They’re thin and sinewy, still paled from wintertime.

“Oh, Filly-girl,” he moans lowly, collapsing into you when the bed dips beneath your weight. The springs groan and you know, even as drunk as you are, that it’s too loud. “You’re a mean little thing, ain’t you?”

“Hush up, Seresin,” you hiss in a whispered tone, leaning your head on his chest. “You’re too damn loud without Misty in the mix.”

“You love how loud I am,” he accuses.

“Or you’ve just broken me down finally,” you sigh.

He grins.

“I may be good at makin’ nice with all them horses at the Carolina’s,” Jake starts, stretching his fingertips towards the ceiling and giving you a fleeting glimpse of his taut belly, “but I don’t think I’m good enough to break you, Filly.”

This pleases you enough for heat to rise in your cheeks--if you’ve never been anything, it’s shy. It’s difficult for you to hide whatever emotion you’re feeling--it’s always written clear as day on your face. Even if it wasn’t, you’re sure that Jake would be able to figure it out in a few seconds flat.

“Damn straight,” you tell him with your brows blanched. “No one is. It’d do you good to remember that, too.”

He mockingly salutes you, which has you batting his hand away with a giggle.

His weight is a familiar one, one that is as regular to you as a cigarette after lunch or a swim in the spring. He’s warm and you know that it isn’t just because of all the beer he drank--he’s perpetually radiating heat, oozing out of his body in thick and suffocating waves. He’s laughing a breathy sort of laugh, his aspen-colored eyes hazy and far away even as his nose nudges against yours during his bid to regain his posture.

God--his breath smells yeasty. His saliva must be thick with alcohol; it makes spit gather under your tongue just thinking about what his mouth must taste like. And when he’s this close to you, falling sideways into your body so that he’s very nearly on top of you, you can smell him exactly: the American Spirit cigarettes he smokes but doesn’t like, the muddy water of Silver Spring, the musty smoke from your bonfire, the marijuana you smoked, the beer he drank, the dirt you laid upon.

“M’fallin’,” he mumbles once he realizes that he’s on top of you.

“You’re fallen,” you correct, carefully slinking out from under him. “All over my bed, might I add. Scoot over!”

“Sorry,” he slurs, rubbing his eyes and raking his hands through his shaggy locks. Then he gives you a grin, one that is toothy as it is wide. It’s the kind of grin that usually prefaces something brash and stupid. “Watch how shhhh, quiet I can be when I play guitar,” he whispers, raising his eyebrows as he sits up against your chipped wall again.

The world is fuzzy as he pretends to grab Misty--which is not actually physically on the floor or even in this room, for that matter--and settle her over his lap. Your throat is caked in beer still as he even pretends to tune, closing his eyes like he’s trying to really hear if she’s ready to be played. There’s a bubble in your chest--one that is bloated and filled with all the noise that you’re trying very hard to keep behind your grinning lips--and you’re afraid it’s going to burst when Jake starts strumming his faux-strings.

“This one goes out to my best friend, Filly,” he says to his invisible audience, leaning up against the wall when he starts to slump over again. “She’s a pain in my ass and the love of my life,” he finishes.

“Really know how to make a girl swoon, don’t you, mustang?” You tease him, rolling your eyes to the high heavens but letting your cheek rest against the warm skin of his shin anyway. His leg hairs, the ones that you’ve teased him about since they first arrived in middle school, tickle your cheeks.

You’ve been calling him mustang for a long, long time. Neither of you really remember when it started: it was sometime after you met in the quaint carpeted Sunday school classroom at Silverkeep Baptist, but sometime before you were old enough to steal cigarettes from your mama’s purses. You’ve always been a bit of a precocious child, unruly mop of curls a mirror of your quick wit and tenacity. Mustang just falls from your mouth so easily--partly teasing and partly not.

He’s been calling you Filly for as long as you can remember. It’s what everyone has always called you; your daddy started it up when you were young and you grew so used to the name that you preferred it. You even had teachers calling you Filly by the second week of kindergarten. It just suited you.

“Every now and then,” he answers cheekily, giving you a grin that could blind a driver with his white teeth and wet lips and dimples and tan skin. “Shh, m’playing my lady.”

You aren’t sure if he means you or imaginary Misty--he definitely means Misty, though.

You’re biting your lip hard, numb from the terrible beer Hyde was able to snag from the corner store, batting away the glassiness of your eyes as Jake pretends to stroke his guitar. He’s good at it, even if his guitar isn’t really in his arms. Lord knows you’ve seen him play enough times to imagine what the tune would sound like had he really had Misty sitting on his lap now. He’s good at a lot of things, which both endlessly annoys you and enamors you. He’s the best damn pitcher the Silverbullet’s have ever seen (and probably ever will see now that Jake’s aged off the team), he can handle more of that piss-tasting beer than anyone you know, he’s charming as a TV weatherman, and he ain’t half bad at riding all those horses he tends to on the Carolina’s farm on the edge of town.

He’s still strumming that pretend instrument while you watch on, pretending to be annoyed. Really, though, you’re the opposite of annoyed: you’re overjoyed to be in here with him. He’s not supposed to be in your bedroom, especially without your parents knowing, especially this late, especially when the both of you are drunk.

But the two of you are too excited to not be with each other right now. You graduated high school today, sweating through your polyester robes, walking across that rickety stage holding each other’s arms, celebrating with Hyde and Ruth with an entire afternoon (and evening) of drinking and smoking on the banks of Silver Spring. And when Ruth and Hyde decided to finally call it quits, Ruth whining about how early church was tomorrow morning and Hyde hardly able to keep his eyes open, you and Jake had silently agreed to keep your party going privately.

So that’s how the two of you have ended up in your little bedroom, half on top of each other, Jake serenading you silently, your giggles hardly muffled by your wet lips.

Free Bird finishes and Me and Bobby McGee by Janis Joplin begins quietly.

“Any requests from the audience?” Jake asks, pretending to scan over a crowd as he looks over at your overflowing hamper and your drugstore makeup and your mismatched socks and your crate of old records. “I’ll take what I can get!”

“Play Free Bird,” you mockingly call to him, grinning when he spurts out laughter.

You’re definitely not sober and even if that fact had been lost on you earlier, the shiver that tickles your spine when his throat opens up and vibrates like that would basically be a flashing red neon sign that says you’re drunk! And also the fact that the two of you are being audacious enough to laugh out loud when your parents are sleeping a measly twenty feet away through two flimsy plywood doors is a screaming indicator.

“Don’t know if I have a fourteen-minute guitar solo in me tonight,” Jake says quietly, raking his hands through his hair and finally dropping Misty back into the air she was born from. “What else can we do?”

The two of you both know the logical answer: go to bed. Jake should really get up and out of your bed while he’s still sober enough, walk on down to his house, climb into his bedroom window, and get a few hours of shut-eye before church.

But neither of you are willing to leave each other.

“Drink?” You suggest with a shrug.

Jake points at you, lips pursed.

“I like the way you think, Filly-girl,” he says.

So you sink to the floor again, trying hard to be quiet as you push through all your old stuffed animals and candy wrappers and dust bunnies to pull out the dwindling case of Blue Ribbon you’d gotten ahold of a few weeks ago.

It’s lukewarm at best, especially since your room is always so hot, but it’s all the two of you have right now.

“Here,” Jake slurs, gesturing for both cans. He pops yours open for you so your fingers don’t get wet, never mind the droplets that landed on your quilt. “Drink up, buttercup.”

The two of you unceremoniously clink cans before swigging the liquid. You can’t drink it without grimacing, even if you don’t exactly mind the temperature of it. It’s just that it tastes like fucking piss. Jake is too drunk to care about what it tastes like, but even if he did, he’s sure that twist in your lips and pitiful squint of your eyes would numb his tongue.

“That’s good stuff,” he teases and you laugh again.

He really loves that sound, even when it’s whispered.

“We’re livin’ the high life over here,” you whisper, biting your lip hard. “How’s your day today?”

It tickles him that you’re asking as if you weren’t with him all day.

He sighs, deciding to play along as he rests an arm behind his head, taking another long drink of the beer as you sip on yours.

“Fine. Nothin’ much happened. Graduated high school. Smoked some weed. Drank some beer. Went swimmin’.”

You nod, taking another drink, still trying to conceal a toothy grin. Your cheeks feel warm and fuzzy--probably from consuming another beer.

“Sounds like every other Saturday,” you tease.

He nods, taking another drink.

“Just another day in paradise, I guess,” he says. Then he looks at you with his eyes very soft, with his face very open. “How’s your day?”

You know why he’s asking you. It’s because today marks the beginning of something that feels a lot like an end. It’s something that makes your belly ache just to think about. Today, the two of you graduated high school in the same building you started kindergarten together in. This will be your last summer with both of you living in Silverkeep because come August, he’ll be going to the University of Austin on a baseball scholarship--a full-ride. And you--well, you’re just staying here.

“My day’s okay,” you tell him, trying not to let your face reflect the bitterness that has suddenly settled in the pit of your belly. “Ready for this summer.”

At the mention of summer, and because of the way your lips twitched into an unintentional frown and your eyes getting glassy, Jake sighs.

“Still got a weddin’ date in you?”

That makes you smile. He’s really, really glad to see that little gap between your front teeth. He’d do just about anything in the world to see your lips curl upwards, to see those cheeks of yours turn pink as an apple.

You are mildly surprised, though, that it’s you he’s taking to the wedding.

“‘Course you do,” you tell him with a smile, throwing your hair over your shoulder as you adjust to get comfortable on your little mattress. “Wouldn’t make you go to that weddin’ all on your lonesome.”

“You’re a saint,” he says with a grin.

The wedding the two of you are talking about is his oldest sister’s wedding. Harper Seresin is marrying Curtis Bennett, who is ten years older than her and looks and acts it, late in the month of July. Harper, who still lives at home, drives Jake absolutely up the wall. So does his other older sister Callie and his younger sister Brandy. Jake reckons the only people that don’t drive him crazy are you and his mama, who you affectionately call Mama Fran.

“Yeah, I’m pretty much the best,” you sigh, pressing your face against his legs. “Gonna make me slow dance with you, mustang?”

Carefully, you begin to stroke his leg. It’s honestly an absent movement, just something that you do to feel close to him, something you do without even really thinking about it. But you’ve grown so comfortable to the feeling of his soft sandy hairs against your skin that it soothes something in your chest that seems to always ache.

“Hell yeah I am,” Jake says. “Gotta show you off!”

You roll your eyes--ignore the stuttering of your heart. You take another drink and he can feel it against his ankle when you swallow. It’s such a fluid and soft movement, one that makes his own throat feel tight.

“Sorry in advance for when I step on your toes,” you sigh, smiling coyly.

“No, you’re not,” Jake snorts quietly.

You laugh--your breath is warm against his leg. It’s the warmest thing in the entire room despite the lack of air conditioning in your entire house, despite how stuffy it is in here, despite the rickety fan in the corner blowing warm air over his face.

“No, I’m not,” you confirm.

He’s grinning at you now, basking in the warmth of your flushed cheek against his naked shin. He’s certain there are little stars in his eyes as he lets them rest on the sweet curve of your nose and the pucker in your lips as you flutter your eyes shut to think of what to do next. Your face is a familiar one to him--one that he can hardly remember a time before, when he didn’t know those long lashes and that little gap between your front teeth. Everything about you is familiar; the sound of your open-mouthed laughter, the feel of your chipped fingernails against the skin of his scalp, your skin against his skin.

He can’t help himself--he knows he’s drunk, he knows it only exacerbates his throbbing need to touch you all the time, but he submits to it now--as he leans forward just slightly to let his thumb rest against your lips. He’s not even thinking about his girlfriend right now--Hell, he hardly thought about her at all today. He left Emmaline in the dust today to spend the first day of summer break with his friends--but really, he ditched Emmaline to spend the first day of summer with you.

“Like your lips like this,” he says quietly, pretending like your spit on the pad of his finger isn’t making it hard for him to breathe.

“Like what?” You ask softly, voice thin.

Your heart is starting to race--you can feel it pulsing behind your eyelids.

“Naked,” he answers after a moment, throat impossibly tighter.

What he means is that he didn’t like that Barbie-pink lipstick you wore to graduation, the one that came off in crumbs. He didn’t like your blue eyeshadow either or the way it coated your freckled cheeks when you blinked. Or the neon blush on your cheeks or the smudged glittery eyeliner haphazardly smeared on your eyelids. He likes your face like this: open and bare.

The only thing he liked about that cheap-ass Barbie-labia lipstick was that you were unable to stop disturbing it, so it kept ending up smeared in the corners of your mouth or on your teeth. So Jake, being the Southern gentleman he is, corrected it for you. Which meant that he got to touch your mouth--which felt unholy and downright sacred. Once, when it was smeared across your teeth, he told you to snarl before he let his thumb run across the silky wetness of your teeth. Under the Texas sun on that stupid little football field with all of your graduating class (which was a whopping twenty-seven students), he was sure he was going to melt from the heat of your mouth on his finger alone. Especially when you had quickly kissed his finger, effectively staining it in the shape of your mouth, in a very you-way of showing gratitude.

Your breath is hitched right now as he stares at your lips.

He’s drunk, you remind yourself. He’s drunk, he’s drunk, he’s drunk.

“Naked, huh?” You whisper, trying hard not to just open your mouth and let his finger come inside. “Reckon that’s scandalous, what with your girly-friend and all.”

You’re teasing him to mask the throbbing between your legs. You suddenly wish you weren’t on this bed with him, the bed that hasn’t been big enough to fit both of you since you were in eighth grade, the bed you two always squish together on.

You gulp your beer, finishing half of it.

But Jake knows you--knows you better than anyone else in the entire world. So he knows that when you tease him, when you call Emmaline Odette his girly-friend with that little bitter lilt in your voice, when your eyebrows blanche, when your lips part wetly that you’re defending something. He isn’t precisely sure what it is that you’re defending, but it’s something big--something soft.

Jake is just drunk enough to say it to you, just drunk enough to get it off his chest the way he’s been wanting to since, what feels like, the dawn of time. He feels like he’s just the right level of lovesick and inebriated to say fuck Emmaline, I’m in love with you. If he was sober, he would feel instantaneously guilty. Emmaline isn’t a bad girl--she’s just prissy, which is why you don’t like her. And it isn’t Emma’s fault that she’s prissy, that she’s never really struggled in any capacity. It also isn’t her fault that she’s just a placeholder--a placeholder for you.

“You’re right,” Jake says finally, pushing aside all thoughts of Emmaline and the voicemails she’s probably left for him on his family’s phone despite him constantly asking her not to do that. “Maybe I should just break up with her.”

You’re shocked for a moment--shocked enough to laugh dryly. But his face is unchanging as he gazes down at you: his eyes soft and wickedly beautiful in the plastic lamplight of your room, his lips pink, his finger still pressed against your mouth.

But then something changes. Your spine is tingling as you straighten it, fingers wet against the aluminum can in your clutches. You’re something between nervous and audacious.

“Didn’t know you wanted to break up with Emma,” you whisper, unwilling to move your mouth away from his finger.

When his thumb comes down to grasp the point of your chin, when he practically holds you in place as his eyes darken, your toes curl into the cotton pillow they’re resting on. If your mama was in here, she’d be sighing and groaning about you laying on your bed without showering--especially since you were swimming all day. But right now, as Jake gazes down at you and lets his middle finger rest on your bottom lip too, you don’t care about any of it.

“Do you want me to?”

Jake has put the ball in your court--he knows it and so do you.

“I don’t know what I want,” you answer.

It feels layered and you suppose it is. You don’t like Emmaline as much as she doesn’t like you. Girls like her, with their clean hair and manicures and thin eyebrows and bedazzled jeans, aren’t friends with girls like you. You haven’t had a new pair of jeans since your freshman year of high school, you bite your nails when they’re too long, and your hair is too rambunctious to even try and brush. You two are as different as silk and leather; one of you is much tougher, but more people prefer looking at the softer one.

It isn’t that you want Jake to be alone, even if you don’t love when he has a girlfriend. Of course you don’t like it--you’re in love with him, you think. Of course you’re not gonna like any girlfriend he has. But he’s a good sport when there’s some plaid-wearing boy sniffing around you and you try--not very hard, but still--to be good for him.

“You don’t like her,” he says and he isn’t angry when he says this. He’s not accusing so much as stating.

“No, I don’t,” you say, nodding.

You’re an honest person--a brutally honest person. He likes that about you. You don’t dilly-dally around.

“You don’t hide it very well,” Jake tells you.

You nod again.

“No, I don’t,” you repeat, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Do you? Like her?”

Jake shrugs before he even means to. He knows that he shouldn’t be shrugging when you ask him if he likes his own girlfriend. But he can’t help but be honest with you--he’s always been honest with you.

“She’s fine,” he answers. “She’s probably gonna be pissed that I wasn’t with her tonight.”

He says this like he doesn’t already know that she’s pissed. They had argued about it earlier that day, just like they’d argued about him walking with you instead of her, just like they argued about him pointing to you in the crowd before hitting home runs instead of her. He couldn’t help it--it was just in his blood to think of you first.

“Probably,” you answer. “She gonna leave one of those pissy messages on your house phone again?”

Jake groans and smiles at the same time.

“How’d it go again? What’d she say that one time?” You’re laughing, basking in this feeling right now, laughing with the boy you’re in love with about the girl he’s dating.

“This really reflects poorly on your character,” Jake imitates Emmaline, letting his voice raise a couple octaves--just because he knows it’ll make you laugh.

And you do laugh--the pretty, pretty laugh that he swears he hears in his dreams sometimes. It’s a beautiful one--a perfect one.

“Oh, that’s good,” you breathe, still giggling. “What a fuckin’ princess.”

“What--you don’t think me missin’ our eight o’clock phone call reflects poorly on my character?”

He still has his finger pressed against your lips--it’s grown comfortable there. There really aren’t many places on your body that he hasn’t grown entirely comfortable touching and your mouth is no exception; he pulled every single one of your baby teeth because it made you too squeamish.

“She reflects poorly on your character,” you whisper, a boldness biting your tongue. “Don’t you worry about what she says ‘bout you when you’re not there?”

Jake’s spine prickles at the thought.

The Odette’s are probably the richest people in Silverkeep--like the kind of folk that could afford to live really anywhere else. The first time Jake went over to her house, the big old brick thing with freshly-painted shutters and bright green grass, he was afraid of drying his hands on the monogrammed towels in the guest bathroom. He felt dirty when he was around her--even if he’d just bathed. Even having sex with Emmaline was like taking a shower; he felt cleaner after.

“Well, now I do,” Jake laughs dryly, pinching your lip softly.

You don’t move away, just blinking up at him.

“You should,” you tell him honestly, fingering the tab of your beer can. “She ain’t our kinda people.”

Jake tuts, shrugging again. He knows you’re right. He really, really knows you’re right. And really, you’re the only person brave enough to say that about him. Your family is poor and so is Jake’s. Your parents work themselves to the bone to give you guys off-brand cereal and cramped bedrooms, neither of you have cars, all of your clothes are stretched to the limit, and a portion of both your paychecks go towards the house payment. Emmaline’s never worked a day in her life--if she didn’t want to, she probably would never have to. Jake knows this. And he’d be lying if he said the tightness in his chest was only from being so close to you.

“Can’t say that,” Jake says, but his voice is thin. “We’re all supposed to love each other, right? Or whatever hippie-shit Hyde’s always preachin’.”

He’s trying to make you smile, but you’re not. You’re suddenly worried about what Emmaline says about him when he’s not there. You’ve wondered the entire three months they’ve been together what she sees in him. It isn’t that you think there’s nothing about him that’s attractive--Hell, you think everything about him is achingly perfect. But it’s just that girls like her usually date boys that get regular haircuts and drive big trucks. They don’t usually date the fatherless boy that works his tail off shoveling horse shit to lessen the financial burden on his mama.

“You deserve someone nicer,” you tell him finally, your voice quieter than before but just as serious. “Someone that won’t make you get your license.”

Jake nods along, not disagreeing with you.

“Probably good to have a license,” he tries softly, shrugging.

“You don’t have a car,” you say with a pointed look.

You don’t say it, but you know that he probably won’t have a car for the foreseeable future. The only way he’d be able to afford a car is if he won the lottery or if someone died and left him money.

“Fine,” Jake sighs. “Then who should I be with?”

You’re turning pink again--you can feel it flooding your face and chest. And you’re overwhelmed by the scent of him, by all the places your bodies are touching. So you just blink up at him, hoping that he can’t see the lump in your throat.

And Jake is looking down at you with a sweet sort of softness, one that is usually attached to his level of drunkenness. He’s seems to have hit that sweet spot right now, that spot that makes him feel lovely and brave and scared and elated all at the same time. Just looking at you, looking at the flush in your cheeks and the slight tremble of your lower lip underneath his fingers--it makes him want you bad.

He retracts his grip from your mouth, aching for the warmth and familiarity of your lips, but pushing through it. He picks up your hand, carefully detaching it from your beer can. He holds your fingers, his heart thumping in his throat, and glances down at your fingernails. They’re bitten things, always short and never even. There’s little half-crescents of dirt beneath them, too, because there isn’t enough time in your day to care about something so trivial.

“Someone who’ll get some dirt under their fingernails?”

He’s not sure why he’s said it--but he has and now it’s lingering in the air. And it isn’t regret that he feels slinking up his frame, no, not at all. It’s a strange sort of relief. He’s said it--or at least suggested it. He’s never gotten so close to just blurting it out. But this will work for now.

You’re certain that your heart stops for an entire minute as you stare up at him dumbly. You’re in a state of total disbelief right now because as much as you two touch each other, as much as your harbor feelings for him, as in love with you as you are, you’re entirely sure that it is one-sided.

But you know, know with your entire heart and every other organ in your trembling body, that there is dirt under your fingernails right now.

And then he softly brings your fingers up to his lips, his eyes flickering shut as he kisses your knuckles. Now you really can’t breathe, really can’t move because you’re sure that if you do, this fragile thing will collapse.

Jake feels the same, just inhaling your skin while you’re allowing him to, just trying to memorize the placement of every bone in your sweet hand, just trying to remember the exact way you smell. He can’t look at your face--terrified that you will be horrified.

But you’re not moving away from him. You’re not moving at all.

He lets your hand fall back onto the bed and it lays there limp because you simply don’t have it in you to pick it up--you’re entirely paralyzed right now, trying to blink yourself back into reality.

Then he touches your mouth again and you let him, trying to hide the hitch in your breathing, trying to swallow the bundle of nerves sitting thickly on your tongue. And this time, he doesn’t ask--he just presses until your lips are parted and then swipes his thumb across your teeth. There it is--that little gap he loves so much.

“Someone with a gap between their front teeth?”

You nearly moan out loud. Your thighs are burning because you’re pressing them together so hard, suddenly desperate for some sort of friction. In fact, you’re paralyzed all except for an ache in your core that is starting to radiate all across your body. You’ve felt this before, sure, having a handful of romps with boys here and there. But it’s never been from something as simple, something as sexy, as Jake touching these little parts of your body.

“What’re you doin’?” You ask, voice trembling.

And Jake retracts immediately, heat flooding his cheeks, a sick feeling washing over his body at the very notion of making you uncomfortable.

But then you reach out and grab his wrist. You’ve touched his wrist before--Hell, you’ve touched just about every spot on his body. But right now, wrapping your fingers around those bones and that skin and feeling that quickened pulse, it feels very intimate.

“I didn’t say stop,” you breathe.

And maybe it’s because you’re drunk still, though significantly more sober from his touch, and maybe it’s because he’s drunk and a little bit high. Maybe it’s because he’s looking at you with such softness, his eyes wide and swimming in sweetness. Or maybe it’s because you’ve only dreamed about moments like this one.

But you lead his hand back to your parted lips, eyelashes trembling terribly as you press his fingers into your mouth and let them fall on your tongue. His response is immediate--a little gasp catching in his mouth, his eyes bleary and wide, his cheeks reddening.

You almost can’t believe that it’s happening; his fingers are in your mouth and you’re tasting his skin, all that dirt and beer and water and oil dissolving in your warm saliva. It slides down your throat as you very softly suck, swirling your tongue on his fingertips, blinking up at him with big eyes.

He can’t believe it’s happening either--watching your tongue work around his fingers like you were born to do it, your lashes trembling ever so lightly as you look up at him, your body radiating heat. His mind is swimming and his heart is pulsing and his cock is starting to throb, but above all of that, all he can think about is you, you, you, you, you.

So he takes his fingers out of your mouth slowly, basking in the feeling of your tongue sliding across his knuckles, and catches a glimpse of that saliva coating his fingers before he lets his hand float down to your chest.

Your breaths are rapid as you eagerly await his touch, suddenly dizzy with want for him. And he looks up at you as his fingers tug at the hem of your dress, the one you outgrew a few years ago, and you just nod. Of course you do--you’re desperate for him.

His hand snakes beneath your dress, skirting across the curve of your hip and stilling when they land on the hills of your breasts. Your bra is honestly ill-fitting, too, and he already knows that from swimming earlier. He knows that you’re wearing yellow cotton underwear, too, and that they’re probably dried of spring water now but wet with arousal.

Jake indulges that overwhelming desire to get closer to you. He moves clumsily and so do you, tangling in each other with bated breaths, trying to fit on your stupid twin bed.

Then the two of you are laying nose-to-nose, looking deeply into each other’s eyes, each of you too afraid to speak for fear of breaking whatever trance has fallen over the both of you. You’re close enough to kiss each other, but you don’t. He just rests his forehead against yours and you nudge your nose against his softly.

His hand is still under your dress, hovering your breast. And before he can change his mind, before he can ruin this perfect moment, he swiftly pulls the flimsy fabric of your bra aside and lets his palm cover your exposed breast.

Your moan is the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard--it’s raspy and breathy, even better than your laugh, even better than your silly singing voice. His entire body reacts to the sound like some sort of dog-whistle. His shoulders relax, his heart practically melts in his chest, his cock jumps, his legs tense.

Your breasts are just as soft as he imagined they’d be--supple and wanting beneath his palm. And when he pinches your nipple, lets it pebble between his fingers, you moan again. Now he’s beginning to ache with want, growing desperate for some sort of gratification. But he’s still too afraid to make any sudden movements, like you’re an animal that’s easily spooked.

That’s the precise moment that you reach out for the first time and tangle your hands in his hair. You’re breathing hard, eyes shut, heart racing, beads of pleasure swirling around in your belly. You’re so close to him, so achingly close, but it is not nearly enough for you. You have to touch him in more places than just your noses, have to feel him all against you and all over you.

So you let your fingers grip those shaggy locks, bask in the little sound in his throat, try not to let tears cloud your eyes when he grows confident enough to press his knee between your legs to effectively part them.

“Jake,” you whisper, entirely breathless as he pinches your nipple again.

“Don’t,” he whispers, shaking his head, pressing down harder on your breasts and relishing in that sweet sound again and again.

“We shouldn’t--I can’t, you have a--we can’t…” You’re trying very hard to make sense as you speak to him but it’s proving to be very difficult, especially when he presses his naked leg up against your heat and gives you that sweet, sweet friction.

He shakes his head again, his beer-scented breath fanning out over your face.

“Stop talkin’,” he whispers, eyes fluttering shut. “Unless you don’t want this. Then you gotta say it. You gotta say that you don’t want it.”

You’re silent. You want this bad--you want it so bad that your fingers are starting to tremble. You want it so bad that your mind is totally empty except for thoughts of him. You’ve already submitted entirely to him and his hands.

“Okay,” you whisper, nodding.

He grins, eyes still shut as he shakes his head lightly.

“I said stop talkin’,” he whispers.

“Sorry,” you return in the same hushed tone.

And usually, you wouldn’t be so malleable. You wouldn’t be so easy to render silent. You wouldn’t usually be so compliant. But you feel like you’re in some sort of dream-state right now, like you’re floating between this realm and a better one, like things are finally going your way. Because as unreal as this feels, you know that it is real. You know especially when his breath puffs against your face as he laughs softly and when a laugh bubbles out of you, too. This is real; it’s you and it’s Jake. It’s his hand and your breast. It’s his leg and your clothed cunt.

He’s silent after that, just looking at your face as he kneads your breasts and rests his forehead against yours. Your eyebrows are pinched and your lip is bitten and he can see that little gap between your teeth. And he can feel how warm you are between your legs, can feel wetness gathering in your underwear as he presses his leg up against your cunt. And your fingers are softly tugging his locks as you moan quietly and all those little touches and sounds are making him painfully hard.

All thoughts of Emmaline have dissipated entirely--not that he even thinks about her very often at all.

Your lips are so close to touching his. You can almost feel the outline of his bottom lip against your top lip, can almost feel how wet his mouth is, can almost feel how warm his tongue is. But for some reason, you’re not kissing. You’re just hovering over each other, moaning softly, panting into each other’s mouths.

The Killing Moon by Echo & the Bunnymen is playing now.

“Can I?” Jake asks, letting his fingers dance across your belly again and land on the band of your underwear.

Silently, you nod. Your heart is in your throat again, beating erratically. But you want this--you know in your bones that you want this. You want it so bad that you could cry. You’re glad that you’re not totally sober, glad that you have a bit of beer loosening your joints.

Jake is so turned on that he could explode, but he’ll be damned if he won’t savor every single moment of this. He lets his fingers slip beneath the cotton underwear and keeps a careful eye on the hitching breaths in your chest.

He moans softly when he feels your cunt for the first time. Here is a place he has never touched you before, maybe one of the only ones. And you are perfect, he knows it without even seeing you up close. The little stubble you have there pricks his skin as he carefully slinks his way to your folds.

You’re gripping his hair, hips bucking towards him, eyes screwed shut when he lets just his middle finger carefully part your lips. Pleasure explodes in your body, hot as a gas stove, and you have to bite down hard on your lip in fear that you’ll wake your parents up. But it feels so fucking good just having his one finger against your wetness, pressing down on your clit.

“Fuck,” Jake whispers, shaking his head softly, shuddering.

He’s fingered his fair share of girls--being on the baseball team has its benefits--but he’s suddenly nervous to mess this up. You’re the most perfect person he’s ever met, the most perfect person he’s ever touched. He wants you to feel good and he wants to be the one that makes you feel good.

You, on the other hand, have never been touched here. There was that one boy at the drive-in about a year ago that got a little handsy, but he never breached the waistband of your panties. This is entirely new pleasure for you, one that feels paramount and out of your control. You’re not sure if you loathe it or love it yet, so you just rest your cheek on the bed and gasp for air like a fish out of water.

And Jake is moving closer to you, pressing his hips against your body. You can feel how hard he is, how uncomfortable that must be. But you’re too nervous to reach down and touch him, too paralyzed with pleasure to even move at all.

Jake is panting now. You’re so wet and silky, hips moving subtly to meet every movement of his hand. And you’re breathing so loudly, redness gathering on your chest, mouth endlessly parted.

This still feels like a dream.

But it’s the best dream he’s ever had.

He moves quicker, the pace something that he knows Emmaline and the other girls have liked, and presses his nose into yours as you grip him harshly. You’re so hot, squirming beneath his fingers, moving closer and farther from him at the same time.

You’re not necessarily uncomfortable right now, but you feel like you’re rapidly approaching it. He’s touching you almost too perfectly, going almost too fast, pressing that one spot so harshly that it’s too much. And you’ve never been touched here by him or any other man and that thought alone is making you dizzy. You feel like something is approaching rapidly, like all of this is about to come to a head, and you’re afraid of what that is.

So you clamp your legs together, pushing yourself against his chest. He removes his hand at once, jolting back into sobriety momentously. And he’s searching your face as it pinches, as you recover from almost cumming on his fingers, as you try and catch your breath.

“Y’alright?” He asks, shaking his head softly as you swallow hard.

You’re hot with embarrassment now, trying desperately to get some moisture on your tongue. Jake is worried he crossed a line, worried that you didn’t want it as badly as he did. But then you’re hesitantly looking up at him, shaking your head softly, and he knows that isn’t the case.

“It--it was too good,” you whisper, pulling your dress down over your thighs as you swallow harshly again.

Jake sighs, his shoulders slumping. So you did want it--he didn’t cross a line.

“You ever done that before?” He asks.

You both move to prop yourselves up on your elbows, still looking at each other. Jake subtly lets his fingers air out against his shorts as you pull into yourself with your hair mussed and eyes bleary.

“No,” you answer honestly. “Not with anyone else.”

He nods. He didn’t know that.

“Should’ve taken it easier on you,” he whispers.

You’re burning under his gaze, squeezing your thighs together as aftershocks of pleasure ricochet through your still-taut body.

“Maybe,” you whisper.

Then it’s quiet for a moment.

Jake’s still trying to gather his thoughts and you’re still trying to get your heartrate back down. Both of you are in a state of disbelief, reeling at how quickly that all went and how sudden it was.

Neither of you will ask what it meant. Neither of you will tell the other that it isn’t just hormones and alcohol that made you feel the way you did just a few minutes ago. You’re both stubborn people and your boots are faster than your brains. Neither of you are the admitting type, especially when it comes to big things that matter.

Because for Jake, the worst thing that could happen is that he hurts you. He says something dumb and he makes you cry or he does something you don’t like. And maybe you’ll forgive him, but you probably won’t because you don’t like to forgive people. He wants to be on your good side for the rest of his days. And if he fucks up and tells you that he is in love with you and that every other girl he’s ever touched has just been a temporary fix, he’s afraid that it will frighten and hurt you.

And for you, the worst thing that could happen is that he doesn’t feel the same way you do. You’ve been in love with him for so long that the feeling has almost become a part of your personality. You are hopelessly in love with his shaggy hair and his stupid calloused fingers and his laugh and the dimple in his left cheek and the hair on his legs and the way he looks when he rides his bike. And if he didn’t feel that way about you then you would be turned inside out.

“Do you want me to leave?” Jake asks softly.

He had planned on staying before it all happened, planning on crashing on your bed and waking up in a few hours to walk home to shower before church in the morning. But now he isn’t so sure.

He’s blinking at you, wishing that the two of you were still touching. He’s bracing himself for your answer, bracing himself for that stiffness in your limbs and the bitterness in your tone when you tell him to get out.

But none of that ever comes, none of that ever happens.

You shake your head, your eyes soft and your lips parted.

“No,” you tell him. “Stay.”

And, really, it’s the most vulnerable thing you’ve said. Your mind is still clouded with a billion different words and thoughts and worries. What had he thought of the way your cunt felt against his finger? Had he wanted you to touch him? Is he just drunk right now? Had you really dreamt the whole ordeal? Was it going to happen again? Was he going to say anything about it? But you will never ask these things to him and it’s because you’re far too afraid that he will answer.

“Okay,” he tells you.

He’ll stay.

It’s something between awkward and familiar as you two settle back down on the bed together. You’re lying close to each other, which you always do anyway, but now there’s a hesitance on either end.

He’s looking into your eyes, trying to gauge what you feel, trying to figure out what the right thing to say is. But nothing is coming to his busy mind, no words are biting at his lips. So he just leans forward slightly and rests his forehead against yours.

For right now, it’s enough for both of you. Just to have that point of connection, just to touch skin against skin, just to know that the other feels the staleness in the air too--it makes you both sigh into the bed. Even with all these unspoken minutes and actions between the two of you, all these confusing little moments, the both of you accept this small touch.

You move a little bit closer to him and he moves his arm to rest across your body, which is a familiar motion. He weighs you against the bed and you sigh into his mouth. Your breath still smells like cigarettes and beer.

“I’m breakin’ up with her tomorrow,” Jake says as your eyes flutter shut.

He’s still watching your face, watching the way it finally goes slack in the pink light of your bedroom. You barely react, just nod very softly.

If you were braver, you’d say why? If you were braver, you’d say good.

But instead you just whisper, “Okay.”

Neither of you are certain what the morning will hold. But Jake’s holding you and your arousal is dried on his fingers and there’s finally saliva on your tongue and you know you’ll be okay. At least for right now, you’ll be okay.

Just as you fall asleep, crossing that threshold of dreamland with a rapid pace that always sparks envy in Jake’s belly, he leans forward and dusts his lips against your nose. Just the very tip of it, that warm place that he’s kissed before. And you don’t move at all, barely even to breathe. Then he falls asleep, too, letting his forehead rest against yours.

Neither of you stir once.

✯ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

✯ 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝

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✯ ��𝐚𝐠𝐬: @hazyretina @violetta-ximena @illicithallways @winterrebel04 @chicomonks

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