pookie

where the hell have i been loca (nick, she/her, 21)

[munsster]

NAVIGATION

welcome to munsster’s multifandom blog!

THIS BLOG IS ANTI-AI. AI has no place in fandom spaces, and those who use AI in the creation of ‘fan’ art should feel embarrassed.

requests are open!

this blog is 18+, munsster politely requests that minors do not interact!

STRANGER THINGS

steve harrington, robin buckley, eddie munson, billy hargrove, kurt kunkle, etc.

THE BEAR

chef luca, etc.

MARVEL

bucky barnes, steve rogers, peter parker, ransom drysdale, natasha romanoff, etc.

SUPERMAN (2025)

clark kent, etc.

TOP GUN

rooster, hangman, bob, coyote, etc.

TWILIGHT

coming soon…

EVENTS

N/A

Helpful Links

who i will write for

fanfic tropes bingo

[munsster]

SMALL TOWN GIRL

love like coming home after a long day

a Clark Kent x Fem!Reader miniseries that follows Clark getting to know the cute new ranch hand his parents hired for the farm while he’s been away.

This series is sequential, meaning the chapters follow a narrative structure and will flow better if read as a whole!

Coming Soon…

[munsster]

the wager

A/N: like……. do i want a big handsome man to compete with yes. would i let him win just this once despite being funnier and smarter and cuter than him. if he played his cards right yes.

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Fem!Reader

Summary: Bradley makes a bet with high stakes even the girl next door can’t refuse. 1.5k words

Warnings: pure fluff and romance, cursing, pet names (babydoll, baby, sweetheart)

"C'mon, one game! For old time's sake."

Shirtless and on your porch like a door to door Magic Mike, Bradley Bradshaw is begging you to join him for a stupid game of basketball. Just like he has every summer since you moved in next door. You have half a mind to be annoyed, but you can't deny that you'd love to see him, muscles and all, glistening in the sun. For old time's sake.

"No, Bradshaw, all you ever wanna do is play basketball and fix cars."

"Yeah? Fine then, what would you rather do?"

You scan the painted frame of your door, mouth tugging to one side in feigned thought. He's scrutinizing, and it's hot out. Not a good combo for your bluff.

"... Watch you and your friends play basketball and fix cars," you say.

He rolls his eyes in all their hazel glory and punts the basketball into your hands. You receive it with an oof, jogging over to his driveway where there's a well loved metal hoop, sans net.

"Horse?"

"No, you always win with that stupid backwards shot,” you whine, dribbling the ball slowly at your feet.

"Hmm. Sounds like a skill issue, babydoll.”

You stick your tongue out in protest, bouncing the ball to him.

"Alright, let's scrimmage then,” Bradley says with a familiar spark in his tone.

"One on one? Not fair, you're like a million miles longer than me."

"Indulge me, sweetheart. I'll go easy,” he hums. Damn those Bradshaw genes and the charm that comes with them.

You scowl lovingly while grumbling: “Fine. But if you win, you owe me.”

"What exactly do I owe you?"

Oh, but it’s far too cheeky to stay between friends. The only thing less fair than a scrimmage is the way he smirks. Like he’s got a sweet secret he’s keeping from you.

"Dunno yet"—he chuckles at your annoyance—"A favor?"

"Too broad. How ‘bout a date?"

And suddenly you're kinda winded. Because, yeah, you've had this cute banter thing since you were young but it's never come to anything. Now you're adults and you miss him when he's deployed and he plays basketball with you because it feels like it’s all he has anymore. So before you can say anything, your brain is nodding for you. Sure this wager—a date— might be a bad idea down the line, but at least it'll be a hell of a lot of fun in the moment.

"Alright, hot shot. Let's see some ball,” you huff.

"First to 7. Go ahead and tip us off.”

He passes the ball to you and you immediately go for the three pointer, not expecting it to get anywhere near the hoop. Yet somehow you get it in one try. He turns to you with a ‘how the fuck’ expression painted on his face.

"I don't know! I don't know, I thought it would be funny!" you howl through your breathless laughter.

"Oh, it's funny alright, but don't go thinking that counts for three points,” he says, sweetly jabbing you in the side with the ball tucked under his arm.

"Aw, scared I'm gonna win?"

"Terrified,” he says. Maybe letting on a little more than he'd like to admit. Because the idea of taking you out and getting to show you off is just about making his blood sear like it's pressurized to high hell.

He tosses you the ball, you pass it to him, and you immediately go to body slam him. You feel young again, like there are no responsibilities except homework packets and curfew at sunset. He feels it too through a chuckle, grabbing his own sides when you keep missing layups.

"Stop laughing! 'S not funny, I can't even get—fuck! Just take it." And you sling the ball at him in defeat.

"Spoil sport. I'll show you how it's done."

Rest assured, Bradley jogs up to the basket while you skip after him, watching him sink the layup in one shot.

"Now we're even,” he coos, leaning in. Just to throw you off, you think.

"You sure? Cause I'm pretty sure I remember smoking your ass with a three pointer."

"One point. This is not real basketball. We're playing one basket one point,” he huffs, stepping back to dribble the ball proudly.

"Well, if I'd known, I wouldn't have put so much effort into—"

"Blah blah blah, c'mon, less talking more playing!"

You swat at the ball in vain, but he has it so strong in his grip he has to laugh, pivoting away from you and making yet another lay up. He’s smug, turning around and shrugging while you’re exasperated, hands on hips.

"Giving up so soon?" he teases.

"It's hard chasing after your long legs, Bradshaw!"

"No, I'm not buying it. Come on, take this one."

He hands the ball over and crouches face to face with you, giving you a wink. There’s a part of you that hesitates in his face like this, calm with a heart racing like a hummingbird. But you go for the fake out anyway, skirting around his other side when he whines about foul play.

But he stops you just before the basket, practically wrapping himself around your back. When you try to pivot or throw the ball, he grabs you around the middle and you squeal. He finally sets you free when you drop the ball.

"Hey! Speaking of foul play!" you shout, watching him beeline for the hoop.

"Don't hate the player!"

He swoops the ball coolly into the basket with a low whistle.

"Nothing but net, baby! Did you see that!"

"What is that, four?" you chuckle, seeing his face light up

"I'm racking 'em up. Careful, or you might actually have to go out with me."

And suddenly you remember the stakes, squinting at him wondering why he's playing so hard just for the bit. He snags the ball from you and sprints down the court, taking a weak shot that smacks the backboard and falls through the hoop easily. Bradley turns to you with a pinched brow.

"You didn't even try and stop me. Where's your head at?" he hums.

"Hmm? Oh, got distracted by... a bird,” you say, gesturing lazily at the sky.

"Oh, I see. You were thinking about our hot date, huh?"

"No.”

"Yeah, you were. Don't let me get in the way of your daydreams, sweetheart."

"I wasn't daydreaming! Just give me the ball."

He's laughing self-assuredly with a broad grin on his face, passing you the ball which you dribble around him, slowly making your way down the court. He lets you inch down the side, your back to him. One glance over your shoulder catches him staring at your ass with his lip caught snug between his teeth.

"Quit staring, Bradshaw!"

"Sorry, had to do some daydreaming of my own,” he says with a cool chuckle with a soft pink flush across his cheeks. You smile fondly at the way it creeps across his chest, too.

But you roll your eyes anyway and flit past him, finally tossing the ball in the basket.

"Feelin' the heat yet?" you tease, getting in his face like you want to fight. Though that’s far from the truth.

"Felt it a long time ago, doll. Let's get this show on the road."

You play mostly clean except for the occasional catcall. Or two. It only makes him laugh and flex his bravado under the attention of a pretty lady. You both score another point, putting you at four and six. He passes you the ball in a quick motion.

"One more and you know what that means,” he says. He’s date-minded, especially if it’s with you. His long time sweetheart and classic girl next door with the vocabulary of a sailor.

"I'd like to see you try,” you tease.

"Oh, you're about to."

You dribble it past him, but he's mighty fast, crossing the driveway in just a few strides. It’s just then you stop and think: win back the basketball champion title you never had and show Bradshaw who’s boss on his own turf. Or, let him win. Go on the date.

The thought swirls around in your mind for a second longer as a droplet of sweat kisses Bradley’s cheekbone. Then: fuck it.

You place the ball gingerly in his hands, and, on instinct, he goes for the immediate lay up. It’s only after the ball flies back through the hoop and lands squat in his grip that he turns to you with a puzzled look on his face.

"Did you just… give me the ball?"

You shrug with a cheeky smile

"It's all relative,” you coo.

"Bullshit. You gave it to me. You wanted me to score."

"Who knows why we do anything."

"Oh, you little—" He lets the ball fall from his palms and down the driveway, rolling into the gutter with a soft thud. Not a second longer, and his arms are outstretched, catching your waist and walking you backwards until you trip on the grass, tumbling back onto the lawn with a shriek of laughter.

top gun masterlist

[amorgasmic]

steve who loves to nuzzle his nose into the crook of your neck whenever he asks for something because he knows it'll make you say yes. steve who likes to absently roll himself over you like a ragdoll when you aren't giving him enough attention because he now craves it. steve who for so long was deprived of touch and affection now knowing what it's like because of you and realising it's his love language. steve who slips his hands into the back pockets of your pants or wraps his arms around your waist constantly because he can't stand to not have you near. steve who finally feels loved and seen because of you and wants the whole world to know it.

[munsster]

private lessons

A/N: this officially marks the beginning of my hockey au fueled psychosis. dare i say i feel a long winded series coming on…

Pairing: Hockey!Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader

Summary: Billy finds out you’ve never been on the ice, and he takes the opportunity to get you alone. 3.4k words

Warnings: fluff, subtle enemies to lovers, pet names (rookie, sweetheart, princess), a little pervy/nasty billy for shits and gigs, anxiety, cursing, kisses

Somehow, you'd gotten yourself dragged to the local ice skating rink for a college game. The first of the season, in fact. Your friends had begged you to be open minded and willing to experience something new. So, here you are, watching a group of hulking men shout expletives at each other and slap a glorified moon pie around. Suffice to say, you don't get the appeal.

Not even when jersey number ten has been ogling you for the better half of the game. He's got his mouth guard perched between his teeth, gnawing on the rubber while he stares at you from the bench. His coach smacks his helmet, and number ten laughs, winking at you and slotting his mouth guard back over his teeth.

You roll your eyes and lean into Hannah, whispering, "Can guys get any grosser?"

She snickers, and Ruby leans over, eyes fixed on number ten as he skates out onto the ice.

"You ever notice how their asses are so effortlessly round," she says blankly.

"God, I hate that," Hannah huffs, "I bet they don't even try."

"What the hell are you guys talking about?" you snicker.

"Come on, just look at the caboose on Hargrove," Ruby says, nodding to number ten who's bent slightly at the hip waiting for the play to start.

"Please never say caboose in front of me again," you huff. Hannah nudges your arm and they both giggle. You hate to admit they're not wrong. The players' physiques are pretty impressive: tall with broad shoulders and long, muscular legs. Try to blame it on the padding all you want, but there’s no real reason for butt padding in this game, and you know it

Number ten, Billy Hargrove, slams hard into the glass right in front of your nose, snapping you out of your stupor. Your friends shriek and giggle, but you’re unaffected when he turns around and skates backwards. Show off. You get up to grab a hot chocolate from the stand on the other side of the rink.

You don’t even know the guy. But you get the sense you don’t have to to know he’s the same as any other douchebag with an inflated sense of self. Great eye candy, horrible mistake. You’ve learned not to let yourself be made a fool by those types.

You're sipping the chocolatey confection when a horn blares for halftime. Not thirty seconds later, he's flying off the ice and barreling towards you with his helmet under his arm. Only, you don't notice until you spin around, nearly spilling your drink down his jersey.

He's smiling, and the light catches his goldilocks. You have to admit he is handsome where it counts, although you're also pretty sure his nose has been knocked out of place more than once.

"Not a fan of the game, princess?" he huffs, holding the crook of your arm so you don't teeter over. You roll your eyes.

"No, see, I don't really care about fully grown men with anger issues running around hitting each other with sticks. My friend's boyfriend is on the team."

He cocks a brow and chuckles a little. "That's a bit reductive, don't you think? I happen to be proud of my sport. Better than baseball."

“Anything’s better than baseball,” you scoff, shrugging off his pride.

He's shocked at your indifference. Usually, he doesn't have to work this hard to get the attention of women in the stands. He supposes he should amp up his charm if the uniform isn't enough to knock you out. After all, you gotta fight fire with fire.

"Ever been on the ice before?"

You're surprised he's even attempting to revive the conversation. But you play along, shaking your head. He smiles.

"I offer private lessons. If you don't like the first session, I won't charge you," he says, voice softening when you scowl at him.

"Is that what you tell all your prey? And anyway, don’t you have a game to lose?" You nod to his rowdy teammates in the box and digital ticking scoreboard.

His lip tucks between his teeth as he gazes over your face. He can't help but stare despite your nonchalance, and his peering lingers a little lower, trying to read the text on your baby tee when he's distracted by the frailty of the fabric. And the way your body reacts to the chill.

"If you need a sweater, just ask," he teases. You cross your arms over your chest, glaring daggers at him.

"Pervert," you grumble, throwing out your empty styrofoam cup. He follows you back towards the bleachers.

"Hey, I'm not the one dressed for summer at an ice rink."

You stop just before the shoddy ramp and turn with a scowl. It makes him laugh knowing you did it just to show your blatant distaste for him. It shows through your frown and the way you quickly rejoin your friends, whispering slyly as they glance over and giggle at him.

He waves, hollering, "See you Friday night, princess!"

And when Friday night rolls around, he doesn't actually think you're going to show up. Sure, a guy can dream, but nothing beats the real thing.

There you are in the doorway in pink mittens and a thick, oversized winter coat that goes past your knees. He laughs a little standing from the bench with his hair tied back and his arms bulging through a black long sleeve. You spot him from across the rink.

"The trench coat might be a little overkill. But I like your style, rookie," he says, walking over to you. You think you might be struggling more to waddle around in your huge jacket than he is while balancing on his metal blades. "Let's get you some skates."

You plop down on one of the wooden benches and holler your shoe size. He slips behind the counter, hooking his fingers into the heels of a deep red pair. A part of you is glad the rink is empty. Less witnesses.

"So, what? You just work here in your free time?" you ask when he kneels in front of you, guiding your sock-bundled feet into one of the skates. He glances up at you, tightening the first section of laces and smirking.

"Yeah, I do. Since I was sixteen. Obviously, I don't have that kinda time anymore with school and games and practice, but Henry still lets me run the counter sometimes." He pats your knee, and you shuffle your other foot in front of him to wiggle into the skate.

You're more than a little shocked to hear him speak so sincerely. You thought you had guys like him pegged. Every last one of them had been the same: tall, charming, gorgeous, and arrogant. Pricks. But when Billy talks about himself, it's not to talk over you.

"Henry? Is he the owner?"

He nods. "Yeah. He's sorta like my surrogate father on the ice. Taught me everything I know and now, I coach the really young kids."

You scoff, finding it just a little difficult to imagine Billy Hargrove effectively coaching small children.

"It must be your natural charm and people skills," you tease.

"Something like that," he chuckles, tying off the top of your skate and squeezing your ankle through the padding. "Feel good?"

You nod, wiggling your toes.

"Not too tight?" he asks.

"No."

"Not sliding around in there?"

"No, definitely not," you say, eyes wide when he stands and offers his hand to you.

"Good. Go ahead and stand up."

You look up at him, scrunched like you're constipated or way too focused. Honestly, it scares him a little bit. He thinks you might burst a blood vessel. Or two.

"I'm right here to catch you if you fall, but the rubber floor is real easy to walk on. Trust me."

"Of course, you'd say that. It's your job," you grumble, gripping onto the edge of the bench for dear life.

"I still remember my first time. Come on, this is the easiest part! I'm right here."

And you have to admit he looks extra gentle with his arms outstretched for you. You take a deep breath, standing confidently on shaky knees and leaning into his grasp with your fingers curling into his biceps. Jesus, he's jacked. He chuckles at the way you're wobbly like a newborn calf.

"Just walk normally. I'm not gonna let you fall, sweetheart," he says. At that, his hand finds your lower back adjust your posture, unfortunately making walking easier. You'd never imagined his grip as tender as it is.

"Atta girl. C'mon, the gate's right here."

And he gestures towards the small open gate between you and an endless expanse of glimmering white ice. Your heart rate spikes.

"Wait," you huff, "Billy, wait."

His hand presses the small of your back in reassurance that he's just behind you ready to catch you in his effortlessly arms. His big, strong, muscular arms. Don't remind me, you think.

“Just act like you’re walking, try to push your feet through the ice with each step.” He encourages you onto the rink; it’s slippery and you don’t trust your blades, but the fact that you’ve seen your coach in action on the ice makes you feel a lot better. "Ready?"

You nod quickly, and he slowly lowers his arms and skates ahead, leaving you stranded a few paces away. He cocks a brow when you manage a scrutinizing frown at him.

"Ice ain’t getting any colder, rookie.”

So, out of spite, you follow him with a sharp gasp at your shifting balance, stumbling further onto the ice, knees suddenly locked as you look down at your skates.

"You got this,” Billy shouts, gliding closer with annoying ease. You raise your eyebrows tentatively when he holds your hand.

"You sure you wanna keep that coat on? You might get a little hot,” he says, just a touch of mischief in his tone.

"On the ice?"

"You’d be surprised.”

You stop sharp on the ice, a little sharper than you expected, but it’s warranted at the sight of his grin.

"You’re just trying to get me undressed.”

"As much as I’d like that, no. I just don't want you overheating during the lesson.”

You huff. But, admitting defeat, you unzip the long jacket, handing it to him to place on the penalty bench. And on his way back, he’s smiling because you have the cutest fuzzy pink sweater on underneath. He whistles low, piercing the cold air.

"Lot warmer than a tee shirt,” he teases.

"Oh, shut up, goldilocks. I know you liked it,” you bite when he doesn’t even try to mask the fact that he’s checking you out.

"Yeah, well, I could see your tits better.”

"Hargrove!”

You smack his arm, skating slowly after him while he laughs. He pauses when you catch up to him, panting and chuckling when you land a victory flick on his shoulder.

"Look at that,” he says.

"What?”

“You got to the center of the rink all on your own.”

You look down and wobble in horror. And a little excitement.

“Deep breath, rookie, you should be proud of yourself. Ready to learn how to fall?"

You laugh wryly. "Is that a joke?"

"No way, even olympic gold skaters take spills. The important part is that you do it safely,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest with a soft flush painting his cheeks. You try hard to hold onto your distaste, but you get caught up masking how flustered he makes you.

“Alright fine. so just like this?"

You demonstrate something you’ve seen someone do somewhere. You think. Arms outstretched, leaning forward—

"Couldn’t be more wrong.”

You huff.

“Best practice is making it onto your side,” Billy says, “but if you’re nervous and start flailing, you might not make it there in time. Just remember, lean back, and don't reach for the ice or you’re looking at a steep medical bill."

"Geez, that’s reassuring."

“Your turn,” he says.

“Just do it one more time? I’m a visual learner.”

“You just like watching me fall on my ass!”

You shrug, smirking a little.

“No, you got this. Skate out and slide, easy peasy.”

“Easy peasy,” you mutter, rolling your eyes.

For a second, you wonder what really convinced you to come out tonight. Maybe it was Ruby and Hannah’s poking and prodding and begging. Maybe you loved them enough to sacrifice your Friday night to an ice rink of embarrassment. But, you think, maybe you do really want to be here, trying something different and new and challenging. Can’t hurt that feeling up Hargrove’s biceps is the reward.

He follows you cautiously, ready to swoop in. But you skate out and skid onto your knees with a certain dramatic flair that makes him laugh and applaud.

"Now, recover.”

You peer up at him, panicky because he's just out of reach.

"What?"

"Get up without my help. You’re not always gonna have a coach or a friend to help you up. I wanna see you recover from a fall.”

"I can't.”

"Yes, you can. I promise," he says, and for a moment, you believe the warmth in his words, "It’s just us, sweetheart. I just wanna make sure you can do it on your own."

But you plead up at him, whispering:

"Please."

His heart sinks a little. Was it really that torturous for you? He can’t tell if it’s a trick when you bat your lashes and reach for him sweetly.

“You got it. I’m here for you."

And with a stubborn grunt, you decide it’s for the better, too. You’ve seen it done a handful of times, and you remember his teammates doing it out on the ice during the game. It’s nerve wracking while he’s watching, but you know he's trying to be supportive and coach you out of your anxiety.

You shuffle onto your hands and knees bringing one skate between your freezing palms and finding a little traction to bring the other up. you straighten out as best you can, but lose balance, teetering forward with a gasp.

But Billy’s lightning fast, pulling you into his chest.

"We’ll work on it," he whispers, barking out a nervous laugh at the idea of you faceplanting into the ice under his supervision, "but you were there.

"You stopped me!"

"No, I caught you before you chipped a tooth on the ice.”

Your hands reach his shoulders, and you grumble out a string of curses as he rubs your back to keep you warm. You look up into his eyes, soft and icy and so blue, and you smile. And his heart is pounding, and he feels himself flood with warmth.

You puff out a hasty breath that turns to a white cloud in the chill.

“Thanks for the lesson!" you chirp, skating your way out of his arms and the rink and away from any thing else that’s going to get you in trouble. He’s hot on your trail when you waddle onto the rubber flooring.

"Yeah, you're a fast learner!" he hums, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“And you're probably a great coach when you're not flirting with your clients!”

He plops next to you on the bench where you loosen your laces.

“You know, I’m not the chronic flirt you think I am.”

"Oh, please. With that face, you could’ve fooled me.”

He smirks. You like his face.

“Believe it or not,” he says, matter-of-factly, “the charisma actually comes with the uniform. I don't make the rules. I put the skates on, and suddenly, I’m flocked by hoards of hockey moms.”

"Different than soccer moms?"

"Way worse. At least soccer moms have some kind of agency. College hockey moms don’t even care how the game works."

"I’m one with the hockey moms.”

"Guess you need another private lesson. At my place. We can watch Slap Shot or something.”

"Or something" you mutter, setting your skates on the counter, then you turn and he's handing you your jacket, leaving his skates next to yours. "How much do I owe you?"

"What?"

"For the lesson?"

"Oh, I was kidding. You didn’t think I was actually gonna charge you? I mean, you're doing me a favor. Could always use the company of a pretty girl on a Friday night.”

You inhale slowly and shrug your coat back on.

"I bet. See ya!" you say, restless. Because the last thing you need is whatever Billy Hargrove is going to do to your life. Your blissful, drama-free life currently void of any hockey-fueled wet dreams.

You turn to leave, but he grabs your elbow.

"Hey, what’s up? What’s with the sudden third degree? You didn't have a nice time?"

You turn to face him, jaw ticking when you push his hand away. He looks confused. And you almost soften at that. Before regaining your resolve.

"No. No, of course I had a nice time.”

"So what’s the problem?"

"Guys like you.”

You swallow hard and cross your arms tight over your chest, almost suffocating under the weight of the rink’s incandescence. You feel bare and cold and something in you aches for reasons you’re scared to admit.

"Guys like me?"

"Yeah."

"What about ‘em?" he huffs, stepping closer like he’s testing you, daring you to expose him. And in the act, yourself.

"You show a girl a nice time and butter her up with some witty banter and suave compliments just so she'll sleep with you. And then you’re onto the next one by Tuesday.”

Billy cocks his head to the side.

"Listen, I dunno where you got that impression, but I’m not trying to get in your pants, honest. We’re bantering cause I like when you talk back to me and I compliment you ‘cause I think you're pretty. But if you want to sleep with me, well, that's a different story—”

"Hold on, you’re telling me this wasn’t some elaborate setup by Hannah to get me out of the apartment?"

"Hannah? No, whoever ‘Hannah’ is, I can say for certain I wouldn't do that to you. No matter how much cash she may or may not have offered me.”

You reach to push his shoulder with a scoff, but he holds your wrist and locks eyes with you.

“Just let a nice time be a nice time, princess. No pressure.”

It’s scary. The way this thing nudges into your chest, weaseling its way past all the metal and concrete and emergency measures you had in store. It’s quiet and calm, and it drops down into your stomach until you have no choice but to absorb its pleasant sweetness.

And you nod. And he nods too, glancing down at your lips just quickly. He slots his fingers between yours all slow and warm.

"I wasn’t kidding about a follow up lesson. I’d love to see you again. Here or elsewhere,” he says.

“Me too.”

His brows raise in shock. “Yeah?"

You chuckle. “Yeah.”

“Sweet.”

The rink falls silent. The sinking fear doesn’t go away, but between you and his soft blue eyes, you think you’ll get over it somehow.

"I should probably close up shop. Free skate is tomorrow. Buy one get one hot chocolate and people already go crazy for the stuff, so you can imagine…”

With a smile, you peck his lips sweetly, pulling away. He feels himself flush pink, buzzing laughing, exasperated.

"Sorry, I, uh”—he can’t help but pause to just look at you—"been thinking about that since you walked in the door, but you still caught me off guard.”

“I guess that’s kinda my style now.”

“I like it,” he huffs.

And you smile.

"Well… I should go.”

"Oh, yeah, yeah, I’ll walk you to the door.”

You nod, and he grabs your hand even though it’s only five feet away. And he stops and spins you, arm looped around your back.

"I’ll let you go in a sec, I just really wanted to..."

He trails off, leaning in and kissing you. Your eyes flutter closed with his smile pressed to your lips and his tongue soft against your lower lip and your hands in his golden curls.

He pulls away flushed, eyes wide just looking at you and panting softly. Then he opens the door, flushing the space with a cool breeze from the late fall evening.

"Bye, goldilocks."

“See you next week, rookie.”

more like this

masterlist

[munsster]

TWILIGHT MASTERLIST

back to main masterlist

(*) NSFW

(♪) songfic

JACOB BLACK

N/A

PAUL LAHOTE

N/A

JASPER HALE

N/A

CHARLIE SWAN

N/A

CARLISLE CULLEN

N/A

[hanasnx]

he wants to handle you so bad it makes him look fucking stupid. he wants to handle you like only a boyfriend can. he wants to handle you like he anticipates your needs and he fuckin gets em done like a man. he wants to handle you like your cunt can’t do it without him. he wants to be the guy known as your wrangler. your keeper. your big bad boyfriend. he wants to handle you.

[hanasnx]

you don’t wanna go somewhere? y’all compromise. you plant your feet and jacob says, “you wanna play it that way? fine.” and ducks down to throw you over his shoulder n lumber off w you in hand. doesn’t matter if you kick n scream and bang your fists on his back, you’re coming w him.

[munsster]

[munsster]

lay all your love on me

A/N: i have so so much to say about jake seresin and OBVIOUSLY had to do a little ABBA crossover, call me a fool but they r meant to be

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Fem!Reader

Summary: After months of lowkey dates and late night hook ups, Hangman decides he's tired of you wasting your emotion. 1.4k words

Warnings: fluff, suggestive content and chaste nudity, pet names (sweetheart, doll), best friends to lovers, cursing

There's no better debrief than a candlelit bath and a glass of top shelf wine. And the possibility of ending the night beneath your hunky best friend. It was regular at this point. It started some hot summer night with a bang, and now here you are, stewing in late fall with Jake Seresin's damp chest pressed to your back.

"And I could tell that put him off because—"

"Wait. You being a pilot put this guy off?"

"Yeah! Guys hate it. It's like having a strong, well-established girlfriend threatens their social status or something."

"Guys don't hate it. Who hasn't imagined having their skull crushed between those quads—ow!"

But he knows he deserved that pinch to the inner thigh. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't the number one culprit of having aforementioned fantasy. In fact, he thinks about it so much that he's sure you've caught him staring on multiple occasions. Just thinking about it has him readjusting in the tub.

"I'm tired of modern dating. Every guy is either too desperate or completely unavailable, and I can't get a text back from any of them."

Jake has to laugh. He's been both sides of the so-called male modern dating spectrum, so he can understand your frustration. Only, he's pretty sure all your problems would be solved if you simply turned around. But here you are and there he is, always naked and always dancing around the subject of 'us'.

"Why can't every guy be as great as you?"

"Hey, I wasn't always this great."

"Yeah, I know 'cause I had to deal with you and your inflamed ego. And your rampant sex life. And now neither of us are getting laid."

He smirks, and you can sense it.

"By other people."

"Aw, c'mon, doll, if I wanted to sleep with other people I would. It's no fun anymore."

"Jake. We've been over this."

"And we're gonna go over it again until I understand. You wanna settle? Settle with me."

"Stop fucking around, Seresin."

By now, you're stepping out of the tub, not wanting to be naked when he brings it up. The topic of your relationship is touchy to say the least. He always brings it up just as you're starting to feel comfortable, really settling into the whole friendship with benefits deal. And the benefits are great. But your wound is feeling too new to be so reckless, and it's still raw

"It's nice. Just having someone to talk to and be with. It's nice, but with you, it's complicated. Isn't it enough to enjoy each other's company?"

"Of course, it is. I just think it would save us both a lot of trouble if we made it official."

"Official how? Say we're dating and get transferred time zones away from each other? No, I'd rather just go through the motions until we both find someone... normal."

And he just stands there in a towel. Nodding slowly and chewing his cheek. It's silent, almost painfully so. Your heartbeat echoes off the linoleum.

"Okay," he finally hums, "I get it."

He shoulders his way out of your bathroom, quickly towel-drying his hair and slipping back into his tee and sweats.

"Jake?" you call into the dim hall.

"I'll see you tomorrow, alright?" he says, ducking back to kiss you on the cheek before slipping out your front door and into the night. So much for ending up beneath anyone at all.

...

"I don't know what to do if she refuses to see me like that."

"Well, don't you enjoy spending time with her?" Payback says, nabbing a soggy fry from his lunch tray.

"Of course, I do, I'd sew myself into her clothes if she let me."

"You sound like a serial killer," Bob mutters.

"Then ask yourself this: is bringing it up again going to solve anything and is that solution one you'd be okay with?" Payback says.

"What do you mean?"

"If you bring it up, she'll either ignore you or it'll be a fight. And in the end, she'll either change her mind or, more likely, call the whole thing off. Is that something you'd be able to live with in pursuit of a deeper relationship."

Jake sits with it for a while. He supposes he would spend his whole life as your lap dog, catering to your needs every hour of the day. But what happens when you find a great guy who won't threaten your career or your friendship. He'll be evicted to the sidelines, possibly further than he's ever been. He decides right then and there to bring it up again.

"You look crazy."

"I feel it."

...

That night, he brings you takeout and drinks and prepares himself for the worst.

"What's up with you?"

"Nothin'," he mumbles, clearly lying through the near wild look in his eye.

"You're moping. C'mon, that's no way to woo a girl into bed."

"Who said anything about a bed," he teases, practically clobbering you where you sit on the floor beside him. You shriek out a laugh and surrender when he kisses you. But you can't help but sense the tension in his movement, the caution in his kiss.

"You can tell me anything," you say, pressing your palm to his shoulder. He settles back into his space, sighing.

"I know you don't wanna talk about it—us, but—"

"Anything but that. Jake, I don't get why you're so persistent."

"You're kidding, right?"

"Kidding?"

"I'm persistent because you are my favorite person in the whole world, and you have been for a long time. The one thing i could always count on was our friendship. Being there for each other. It never felt forced or uncomfortable, it was just you and me. And now, we have sex, sure, but it's more than that. I want it to be more than that. I don't care if they transfer me away, it would take a lot more than a plane ride to keep me away from you."

You sit across from him in silence, carefully surveying the seriousness in his face. Something in you stirs when you look in his eyes for too long. You know he feels it too because it makes him squirm, but more than anything, it makes you scared. After all these years of knowing Jake, you're scared of finding the thread. The one that'll unravel everything until you'll have no choice but to fall in love with him for good.

"You're my favorite person, too," you whisper.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I hadn't thought about it. But it's true."

"So you can understand why I get so... jealous hearing about your dates. Even worse hearing about the bad ones. How could someone sit in front of you and hear your laugh and see your smile and still not text back. Not propose immediately. It's stupid. Dating is fucking stupid."

"You're jealous? Of my serial dating?" He always seemed so confident hearing about your one nights and miscellaneous trysts. All this time, and he'd been silently stewing in stoic jealousy. You have to laugh a little

"Are you kidding? Give me one second with you sitting across from me, considering me with even the slightest romantic inclination. It would change my life for good."

You shift just slightly and look at him, tilting your head with a lopsided smile.

"I know I sound possessive and mean, but I'm tired of sharing you with undeserving douchebags. I want you to myself, and sweetheart, I think we might just be made for each other."

"Oh, yeah?"

Made for each other. You think back on all your fights with him, all the nights you spent tangled up and sweaty, all the takeout and wine and sneaky looks and soft laughter. And everything. And maybe made for each other doesn't seem so daunting anymore.

"You need me to fuck you to prove it?"

You burst into sudden laughter at his vulgarity, leaning closer at once on instinct and with purpose.

"No. But I'd consider love making," you hum.

"Yeah?"

And nod sweetly.

It’s not lost on him, your meaning. He smiles helplessly and leans closer. Not for a kiss, not to pressure you in any way. Just for the nearness of you. His favorite person. And he, yours. And the thought darts across your mind again: made for each other. Cosmically bound, and all this time, you’ve been screwing around for some wanton fear of commitment. To the only person that ever really made sense.

"Want me to make love to you?"

"Lay it on me, baby," you tease, throwing your arms open wide in invitation. He answers in an instant, sliding his arms around your back and slotting you over his lap.

"I've never met a woman who does it before the first date," he says, grinning from ear to ear.

"You're lucky, Seresin, I usually wait 'til marriage."

"Well, shucks, sweetheart, I feel lucky," he coos, slanting a warm kiss across your lips.

top gun masterlist

[munsster]

aviate, navigate, communicate

A/N: we’re so back, baby. i have an absolute onslaught of WIPs i am slowly rolling out of backlogs! stay tuned for more to come ;)

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Fem!Reader

Summary: In the wake of a jet crash with your copilot, Hangman, you discover he’s different than you thought. 2.2k words

Warnings: descriptions of wounds/wound care and pain, mentions of medical care, hurt/comfort, fluff, pet names (sweetheart, honey, darling)

"Can you just cooperate with me this once? I know it hurts but I'm tryin' to save you from infection."

A laugh had burst out of you in a puff of hot air. His accent really slips when he's frustrated, and his fingers dug into your waist and the back of your knee just to add to the pain of the gash in your thigh. One of the last things you remember before managing to hobble up five flights of stairs is pulling the eject cords at his firm command.

You'd crash landed in the middle of absolutely nowhere, somehow trekked out to a nearby town, and then checked yourselves into the only vacant hotel. It was nice enough despite the broken elevator.

Now here you are, being manhandled into a shower by possibly the worst person in the world: your copilot. To be fair, Hangman was being decent about the whole situation. He could be a little gentler, but at least he wasn't shouting.

"Are you comfortable?"

In fact, his tone was almost sweet as he met your gaze. And he's still gripping onto you like a vice despite your hand on the horizontal metal bar in the shower.

"You can let go now. Think I'm gonna bruise," you huff.

"Sorry. Just worried."

Jesus, you think, he's full of it. Lost in the moment or mistaken. You brush it off as shock or stress or something. He'd never worry about you, let alone mention it out loud.

"Are you gonna stay in here while I shower or..."

"I can wait outside. If you prefer," he hums, concern tugging at his features from just a glance at the deepening bruises, "just don't fall or I'll have to come back in and save your ass. And try not to soap up the cut too much."

"Okay."

He grabs a hand towel on the way out, gently closing the door. The water rushes over your skin and down collecting in a pool of red and brown at your feet. Steam licks up your nose. Thick with the scent of eucalyptus and something earthier. And for the first time in weeks, you feel clean as the water runs clear.

"Hangman?"

"Yeah?"

"A little help," you say, cranking the water off and turning away as he flings the door open in an instant.

Like he was sitting there ears perked up just for your call. Like he was waiting with bated breath to help you. Or, he was just being attentive considering your state.

You gesture for the towel folded on the counter, and he unravels it, swathing your body in the plush fabric. Your heart races at the idea of him seeing any parts of you so bare. But the thought washes away; his hands radiate heat, even through the towel. You can't help but miss the warmth when he backs away.

"I don't know why anyone uses white towels anymore," you huff, eyeing the red specks staining the otherwise plain fabric.

"I always opt for brown. Hides the scary stuff."

"Gross!"

Hangman chuckles, and you can hear how full of contempt he is. What you don't expect is the look of near sorrow on his face when you turn and hobble past him.

"I set out some options for you," he says, "Mostly shorts just for ease—"

"Yeah." Two tees, one long sleeve, three pairs of shorts, and black socks. All spread nicely at the foot of the bed. "Any word from—"

"Yep. We're taking the first train out in the morning."

You hum, trying to take your mind off all the walking you'll have to do. That's tomorrow's issue. Grabbing the blue shirt and baggy gym shorts, you let your towel fall to the dingy carpet. Your copilot whistles.

"Geez, warn a guy before you drop trou," he huffs with a quick pivot to the wall.

"Not like you weren't just dragging my naked body into the shower, but okay," you bite, maybe still plagued by the idea of him knowing you that much more now.

"'S different, you know it is."

"These shorts are at least two sizes too big," you grunt and wobble on your good leg while trying to tug them on.

"Slim pickins, sweetheart. It's this or nothing."

"On the other hand, they're perfect."

He winces when you let out a sharp his while putting your socks on. Obviously careful, but not yet acquainted with the severity of your wounds. It hurts to lift your arms over your head, your ribs ache, there's a slice out of your thigh, and the rest of your leg is tender with bruising. In other words, you need painkillers.

And by some miracle, he drops two teal liquigels into your palm and a bottle of water into the other. He also lugs a first aid kit onto the bed—which squeals under its weight—and drapes your thigh over his leg. His brows furrow.

"Lookin' good," he teases. But really, he's amazed at how well you're doing considering the blood loss and clearly painful gash.

"You flatter me."

He shifts nervously. "I meant: it doesn’t look infected. Sorry, I'm not just trying to… kick a girl while she's down."

"What do you mean?" you ask, watching his quick blue eyes lave across the wound. Then up at you.

"Didn't think this was an appropriate time to be flirting with my copilot."

You huff.

Flirting. With his copilot, with you. It's a known trait of his, sure; Hangman is a serial flirt. But you thought you'd been stuck on the outskirts of his scope this whole time. Had he been flirting before? Had you missed it?

You hiss in pain when he presses a cold cotton pad to the edge of the wound. He pulls away, swiping his thumb across your knee.

"Sorry, darlin'."

"No, no, it's okay"—the words tumble out of you helplessly—"It's okay, I've had worse! I just fell out of a plane, this isn't that bad. You're trying to help. You're so helpful! I'm just being dramatic. Ignore me!"

"Wow. You talk a lot when you're in agonizing pain."

Just then, he dabs on cool antiseptic, and you grab his shoulder with a heavy exhale.

"Doin' alright? Getting worried, here."

"Keep going," you bite, turning away as he quickly swabs it over and replaces the cap.

"I'll tell you when you're in the green."

He lays the gauze atop it neatly, wrapping your whole thigh in bandage. Once you assure him it's not too tight, he pats the seam gently.

"All good, queasy."

"Thanks," you hum.

He nods warmly, and you think there's something out of character rumbling inside him. Or maybe this is Jake. Really Jake, not Hangman or any Top Gun graduate inflated ego bullshit. Just Jake who misses his sisters and helps little old ladies cross the street and knows his way around a first aid kit.

"I'm gonna go raid the lobby, want anything?" he says after a moment.

"I trust your judgement," you coo.

"That's a first"—and he means it. Twenty four hours ago he would've bet thousands on never hearing those words from your mouth—"I'll be quick."

True to his word, he returns with an absolute armful of candy and small, brightly colored chip bags. He places it all in a pile on your bed, nudging your feet to sit at your side.

"What are we watching? Two girls one cup?"

"No, this is 13 Going On 30, you perv. Now, are you gonna hog all the snacks over there or can you spare some for your fubar copilot?" you say, reaching for a bag of candy with a puff of exasperation.

He chuckles and offers you a potato chip from his bag. You take it gladly in exchange for four green skittles.

"I remember this one. Time travel."

"More like self acceptance and finding love in the most unexpected places."

"Like, duh, why didn't I think of that?" he scoffs playfully.

"You're such a boy sometimes," you tease, kicking his side when he sticks his tongue out at you.

"Is he about to show his penis? What is this rated!" Hangman gasps, echoed by an obnoxious crunch.

"No! God, is that all you think about?"

"I'm just havin' a little fun, miss grumpy pants."

He glances over his shoulder with a chortle at your exaggerated frowny face. You pelt a skittle at his chest, which he jovially pops into his mouth with a low hum.

You sit contentedly in silence, side by side as the movie slowly becomes a dull background hum. He places a third emptied bag of chips on the side table rather triumphantly until he hears a soft sniffle behind him. He turns to face you, laying a soft palm over your ankle.

"Hey, hey what's wrong?"

"I love this song." You wipe at your cheeks as your gentle tears build into a sob.

He chuckles softly enough to warm you from the inside, scooting in beside you with an arm over your shoulders.

"Had me worried I smelled bad or something," he teases.

"You keep saying that."

"Saying what?"

"That you're worried. You said it earlier in the shower, too. And on the stairs, and—"

"Am I not allowed to be worried?"

"No! No, I'm just... surprised, is all."

If you didn't know any better, you'd say he looks almost hurt. Brows pinched, you can't tell whether the clench in his jaw is anger or something else entirely. Something covert and deeply buried.

"Why's that?"

You sit up and face him. Your knees brush, but you're focused on his eyes. Hangman. Worried.

"You have this whole cool-guy-lone-wolf-water-off-a-duck's-back mentality, I guess I never took you for a worrier," you say. He leans in playfully with a squint.

"Maybe I'm just a great actor."

"Yeah, right, I could see you tearing up when Maverick was making his speech."

He scoffs almost sweetly, rolling his eyes, fingertips brushing your calf.

"Nope! Definitely not, don't know what you're talking about."

"Yeah, and how you made us fly out and save them? Even though it was risking your own life?"

You poke his chest, and all he does is shrug.

"God forbid a guy has a weakness," he hums. "Besides, I'm not a lone wolf anymore. Last I checked, you’re stuck with me, remember?"

You chuckle. "Well, it's endearing to know you're not as one dimensional as everyone thinks."

"Thanks?" he tilts his head with a lopsided grin.

"You're welcome," you tease.

He stares at you for just a second longer. Eyes wide in the dim light, heartbeat heavy in his chest, worried, for the hundredth time today that you'll see right through him. So he busies himself with moving the remaining snacks to the side table.

"Well, we should turn in before our train tomorrow," he huffs.

"Okay."

He stands and pushes a hand through his hair, tugging back the sheets on the pullout couch. You turn out the light and face the window above his makeshift bed as he sinks onto the creaky edge.

"Thanks, Jake. For everything," you whisper.

"Of course, sweetheart. I've got your back just like you've got mine."

He tucks his legs onto the thin mattress with a deep sigh, and you can feel the tears pulling at your throat again. Welling up hot and damp and prompted by something strange. The way the moonlight washes over his shoulders.

"Jake?"

"Yeah?"

"Could you come here. Just tonight. 'M worried about nightmares, think it might help to have… I dunno, emotional support—"

"Sure thing, honey."

You don't need to finish. You don't even need a reason, he was out of bed as soon as you called his name. Sidling under your covers as you shuffle to make space for him. And you turn away hoping he won't catch the glint of wetness streaked across your cheek.

"Want me to—?"

"Yeah," you whisper.

"Alright," he hums, rolling over carefully and molding along the line of your back.

He drapes an arm into the softness of your side, letting you press your fingers between his and show him where it doesn't hurt. You wind your good leg between his just to make him chuckle, which he does so sweetly against your neck.

It's enough to make you forget your pain. The room you're in, the stiff bed, the distance from home. It doesn't matter because his heart beats in time with yours for now, in this dark hotel room where you're just getting to know someone you met years ago. Almost sorry for writing him off as Hangman and nothing more for so long.

"Sweetheart?"

You hum, biting back the lump in your throat.

"I'm always gonna worry about you. Doesn't matter if you're bleeding out or ignoring me, you're my copilot. You're mine to worry about. And take care of. Always, got it?"

You nod, and he lets go only to brush the tear from your cheek.

He wants to tell you how proud he is of your bravery. Your skill. Your strength. How he's never had this much faith in someone other than himself. How it's all thanks to you; his tenderness, his caring, his worry is all yours. And he wouldn't have it any other way. He got lucky the first time he heard your names strung together through the monitor. Copilots, for good. He wants to tell you.

Instead, he presses his nose to your shoulder and murmurs:

"Night, queasy."

You chuckle.

"Goodnight, Hangman. Or maybe we should change your name to Worry Wort. Or Soft Spot. Might be more suitable."

"Yeah, no, not happening, honey."

"Worth a shot."

top gun masterlist

[munsster]

Are you currently taking fanfic requests?

i am!! i’m trying to get back into writing (and being more active on here as well)! i have a couple WIPs i’m really excited about and yes definitely trying to dive back into the game! feel free to send in requests, and i’ll get to them asap 🫡

[forkshighschooler]

hiiii! so i’ve read literally all of ur fics and ur writing is amazing!! i saw ur requests are open, hopefully ur able to get to mine 🤞🏽 i was wondering if you could write paul and reader are imprints and they get in heated debates over nothing and it happens multiple times that the pack has had enough and they force the two to work it out and then they start dating. maybe you can also include someone else starts arguing with reader and paul gets protective and like argues for her. fluff ending. thank you!!!

Smoke Signals

Pairing: Paul Lahote x Reader

Summary: You and Paul are imprints—and somehow that traslates into daily, ridiculous, heated debates. The pack finally snaps and stages an intervention that forces you two to actually talk. Feelings spill out, lines blur, and when someone else comes for you, Paul makes it very clear where he stands.

Warnings: mild language, arguments/raised voices, fluffy resolution, protective Paul, imprint intensity.

⸻

Paul Lahote was the human version of a match being struck.

Not always in a bad way. Sometimes it was warm—like a campfire crackling to life, bright and steady and somehow comforting even when it made no sense. Other times it was straight-up chaos, like a flare thrown into dry brush.

You loved him.

You also wanted to throw him into the Pacific on a semi-regular basis.

“Okay, no,” you said, holding the bag of groceries against your hip. “That is not how parallel parking works.”

Paul, leaning against your car like he was auditioning for “most smug man alive,” lifted a brow. “It’s exactly how it works. You swing wide, then cut in.”

“You swing wide and almost take out a mailbox,” you corrected. “Then you cut in and end up six inches from the curb. You don’t park. You dock.”

He stared at you for two full seconds before the corner of his mouth twitched.

“Oh my God,” he said slowly. “Did you just compare my parking to docking a boat?”

“Because that’s what it is.”

“Wild.” He shook his head like he couldn’t believe you were real. “I park fine.”

“You park like you have beef with asphalt.”

Paul opened his mouth, clearly ready to launch into some passionate defense of his driving method, when a car door slammed behind you.

“Yo,” Embry called, coming up the sidewalk with a bag of chips in his hand and an expression that screamed please don’t make me witness this. “Can we not do this in public?”

You and Paul turned to him at the exact same time.

“We are not doing anything,” you said.

Paul said, “She started it.”

“I said parallel parking—”

“And I said you don’t know what you’re talking about—”

Embry’s face went slack. “Okay. Great. Love that for me.” He walked past you toward the front door. “Sam said if you two start yelling again, he’s gonna make you both run patrol together. Like… a lot.”

You glared at Paul. “Tell him I don’t yell.”

Paul pointed at you. “You raised your voice right now.”

“This is not raised.”

“Your eyebrows are doing the yelling.”

“My eyebrows are expressive, Paul.”

“You’re expressive at me.”

You took a breath through your nose, trying to keep it cute and calm. That was your thing. Calm.

Paul’s thing was… not calm.

It was annoying, honestly, how fast he could get under your skin over absolutely nothing. Like you could be having a normal conversation about the weather and within thirty seconds you’d be in a full-blown debate about whether mist counted as rain.

(You were still right. Mist was not rain. Paul was just dramatic.)

You pushed past him and went inside, muttering, “Whatever.”

“Whatever?” he echoed, falling in step behind you. “That’s your whole argument?”

“Not arguing.”

“You’re literally arguing right now.”

“Paul, breathe.”

“I am breathing.”

“You’re huffing.”

“I’m not huffing.”

“You’re huffing with words.”

He actually stopped, stunned. “How do you do that? How do you say stuff that makes me mad and laugh at the same time?”

You turned, groceries on the counter, trying not to smile. “It’s a talent.”

He looked at you like—

Like that pull in his chest was a gravity and you were the only thing in the room. Like you were a bonfire he couldn’t stop orbiting. Like the imprint wasn’t a choice, it was a truth.

It should’ve been sweet.

It was sweet.

And somehow it came with bickering like a sport.

Paul stepped closer, gaze softening before his mouth ruined it.

“I still park fine.”

You gasped in disbelief. “That is not what we were talking about anymore.”

“We were always talking about it.”

“You are impossible.”

He grinned. “You love it.”

“Yeah? Maybe I don’t.”

His grin faltered—just a notch.

And there it was. That moment. The tiny crack in the armor. The thing you both pretended didn’t exist underneath all the dumb debates.

The imprint.

The feelings that were too big, too sharp, too terrifying to say out loud.

You didn’t mean to go quiet. You just… did.

Paul did too.

For half a heartbeat, the kitchen was just the hum of the fridge and the ocean in the distance and two people who didn’t know what to do with how much they meant to each other.

Embry reappeared at the doorway.

Blinked.

Then groaned like he was forty years old. “Nope. I’m done. I’m calling the others.”

“What—Embry, no,” you said, but he was already walking away, phone to his ear.

Paul’s eyes widened. “Oh hell.”

You frowned. “What is happening?”

“Nothing,” he said too fast. Then: “Something.”

Your stomach dropped. “Paul…”

“We’re in trouble,” he admitted.

“For what?”

“For… the arguing. I guess.” He scoffed, like that was ridiculous. “They’re being dramatic.”

“You mean you’re being dramatic.”

He opened his mouth to snap back—

—and right on cue, Quil and Jared strode in like they owned the place.

“Intervention time,” Quil announced brightly.

You stared. “Excuse me?”

Jared nodded toward the living room. “C’mon. Both of you. Now.”

Paul’s jaw tightened. “Seriously? You’re doing this?”

“Yep.” Quil popped a chip into his mouth. “Because if I have to hear you two argue about whether pineapple belongs on pizza one more time, I’m gonna phase in the middle of my mom’s house.”

You threw your hands up. “Paul started that!”

Paul pointed at you. “She said pineapple was ‘an insult to Italy’!”

“It is!”

Jared made a slicing motion with his hand. “See? Exactly. That. Right there. Living room. Go.”

You and Paul both tried to protest at once.

It was useless.

Five minutes later, you were sitting on opposite ends of Sam’s couch like a pair of kids in detention. Sam stood in front of you with that calm, leader vibe that made you feel guilty before you knew why.

Leah was leaning against the wall with arms crossed, looking like she’d brought popcorn if she thought Sam would allow it. Seth sat on the floor, wide-eyed and invested. Embry and Quil and Jared filled the rest of the room, all of them wearing variations of I love you both but I’m tired.

Sam spoke gently. “We’re not saying you can’t disagree. But this…” he gestured between you. “It’s constant. And it’s not healthy.”

You let out a breath. “We’re fine.”

Paul muttered, “It’s not like we hate each other.”

Leah snorted. “Honestly, could’ve fooled me.”

“Leah,” Sam warned mildly.

She held up her hands. “What? I’m just saying, it’s giving ‘divorced couple arguing over the dog’ and I hate it.”

“That’s not—” you started.

“Okay,” Embry cut in. “We’re gonna try something new today. You’re both gonna say what you’re actually mad about.”

Paul blinked. “I’m mad she said I can’t park.”

You made a noise of protest.

“Not that.” Jared rolled his eyes. “Deep stuff.”

Paul looked at you. You looked at the ceiling.

Silence grew.

Seth nodded like he was in a therapy TikTok. “You can do it. Use ‘I feel’ statements.”

Paul’s mouth twitched. “I feel… attacked.”

“Paul,” Sam said, deadpan.

You couldn’t help it. You laughed once—short and surprised.

Paul’s head snapped to you, and his expression softened.

“See?” Embry sighed. “That right there. You two are good when you stop fighting.”

Paul looked down at his hands. When he spoke, his voice was lower than usual. “I don’t know how to do this.”

You turned your head. “Do what?”

He swallowed like the words were too big to fit in his mouth. “This. The imprint stuff.”

The room went quieter.

Paul’s eyes lifted to yours, nervous in a way you almost never saw. “Because when I feel something, it’s like… a wildfire. But I don’t want to scare you. So I make it a joke. Or a fight. Because if I’m mad about toppings or parking or whatever, I don’t have to talk about the real thing.”

Your throat tightened.

Paul’s laugh was breathless. “And you’re so smart, and you say things that make my brain short-circuit, and I don’t want to be… too much. So I push. And then you push back. And it’s stupid.”

You stared at him, heart doing that painful, soft thing it always did around him.

You didn’t realize you were crying until your cheek went wet.

“Paul…” you whispered.

He sat forward a little, like he wanted to reach for you but wasn’t sure he was allowed. “I’m not trying to make your life hard.”

“I know.”

“I just…” He exhaled. “I want to be close to you. And I don’t know how, so I keep poking the bear.”

Your laugh cracked. “I’m not a bear.”

He smiled, relieved for a second. “You’re kind of a bear.”

“You’re a menace.”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “But I’m your menace.”

The imprint in your chest pulled, warm and heavy.

You wiped your face. “I don’t hate you. I just—when we argue, it’s because I’m scared too.”

Paul went still.

You took a breath. “Scared that if I let this be real, I’ll lose myself in it. I’ve never had someone who… feels this certain. And your certainty makes me feel like I have to match it, or I’ll disappoint you.”

Paul’s eyes widened in horror. “Disappoint me? You— you could never.”

“I know that logically.” You shrugged helplessly. “But feelings aren’t logical. So I fight you over dumb stuff instead of admitting I’m scared of how much I want you.”

The room was silent silent now.

Even Leah looked like she’d been hit with a truth beam.

Paul stood so fast the coffee table rattled.

He was in front of you in two strides, crouched like he couldn’t help himself. “Hey,” he said, voice shaking a little. “Look at me.”

You did.

His hands hovered inches from your knees, waiting for permission.

You covered his hands with yours.

A sound left him—half laugh, half exhale, like he’d been holding his breath his whole life.

“I’m not asking you to match me,” he said. “I’m asking you to stay. That’s it. You and me. We’ll be messy. We’ll be slow if you want. But we won’t do the pushing-away thing anymore.”

You nodded, tears threatening again. “Okay.”

He grinned crookedly. “Okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You mean it?”

“Yes, Paul.”

He was beaming now, and it made your chest feel like sunlight.

Behind you, Quil whispered loudly to Embry, “We did it.”

Sam cleared his throat. “Good. So… are we all clear on the ‘less yelling’ rule?”

Paul and you spoke at the same time—

“Sure.”

“Maybe.”

Everyone groaned.

Paul laughed, full and boyish, then leaned in close to you like he couldn’t help it. His forehead pressed to yours. “Hi.”

Your lips lifted. “Hi.”

“Can I—” He hesitated. “Can I kiss you?”

You smiled softly. “You’re asking now?”

“Trying something new.”

You tugged him in by the collar. “Yes.”

His kiss was warm and careful at first, like he was proving he could be gentle. Then it turned sure, deeper, like the imprint had finally found an open road instead of a wall.

The pack erupted into whoops and dramatic gagging noises, and you broke apart laughing.

Paul rested his forehead against yours again. “I’m gonna kill them later.”

“Don’t,” you said. “They’re annoying, but… they were right.”

Paul sighed, mock-suffering. “I hate when they’re right.”

“I know.”

He kissed your cheek. “So, uh. Are we dating now?”

You pretended to think. “Hmm. I don’t know. You still can’t park.”

He jerked back, scandalized. “We just had a breakthrough!”

You laughed. “Yes, Paul. We’re dating.”

His whole face lit up in a way that made your stomach flip.

“Cool,” he said, trying to play it off and failing. “Cool cool cool. Great. Awesome. Love that.”

“Paul.”

“Yeah?”

“Come here.”

He did immediately, like you were gravity.

⸻

The next day, you were walking back from the rez store with a soda in your hand, feeling lighter than you had in weeks. Like someone had finally unsnarled a knot inside you.

You rounded the corner near the community center—and froze.

Rachel Black stood with her arms folded, facing you. Beside her, a guy you barely knew from town—tall, red jacket, too close.

You’d seen him before. Kyle. He had the vibe of someone who’d never been told “no.”

“Hey,” Kyle said, smiling like he was doing you a favor. “You didn’t text me back.”

You blinked. “Because I never gave you my number.”

He laughed like that was cute. “I got it from someone.”

“That’s not okay.”

Rachel’s brows went up. “Kyle, leave her alone.”

He turned on her. “I’m just talking.”

“You’re not listening.” You kept your voice calm. “I’m not interested.”

Kyle’s smile slipped. “You’re really gonna act like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re too good for me.”

Your patience tightened. “That’s not what I said.”

He lifted his hands in mock surrender. “Whatever. I just thought you were different.”

Rachel stepped forward. “Okay, that’s enough—”

“Don’t worry.” Kyle leaned closer to you. “I’m not mad. I just don’t get why girls like you always act stuck-up like you’re not from some backwater place too.”

Your spine went cold.

Before you could open your mouth, a voice behind you said, low and lethal:

“Back up.”

Paul.

He was halfway across the walkway already, jaw set, shoulders tense. He wasn’t phased—thank God—but you could feel the wolf under his skin, the protective fury buzzing right under the surface.

Kyle scoffed. “Who’s this?”

Paul didn’t even look at him at first. His eyes went straight to you. “You okay?”

Your throat eased. “Yeah.”

Then Paul turned to Kyle like a storm rolling in.

“You don’t talk to her like that,” he said, voice deceptively calm. “You don’t get to make her uncomfortable and then blame her for it.”

Kyle puffed up. “I wasn’t—”

“Yeah, you were.” Paul stepped closer. Not threatening, exactly, but… grounded. Like the earth had shifted to stand between you and anything that wanted to hurt you.

Kyle glanced at Rachel, then back at you, annoyed. “Whatever. Clearly you’ve got a boyfriend who thinks he’s a hero.”

Paul smiled without humor. “Not a hero. Just somebody who knows ‘no’ means ‘no.’ Try it.”

Kyle’s face flushed. He opened his mouth, then thought better of it. He backed away with a muttered, “This place is crazy.”

When he was out of earshot, Rachel let out a breath. “Geez.”

Paul didn’t relax until you put a hand on his arm.

He turned to you fast. “You sure you’re okay? He didn’t touch you?”

“No.” You searched his face. “But… thank you.”

His anger drained like water, leaving something softer behind. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m not… I’m not gonna let anybody talk to you like that.”

You smiled a little. “Protective boyfriend era?”

He rubbed the back of his neck like he was embarrassed by how true that felt. “Yeah. If that’s okay.”

You stepped closer, tilting your head. “It’s more than okay.”

His gaze flicked to your mouth. “I want to be good at this.”

“At what?”

“Us.” He swallowed. “Not the fighting part. The staying part.”

You reached up and cupped his cheek. “We’ll learn.”

His eyes closed for a second at your touch, like your hands were a prayer he’d been waiting to hear.

Then he opened them again, smiling small. “Still think I can’t park?”

You laughed. “Paul.”

“I’m kidding.” He grinned. “Mostly.”

You shook your head, leaning in to kiss him.

And this time, there was no arguing in it.

Just the steady crackle of something real catching fire the right way. The kind that warms, not burns.

Behind you, Rachel made a gagging sound.

Paul broke the kiss and glared over your shoulder. “Rachel, I swear to God—”

You laughed into his chest, and he wrapped his arms around you like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Like it was always meant to be.

Disclaimer:

I do not own Twilight or any of its characters. All rights belong to Stephenie Meyer. This is a work of fanfiction written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended.

[forkshighschooler]

Could you do a Jacob x reader where the reader has come down to forks with Rachel because they’re friends and study the same degree. Jacob imprints on her, but when he confesses theres angst as the reader is too scared to get into a relationship (past messy breakup with a cheating ex maybe) but Jacob assures the reader as he knows what it’s like to be picked last/not have your feelings considered. happy ending!!

Picked First, Always

Pairing: Jacob Black x Reader

Summary: You come to Forks for a fresh start—same degree as Rachel Black, same classes, a quiet place to rebuild after a breakup that taught you love can lie. You don’t come for Jacob. Jacob doesn’t get a choice. The moment he sees you, he imprints—and when he finally tells you, you don’t melt into his arms the way stories say you should. You flinch. You run. Jacob, who knows what it is to be overlooked and left behind, meets your fear with patience instead of pressure.

Warnings: mentions of cheating ex, post-breakup anxiety, trust issues, emotional angst, comfort, imprinting dynamics, light swearing

⸻

Forks is the kind of place where the sky sits low enough to press against your shoulders.

Everything is damp. The air, your hair, the cuffs of your jeans, the ends of your thoughts. Even your lungs feel like they’re learning how to breathe differently—slower, quieter, like you’re not allowed to take up too much space here.

Rachel’s car smells like vanilla coffee and old textbooks.

“Okay,” she says, tapping the steering wheel like she’s trying to shake the tension out of you. “Ground rules: we are not romanticizing the rain. We are not falling into some moody indie spiral. We are here for our degree, we are here for our future, and we are here to pass Professor Hargrove without crying.”

You let out a laugh that’s more breath than sound. “Bold of you to assume I won’t cry.”

“You can cry,” Rachel says immediately, like she’s already decided you’re allowed to be human. “But you’re not doing it alone.”

That’s the whole reason you came.

Not because Forks is charming. Not because you needed a change of scenery.

Because Rachel offered you something no one else did after the breakup: consistency.

No pity. No lectures. No I told you so. Just, come here. Start over. I’ve got you.

You try not to think about how the last place you “started over” ended with your phone lighting up at 2:17 a.m.—a message from a girl you didn’t know, a screenshot you couldn’t unsee, and the sudden understanding that the person you loved had been loving someone else behind your back like it was normal.

Like you were optional.

Forks isn’t supposed to be about that.

Forks is supposed to be about not feeling like you’re bleeding where everyone can see it.

⸻

Rachel’s house is warm in a way that makes you ache.

Not because it’s fancy—because it isn’t. Because it looks lived-in. Because there’s a basket of mismatched socks by the couch and a dish towel thrown over a chair like someone forgot it in a hurry. Because there’s food on the stove and laughter on the walls.

You stand in the doorway with your suitcase and your carefully controlled smile.

You’re trying to be polite.

Trying to be easy.

Trying to be the kind of guest who doesn’t take up space.

Rachel nudges your shoulder. “Relax. This is home. If you look too nervous, my mom will feed you until you can’t move.”

You swallow, nod, follow her in.

It’s fine. You can do this. You can handle a new town, a new semester, a new routine.

You can handle anything that doesn’t involve letting someone close enough to hurt you again.

Then the front door opens behind you.

You don’t even turn at first. You only hear the shift of air, the heavy footsteps, the familiar sound of someone who belongs here moving through the space like it’s theirs.

And then—

“Rachel, you—”

The voice cuts off.

You look over your shoulder.

Jacob Black is standing there, halfway inside the doorway, rain in his hair, shoulders broad enough to block out half the light behind him. His cheeks are pink from the cold. His hands are full—some grocery bag, a hoodie, keys clutched in his fist like he forgot what they were for.

His mouth is still slightly open like he was about to tease his sister.

But his eyes are on you.

And it’s—

It’s not the casual glance of a stranger.

It’s not even interest.

It’s like he got hit.

Like something inside him clicked into place so fast his body didn’t catch up in time.

You’ve read enough local rumors to know what imprinting is.

But no one ever tells you what it looks like on someone’s face.

Jacob’s expression goes still and stunned, like the world has turned into static and you’re the only clear thing left.

Your heart trips.

Not because it’s romantic.

Because it’s familiar.

Because you’ve seen devotion before. You’ve seen that look.

And you’ve also seen what comes after it when the person wearing it decides they want something else.

Rachel doesn’t notice at first. She’s too busy talking, too busy being normal. “Jake, don’t just stand there like a statue—this is my friend, remember? The one I told you about? Same degree, same program. This is—”

Your name lands between you like a fragile thing.

Jacob blinks. Once. Twice.

His throat moves like he’s swallowing something painful.

“Hey,” he manages, voice rougher than it should be for a greeting.

“Hi,” you answer automatically.

And even though it’s just one word, your body goes alert—like it’s bracing for impact.

Because something in his gaze makes you feel… seen.

And being seen has never been safe.

⸻

You try to keep your distance after that.

You do what you always do when your heart starts acting like it doesn’t remember the rules: you lock it down.

You focus on class schedules, shared study sessions, coffee runs, the kind of friendship that doesn’t require vulnerability.

Rachel is easy to be around. Rachel is solid. Rachel doesn’t ask you to be anything but present.

Jacob, unfortunately, is a problem.

Not because he’s rude.

Because he’s kind in a way that doesn’t feel accidental.

Because he notices things you work hard to hide.

He learns your routine without you telling him—what time you leave for campus, where you like to sit in the library, how you chew on the inside of your cheek when you’re stressed, how you get quiet when something hits too close to home.

He doesn’t comment on it.

He just adjusts around you like it’s instinct.

Like it’s natural.

There’s always a chair pulled out at the table when you come downstairs late. Always a pencil waiting when you forget yours. Always an extra snack left “by accident” near your laptop.

And the worst part is: he never makes it feel like a debt.

He never says look what I did for you.

He acts like you deserve softness the way people deserve oxygen.

It makes you want to cry.

It makes you want to run.

Because your ex used to be thoughtful, too—at first.

He used to remember your favorite candy and the way you liked your music loud in the car.

Until he stopped.

Until you realized his “thoughtfulness” was an effort he only made when he was trying to win you.

Jacob doesn’t feel like he’s trying to win.

Jacob feels like he’s just… there.

Consistent.

Steady.

And you don’t know what to do with a boy who doesn’t disappear when you don’t perform happiness for him.

⸻

It’s a Tuesday when it breaks.

Because it’s always a weekday. Always when you’re tired enough to be honest by accident.

Rachel has a study group. The house is loud with voices and papers and laughter. You try to participate. You try to focus.

But Jacob keeps glancing at you like he’s holding something back.

Like there’s a word lodged behind his teeth and it’s cutting him from the inside.

You catch him watching you and your chest tightens.

Not because you hate the attention.

Because it feels like the moment before a fall.

So you slip away.

You grab your jacket, mumble an excuse, step outside into the wet air like it can rinse you clean.

You walk until the sound of the house fades.

Until there’s only forest and rain and your own thoughts trying to drown you.

You don’t notice the footsteps at first.

But you feel him.

Somehow you feel him before you hear him.

“Hey,” Jacob says, soft, careful. Like he’s approaching something skittish.

You stop under the shelter of a thick evergreen. Water drips from the needles in steady taps.

You don’t turn right away. “You didn’t have to follow me.”

“I know,” he says.

A pause.

“I wanted to.”

You exhale, bitter little laugh. “Rachel put you on escort duty?”

“No.”

There’s a weight in that one word that makes your stomach drop.

You turn, finally.

Jacob’s standing a few feet away. Hands in his pockets. Shoulders tense. Eyes… dark, like he hasn’t slept properly in weeks.

He looks like someone trying to hold back the tide with his bare hands.

“Jacob,” you say, wary, “what’s going on?”

He swallows. His throat moves like it hurts.

“I’ve been trying not to do this,” he admits, voice low. “Because you didn’t ask for it. Because you just got here. Because you’re—”

He cuts himself off like he doesn’t know how to say something without scaring you.

Your heart starts beating too fast.

You already know. You know before he says it.

But knowing doesn’t make it easier.

“I imprinted,” he says quietly.

The world doesn’t explode.

The trees don’t shake.

The rain keeps falling like nothing has changed.

But your chest—

Your chest goes tight like someone wrapped a hand around your ribs.

You don’t know how to respond, because the word feels bigger than you. Like it comes with expectations. Like it comes with a script you’re supposed to follow.

Like you’re supposed to be grateful.

Like you’re supposed to say yes.

Jacob watches your face like he’s bracing for pain. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to make you feel trapped.”

You flinch at the word trapped, even though he didn’t mean it like that.

Your body moves before your brain does—you take a step back.

Jacob’s expression shifts, hurt flashing quick and sharp.

You hate yourself for it immediately.

“Don’t,” you say, voice shaking. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” he asks, too quiet.

“Like I’m…” You swallow. Your throat burns. “Like I’m something you can’t lose.”

Because that is the most terrifying thing someone can make you.

Jacob’s brow furrows, confusion folding into something softer. “Why would that be scary?”

You laugh, but it breaks. “Because I’ve been that before.”

Jacob goes still.

You don’t want to say it. You don’t want to drag your past into the forest like a bleeding animal.

But it’s already in your mouth.

“My ex cheated,” you say.

Jacob’s jaw clenches.

“And I didn’t find out from him.” Your voice thins. “I found out because the other girl got tired of being the secret.”

Jacob’s hands curl in his pockets like he’s holding himself together.

You stare at the wet ground because if you look at him you might fall apart.

“I thought I was loved,” you whisper. “I thought I was chosen. I thought I was… enough.”

Your throat tightens.

“And then it was like—like I was always second. Like I was a placeholder until something better showed up.”

Silence.

The rain sounds louder.

When you look up, Jacob’s eyes are burning with something painful.

Not pity.

Not judgment.

Recognition.

“I know what that feels like,” he says.

You blink, thrown.

He huffs a bitter breath. “Being second. Being an afterthought. Watching someone pick someone else and telling yourself it’s fine because you’re used to it.”

His voice roughens, like it’s scraping against old wounds. “I spent a long time being the guy people liked when they couldn’t have the person they actually wanted.”

Your chest aches.

He takes a careful step closer—slow, deliberate—like he’s trying not to spook you.

“I’m not going to do that to you,” he says. “I’m not going to make you feel like you have to compete for space in my life.”

You shake your head, tears threatening. “You can’t promise that.”

“I can,” Jacob says, immediate, fierce in a way that makes your breath catch. “Because you’re not a placeholder to me.”

Your heart stutters. Your hands go cold.

You whisper, “You don’t even know me.”

Jacob’s gaze doesn’t waver.

“I know enough,” he says. “I know you flinch when someone raises their voice. I know you apologize when you don’t need to. I know you act like you’re fine when you’re not, and you think if you’re small enough you won’t be a problem.”

Your throat closes.

He’s right.

And it terrifies you that he’s right.

“I’m not asking you to jump into anything,” Jacob says, voice softening. “I’m not asking you to trust me overnight. I’m not asking you to give me your heart right now.”

A beat.

“I’m asking you to let me be patient with you.”

Tears spill before you can stop them. You swipe at your cheeks angrily.

“I don’t want to be stupid again,” you choke.

Jacob’s expression cracks. He looks like he wishes he could take the pain out of your body with his hands.

“You weren’t stupid,” he says. “You loved someone. That’s not stupid.”

You let out a broken sound. “It feels stupid.”

He shakes his head, slow. “It feels like grief,” he corrects. “And fear. And the part of you that’s trying to protect you.”

You squeeze your arms around yourself, shaking. “I can’t do a relationship.”

Jacob nods instantly. No argument. No disappointment.

“Okay,” he says.

The simplicity of it makes you stare at him.

“That’s it?” you whisper.

“That’s it,” Jacob repeats. “You set the pace. I’ll follow it.”

You don’t know what to do with someone who doesn’t fight you for access to your life.

Your voice trembles. “And if I never get there?”

Jacob exhales slowly. “Then I’ll still be here,” he says. “Not to guilt you. Not to corner you. Just… here.”

He looks up at the gray sky like it’s too heavy, then back at you like you’re the only thing worth holding onto.

“I’m used to being picked last,” he says quietly. “But with you, it’s different.”

Your breath catches.

“Because I didn’t pick you,” he admits. “Not the way people choose. It just happened.”

He takes another careful step closer, stopping when he’s close enough that you can feel the heat coming off him, but not so close that you feel trapped.

“And I know how scary that is,” he says. “To feel like someone’s sure when you’re still bleeding.”

Your eyes sting.

“So we do it your way,” Jacob says. “Slow. Safe. Honest.”

He pauses, then adds, voice almost breaking:

“But I need you to hear me when I say this, okay?”

You swallow hard. “Okay.”

Jacob’s gaze locks onto yours—steady, unwavering.

“You will never have to beg me to choose you,” he says. “You will never have to wonder if you’re enough. You will never be second.”

Your heartbeat is loud in your ears.

You want to believe him so badly it hurts.

Your voice comes out in a whisper. “I don’t know how to trust someone who says things like that.”

Jacob’s expression softens into something achingly gentle.

“Then don’t trust my words yet,” he says. “Trust my pattern.”

A pause.

“Let me show you,” he adds. “Let me be consistent until your body stops bracing for the hit.”

You press a hand to your chest because it physically aches—like something inside you is trying to crack open and you don’t know if it’s safe.

“I can’t promise I won’t panic,” you admit.

Jacob nods. “Then panic,” he says, like it’s allowed. “And I’ll still be here after.”

Your eyes blur.

For a second, you let yourself imagine it—love that doesn’t punish you for being afraid. Love that doesn’t leave because you’re not perfect. Love that meets you where you are.

You look at Jacob—this boy with warmth in his skin and patience in his voice—and your fear doesn’t vanish.

But it shifts.

It makes room for something else.

You draw a shaky breath. “I want you in my life,” you say carefully. “Just… not fast. Not intense. Not—”

“Not like a trap,” Jacob finishes softly.

You nod, relief and terror mixing in your throat.

Jacob’s smile is small, but real. “Then that’s what it’ll be,” he says. “No trap.”

He hesitates, then offers, like he’s asking permission with every syllable:

“Can I walk you back?”

You nod again, because the thought of walking alone suddenly feels heavier than it did five minutes ago.

Jacob falls into step beside you—not too close, not too far.

Like he’s learned the distance that feels safe.

And as you walk through the rain back toward the house, you realize something you didn’t expect:

He isn’t trying to pull you into a love story.

He’s trying to give you a place to breathe.

And for the first time since the night you learned love could lie, your body loosens just a little—like maybe, with time, you could learn what it feels like to be chosen…

and not have to flinch waiting for the moment it gets taken away.

Disclaimer:

I do not own Twilight or any of its characters. All rights belong to Stephenie Meyer. This is a work of fanfiction written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended.

[levanswrites]

𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭, 𝐰𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮

pairing: coach!steve harrington x teacher!reader summary: your extremely professional relationship with coach steve may be under investigation by one (1) very observant six-year-old. warnings: pure fluff, slightly suggestive, steve is just absolutely smitten, secret relationship, children being adorable, mention of marriage, post-s5 (2.3k)

.   *　✦　　.　 ˚　✦　 .

Little Eli Parker is zooming down the hallway on a Very, Very Important mission.

Six years old, sandy curls bouncing wildly with every step, he's panting hard through the wide gap between his two front teeth. One of the Velcro straps on his sneaker has come undone, flapping wildly as he skids to a stop just outside your classroom door.

5B

He doesn’t come all the way in. Just peeks around the frame, fingers gripping the edge as he rocks back and forth on his heels.  

You pause mid-sentence, lowering the book you’ve been reading aloud. A few students crane their necks to look.

Eli’s bright blue mesh pinnie hangs crooked over his T-shirt, smudged with chalk dust and tiny white handprints—making it very clear which class he’s just sprinted away from. His cheeks are flushed, chest heaving like he’d forgotten the ‘no running in the halls’ rule until the very last second.

“Hey, Eli,” you call out gently. “You okay, honey?”   

He sucks in a much-needed breath, eyes wide. “Um… miss you haveta come with me. Coach Steve says you need to!”

You tilt your head. “Coach Steve?”

He nods solemnly. “He said it’s a ‘mer-gency.’”

A ripple of whispers spreads through your fifth-grade classroom.  

You blink, already pushing your chair back. “Did he say what kind of emergency?”

Eli shakes his head, serious as anything. “No. He just said we need to hurry.”

Your stomach gives a small, uneasy flip.

Eli isn’t the type to exaggerate. He’s sweet, careful. Reminds everyone when it’s time to line up after recess and always volunteers to erase the board without being asked. He's the sort of kid teachers trust without thinking twice.

If he’s the messenger, it’s because of something important.

“Alright, everyone,” you call to the class. “Keep reading quietly. I’ll be right back.”

A chorus of shuffling follows as you reach for your cardigan.

“Hurry, hurry,” Eli bounces on his heels, voice small but insistent.

Before you can answer, he reaches for your hand. His grip is tiny, warm, a little sticky—surprisingly strong. You find yourself getting dragged by his bouncy, determined steps, weaving past rows of lockers, dodging a cluster of kids heading to recess. He zigzags through the main hallway, past the water fountain, the art room, taking the shortcut through the library until you arrive at the wide, double doors leading into the gym.

The moment you push them open, chaos erupts.

Bright rubber dodgeballs zing through the air. Sneakers squeak across the glossy, lacquered floor. Laughter and triumphant shrieks ricochet off the walls, punctuated by the occasional, “Yes! Got you!” from victorious first graders.  

Coach Steve's leaned casually against the far wall, clipboard tucked under one arm, whistle hanging loose around his neck. He’s sipping from a blue ceramic mug that reads World’s Best Teacher in chipped white lettering.

Only five months into the job, yet he’s already something of a legend here at Hawkins Elementary. The younger kids adore him—dodgeball days and ridiculous warm-up games where he pretends to be a shark, stalking the gym with dramatic dun-dun noises until they’re all shrieking with laughter. Older kids trust him in quieter ways, lingering after sex ed to ask questions they’re not brave enough to bring home. 

Despite the nerves you remember from his first day, Steve has settled into teaching like it’s been waiting for him all along.

Right now, though, he’s fully in coach mode. Brow furrowed, stance wide, eyes tracking the game like it’s a championship match instead of a bunch of kids still learning how to throw straight.

“Out of bounds! That one doesn’t count.”

“Woah—no head shots, Jacob! C’mon, we talked about that.”

“You okay, Alex? I got you. Here, try it like this. Yeah, there ya go bud!”

Eli, who had been clutching your hand the entire walk across school, suddenly lets go and races toward his favorite teacher.

“Coach Steve! I did it! I got her!”

Steve looks up. Sees you.

And the grin that breaks across his face is so immediate, so fond, it'd be enough to give you both away if anyone was paying the tiniest bit of attention.

“Hey!” he laughs, stepping forward. “Nice work, buddy. Thanks for the help.”

You watch, eyes narrowed in confusion as he ruffles Eli’s curls and slaps a high five against his tiny palm.

Eli puffs up with pride and pivots to sprint back to the game.

“Whoa—hang on, pal.”

Steve drops to his knees, setting the clipboard aside as he reaches for the loose strap on Eli’s shoe. He fastens it with careful, practiced fingers, giving it a quick tug to make sure it’ll hold.

Your stomach melts a little at the sight of him crouched like that: focused, patient, so gentle with this kid who’s staring at him like he hung the moon.

“There we go, champ,” he grins, giving Eli's sneaker a little pat. “Good as new. Now go have fun, alright? Your team missed you.”

Eli nods hard, then rockets back into the game without another word.

Steve straightens and finally turns to you, eyes warm, smile soft—and just a touch guilty.

“Mr. Harrington,” you say, crossing your arms carefully, “what exactly is the emergency you pulled me out of class for?”

His mouth quirks sheepishly, hands slipping into his pockets.

“Well, I just…” He steps closer, dropping his voice. “Haven’t seen you all morning. I missed you.”

You blink.

“You—” A breathy laugh slips out before you can stop it. “You sent poor Eli to fetch me because you missed me?”

He nods like it’s the most logical thing in the world. “Yeah. He's my fastest kid.”  

“No, that's not the...” you trail off, turning your head, failing completely to hide your smile.

Steve steps closer, angling the clipboard between you so that, to anyone looking in, it would look like you’re addressing some very concerning issues with the class roster.

Well, except for the part where his eyes are glued to your face.

There’s this soft intensity in his gaze that makes your breath hitch, just by holding it. You find yourself staring back, unable to look away, appreciating the faint creases around his temples, how they deepen with his smile, the plush curve of his bottom lip and the rounded apples of his cheeks as they get pushed upward.

“That’s better,” he murmurs, voice all deep and honey-warm. “Just needed to look at you for a second.”

You shake your head, cheeks warming despite yourself.

There’s a reason you’ve been keeping this thing with Steve a secret.

You both realized, pretty early on, that acting normal in a building full of nosy children and nosier adults was a losing battle. You had to learn to bend with it, catching tiny, fleeting moments in the spaces between, holding onto each one as tightly as you can.

It wasn’t perfect. Mrs. Kline, the school secretary, has definitely noticed the two of you laughing a little too freely by the copier. One of your students will occasionally squint at you during silent reading time, wondering why a tiny scrap of paper left on your table at lunch leaves you grinning for the rest of the day.

Still, you make it work.

A shared coffee in the teachers’ lounge before the morning bell. Standing side-by-side near the parking lot fence as the buses roll in. A granola bar tucked under your desk with a note folded impossibly small.

you look beautiful today ◡̈

He repeats the message to you now, even as you roll your eyes and try to look away.

“Seriously, I mean it," he murmurs, tracing your face with his eyes—the slope of your nose, the curve of your cheek—before lingering, unmistakably, on your mouth. “Want to kiss you so bad right now.”

You snort, nudging the sleeve of his sweatshirt with a finger. It’s soft, heather-gray, the Hawkins Elementary mascot faint and cracked across the chest.

“That’s deeply unprofessional of you, Mr. Harrington.”  

He groans under his breath, brow creasing as he tips his head back. “God, I love it when you say it like that. Say it one more time?”  

“Jesus—Steve!” you hiss, half-laughing, eyes darting toward the gym floor like the kids might suddenly develop super-hearing over the screech of sneakers and flying dodgeballs.   

Instead of stepping back, he leans in closer, lips parted in that familiar half-pout, eyes full of mock agony. “Can’t help it, honey. You’re fucking killing me over here.”

“Language,” you warn him, simply out of pure habit.

He smirks, lips twitching.

From the far end of the gym, a group of kids cheer triumphantly, “Yes! Coach Steve! We won!”

You both jump back like you’ve been caught doing something much worse than grinning at each other like idiots.

“Uh—great! Great job, gang!” Steve calls, clapping his hands. “Let's get all the balls in the cart and then grab some water, yeah? Five-minute break.”

Then he leans back in, brows raised. “See? Total professional. I’m telling you.”

You shake your head. “You’re unbelievable.”

You’re still smiling when he pivots, glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one’s paying attention. Satisfied, he turns back to you, brows drawn into a hopeful, pleading slant.

"C'mon," he murmurs, lifting the clipboard up like a partition. "I’ll get another game going. The kids won’t even notice. Just you... me...” He gestures between you, then toward the double doors leading outside. “Five minutes?”

You press your lips together, schooling your expression back into something stern. “Steve Harrington. I am not fucking you behind the school gym.”

"Language!" He gasps, mimicking your tone. “And jeez, who said anything about that? I was just gonna, you know, have a very professional conversation with you… about teaching.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Oh, c’mon, bab—"

“Coach Steve?”

Both of your heads snap down at the same time.

Eli stands there, chin tipped up, hands clasped neatly behind his back like he’s been waiting for his turn to speak. He’s rocking gently on his heels, eyes bright with curiosity as he looks between the two of you.

“Heyyy, buddy!” Steve laughs nervously, voice jumping up an octave. “What’s up? You okay?”

Eli nods.

Then, completely matter-of-fact, he asks:

“Coach Steve, when you marry her, can I come?”

Steve chokes on absolutely nothing.

“When—what?”

“When you get married,” Eli repeats patiently, like Steve’s just being a little slow today. “I wanna come.”

Steve squats down so fast he almost drops the clipboard.

“Eli,” he says carefully, “why do you think we’re getting married?”

Eli shrugs, unfazed. “’Cause you’re prac-tis married.”

“Practice… practice married?”

“Yeah. Like my Auntie Jen and her friend Mark at Thanksgiving.”

Steve blinks. “Okay, and what's... why do you think we’re practice married?”

Eli doesn’t hesitate. He points toward the front of the gym, in the general direction of your classroom. “’Cause you always wait for her outside her door.”

Steve opens his mouth. Closes it.

“And you bring her coffee. But you don’t bring us coffee.”

“Well,” Steve murmurs faintly, “that’s ‘cause you’re six.”

Eli shrugs again. “And you talk to her really soft. Like this,” he cups his hand around his mouth to demonstrate, whispering loudly. “Also, you always save her a chair at ass-em-blee.”

Steve rubs a hand down his face, glancing up at you before looking back at Eli. “That’s, uh… very observant of you, buddy.”

Eli isn’t done.

“And you make funny faces at her in the hallway. Oh! And you fixed her pencil sharpener. And, and, there was one time you looked at her, and you didn’t look away for one... two... three...” He glances down at his fingers and starts counting under his breath. “five... six... seven... eigh—”

“Okay!” Steve laughs loudly, holding up his hands. “Okay, buddy, I get it. That’s... that’s a long time.”

Eli nods, clearly pleased with himself. “Auntie Jen and Mark, they used to go everywhere together. And Mark fixed all the stuff around her house. Then later they got married for real.”

He looks between the two of you, satisfied.

“So. I think you’re practice married.”

You bite the inside of your cheek and crouch beside Steve. “Well... I think that’s a pretty solid theory, Eli.”

“Mm-hm, thanks,” he nods confidently. Then he spins back to Steve. “So, when you do the real one, can I come? I’m really good at sitting still. And my mom says when people get married they always eat cake. I love cake.” He spreads his arms wide. “Auntie Jen’s was this big!”

Steve presses his lips together, letting out a short, incredulous snort. “You know what, pal? Sure. Whe—if we get married, you’re more than welcome to come. And we’ll get the biggest cake we can find, okay?”

Eli beams. “Okay!”

He starts to run back to the group, then skids to a stop and turns around.

“Hey, Coach Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“You should ask her nicely,” Eli says, serious as anything. “With flowers. Mark did that.”

And then he’s gone.

Steve stays crouched, staring after him, jaw slack.

“…Did a six-year-old just give me relationship advice?”

“Mm, seems like it.”

He stands slowly, running a hand through his hair, eyes still following Eli as he rejoins the others.

“You think he spotted it before we did?” he asks quietly. “Back when... you know, we were still trying to figure out what we were doing?”

You smile. “Probably way before then.”

Steve's still distracted when you put your hand on his shoulder, quickly checking to see that no one’s watching before pressing a soft, fleeting kiss to his cheek.

He blinks, stunned. “Wha—no, wait, shit—”

He reaches for you a full second too late; you’re already headed for the door.

“Language. Have a good rest of your class, Mr. Harrington.”

Steve watches you go, hand frozen at his cheek.

Across the gym, Eli spots you and waves enthusiastically, completely unaware of just how accurate his little theory was.

The proof?

A small velvet box, tucked away in Steve’s bedside drawer, waiting patiently for the right moment. .   *　✦　　.　 ˚　✦　 .

[munsster]

PRACTICE MARRIED!!!!!!

[ju1essss]

STEVE LIVES HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE

[emeraldserenade]

The Ranch Lie ~ Jake "Hangman" Seresin

synopsis: You needed a fake date for your brother's wedding, simply to annoy your step sister. Who would be better than Jake Seresin, the man you were already halfway in love with?

tw: fem!reader, reader's from Nashville, you're a pilot and your callsign is Fairytale, your sister in law calls you babes (platonically), your dad got remarried while you were in high school, your older brother is named Matteo, your step sister is Cass, your childhood best friend is Owen, Jake's a sweetheart to you since he's in love with you, Jake is also an asshole at one point because he's insecure about his own feelings, one bed troupe, fake dating, sexual tension, reader has a sex dream about Jake, barely edited.

fic, ficlet, drabble, request I'm actually so proud, this is 9369 words

I had this thought and went: "It sounds like a rom com, I'm going to name it like one" so I landed on The Ranch Lie.

➽──────────────❥

The rules: 1) No telling anyone, not even the team 2) All intimacy will be saved for in front of family or to keep appearances 3) All kisses will be short and sweet 4) No hookups while in Nashville 5) No falling in love

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

Your brother, Matteo, was getting married and you knew you would have to see some people you'd rather not. You hadn't been home since joining the Navy, not because you didn't want to. But because you knew your step sister was still stringing the man you loved in high school along. But Owen loved Cass in high school and willingly got strung along and there was nothing you could do. Cass took pride in stringing him along, took pride in having the man you once wanted at her beck and call.

It's why you were standing outside Jake "Hangman" Seresin's apartment early one Saturday morning. You just hoped that his conquest of the night had left already, or that he had gone to hers so she wouldn't be there. You had knocked about a minute ago and debated knocking again but Jake opened the door, water droplets painted his bare chest and he wore a pair of soft looking grey sweatpants. "Well, what do I owe the pleasure, Fairytale?"

You sighed harshly before shoving one of your hands, the one that held the cup holder of coffee cups, towards him. "A peace offering for what I'm about to ask you," you told him, stepping inside his apartment when he let you in. You looked around as Jake moved to his couch, you had seen the inside of his apartment when he was still moving in. You had offered to set up his kitchen while the others worked on other rooms, having gotten his apartment set up in only a matter of hours. "It looks nice in here," you mused, cautiously settling onto the opposite end of his couch.

Jake huffed a laugh at your words. "What were you expecting?"

You thought for a moment before shrugging a little. "Lot's of mirrors," you settled on and smiled as he laughed.

"What are you here to ask?" Jake finally got to the point and you looked away from him.

You took a deep breath and reminded yourself that the worst that could happen is that Jake said no and told the whole squad. Then they would make fun of you for a little before it went away after someone else did something more stupid. "My brother is getting married, and as I've told the squad, we have a step mom and step sister. Cass is kinda an ass to me and she's still stringing my high school crush, and best friend, along and if I show up without a date she'll feel too proud of herself. And like, you're kind of a showboating asshole but she's so much worse. And I know you're from Texas and she just got back from college there. And I know she really only liked Owen because I used to like him and because he's a bull rider and she's a buckle bunny. So if you show up pretending to be my date while being your southern self while also ignoring her completely, it'll drive her mad and she'll hopefully stop stringing Owen along. So he can finally actually get into a loving relationship," you were ever so slightly panting after your rant, but kept your eyes on the wall you were looking at the whole time.

Jake was stunned, he caught every word and understood you wanted him to pretend to be your date. "Well, damn," he mused, setting the coffee cup he had been holding down on the coffee table. 

You finally looked at him and slowly nodded. "I know it's a lot, but you're also the only one I know who could help me pull it off," you told him, trying to make yourself smaller.

Jake smirked at you and you prepared yourself for him to reject your proposal. "How long until the wedding?"

You raised your eyebrows in shock before scrambling for an answer. "About a month, I wanted time to try and find someone else if you said no," you told him before adding on more. "Well, the wedding is in a month but I leave in three weeks. My brother and my soon to be sister in law are doing this whole week of things beforehand. Not that you would have to be there, but you could be if you wanted to be," you clarified.

Jake nodded at you before his smirk turned sharper. "Guess we have three weeks to get to know each other better," Jake told you and you looked at him baffled.

"You're helping me?" 

"Well, yeah. You clearly don't like Cass and why not help? It seems fun," Jake shrugged and you nodded slowly. "Should I bring my hat?"

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

It was a bad idea, you decided, a bad idea to agree to let Jake drive you two across the country to your childhood home in Nashville, Tennessee. Because now you were sitting in the passenger seat of Jake's truck with Jake driving with his cowboy hat on. You tried to tell him it was unnecessary but he insisted on it, even though you knew it would make something flutter in your stomach. You two were leaving for the wedding celebration week the Friday night before you had to be there and told your brother it would take about a day and 4 hours to get there. Matteo told you two that you could be late and didn't have to leave the night before, but Jake insisted. 

Matteo and Lillian, your soon to be sister in law, were the only other two who knew what you and Jake were planning. It's why Matteo told everyone that you were bringing someone but didn't say anything more than a name. Cass, as predicted, sent you a message about how she and Owen were going together. You showed it to Jake who huffed, you had given in all the information about what happened over the past three weeks. "What's going on in your head, darlin'?" Jake questioned, you pursed your lips at the petname, he had been full force in this fake dating thing.

You looked over at him and felt the flutter in your stomach at the sight of him in his hat. "How if this doesn't work, Cass is going to be an insufferable bitch," you lied.

Jake nodded before speaking again. "We got this, it's just a week," Jake stated like it would be no big deal.

"Yeah, just a week," you parroted before falling silent and looking out the window again. 

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

You had fallen asleep a little before Jake reached the hotel you two were staying in before finishing the journey the following morning. Jake paused before running inside to check you two in, you looked so peaceful while relaxed and lightly breathing in his truck. With a light brush of your hair away from your face, Jake jumped out, locked the truck, and ran inside to check in.

He got back and you were still sleeping so he unlocked the car and opened your door. He gently reached to unbuckle you and lifted you out of the seat. He kicked the door closed after hitting the lock button again and carried you to the room you two were sharing. 

Jake gently laid you on one of the beds and tucked you in before running back to get your bags. He walked back into you barely waking up a bit, Jake smiled at you as you scrunched your eyebrows. "Welcome back to living," Jake joked.

"Did you carry me in?" You questioned, looking around at your surroundings and noticing your shoes neatly tucked under the desk next to the dresser and TV.

"Yeah, you looked so peaceful, didn't want to wake you," Jake shrugged and offered you your bag.

"Thanks," you smiled at him before moving to dig around in it.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

The next day passed pretty much the same, both of you calling out the horses, cows, and donkeys you passed on the highways. Your nerves started ramping up when Jake turned on to more familiar roads, he parked outside your family home and turned to you. "You ready?" Jake asked softly.

You nodded before shaking your head a bit. "We have to make sure we are convincing," you reiterated and he nodded a bit.

"I know, we've got this," Jake reassured you and you had a horribly wonderful idea.

You pursed your lips as you recalled the darker shade of lipstick and gloss you chose for the day. "We talked about kissing and you should let me kiss you so you're walking in there with my lipstick on you. Because that," you pointed to a truck a little further away, "is Owen's truck so that means he, his family, and Cass are here," you told him.

"If you wanted to kiss me that bad, you didn't have to come up with a whole excuse," Jake joked and you tried to be serious but ended up laughing with him. 

"Just shut up and kiss me," you told him, pulling him in by the front of his black shirt, your dominant hand quickly nudging his hat up a bit so you didn't run into it. Your lips met and it might have been the first time you kissed him, but it was like rewatching an old movie and realizing you remembered the exact plot. 

You pulled away and saw the way your lipstick prettily painted his lips in a sheer glow. You used your thumb to wipe some away before leaning back. "Why'd you wipe it away?" Jake raised one of his eyebrows and you pursed your lips a bit. 

You watched as he fixed his hat before speaking. "I only wiped a little away, just enough to make it seem like we tried to wipe it away but failed," you told him before looking back at the house. "We should probably go around back and greet everyone," you mused and Jake jumped out of the car before rounding it and helping you out, his hands on your waist even as your feet hit the ground. "Your truck is still too tall for this," you complained again, like you had every time you had to get in and out of his truck.

Jake chuckled and shook his head lightly before lowering his head to whisper in his ear. "Maybe it's just a reason for me to touch you," Jake mused and you knew he felt and heard your breath hitch. You brushed it off with a breathy laugh as you gently pulled out of his hold.

You two rounded your house and Jake opened the gate for you to walk in first. You heard your dad shout your name before everyone looked over. "Is that the man your brother was talking about?" Your dad asked as you two got closer, everyone paused to keep listening. You had never once mentioned a man when you did your monthly phone call with everyone, you knew they were all wondering.

"Yeah, this is Jake Seresin, Hangman. He's part of my squadron," you told your dad, and by extension everyone else.

"It's nice to meet you sir," Jake played up the southern charm, but you had the sneaking suspicion that this was the real Jake Seresin coming out to play. Especially with the ease he was playing the part. He ended up back at your side and his hand easily slid to lace with yours.

"Oh, you've got yourself a nice southern boy," your mom mused and you laughed lightly. You nodded at her, ignoring the look from Cass as you and Jake stepped just a tad closer to each other.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

You and Jake had ended up separated and he found himself talking to Owen's family and Cass. Owen was off talking to your father and Cass was blatantly hitting on Jake. Sherry Fisher, Owen's mother, had her lips pursed at Cass' flirting but Jake kept turning her down. Your laugh pulled Jake's attention away from Cass, his face softening as he looked at you. You were laughing with Matteo and Lillian as you three talked about something. "I'm sorry, if you'll excuse me," Jake said as he got up to walk over to you.

It was almost natural the way Jake wrapped his arm around you before letting his hand rest in your back pocket. It was almost natural the way you snuck your hand up his shirt to rest on the bare skin of his back, his smile just as easy as yours. "You two are a little too good at this," Matteo lowly said, his eyes taking in the way you two cozied up with each other and the still sheer color of your lipstick clinging to Jake's lips.

"We've had three weeks to get ready for this," you shot back.

"Did you fuck?"

"Matteo!" You laughed while shaking your head.

"Not from my lack of trying," Jake joked.

"Alright, Casanova," you laughed again, trying to cover the way your stomach fluttered at the thought.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

You knew you would have to share a bed with Jake, but you weren't expecting your dad to insist that you two take the guest house instead of staying in the main house. Cass normally stayed in the guest house with Owen, the only time the two had a whole space to themselves and not sharing the same space as either set of parents. "Cass is so mad," Matteo laughed as he and Lillian walked in.

You and Jake shared a laugh before you spoke. "Oh we know, she death glared at us when Jake was bringing in the bags," you told Matteo.

"You didn't help?" Matteo asked.

"Jake wouldn't let me so I just walked next to him."

"I told her to sit on the couch and look pretty but she insisted on following me," Jake shrugged from his spot on the couch. You were too busy glaring at Jake to notice the shared look of Matteo and Lillian.

"Dad thinks the next marriage will be between you two, I had to lie and say you've only been together a few months and hadn't even said 'I love you' yet," Matteo told you and you shared a look with Jake, one of understanding that this was now part of the lie.

"This is genius, by the way, babes," Lillian stated, moving to sit on the love seat with you. "I would have never thought about faking a boyfriend. I would have simply gone alone and suffered whatever I had to face," she told you, her blonde hair swaying as she laughed. 

"Cass keeps insisting that her and Owen are casual, by the way," Matteo announced, settling into the empty chair, leaving Jake alone on the couch.

"I noticed, normally she's all over trying to convince people that her and Owen are just trying to keep their relationship lowkey," you mused before moving over to sit on the couch with Jake, your empathy making you sad for him to be all alone. Matteo moved to sit with Lillian as you sat down on the couch, your back resting on the armrest so you were facing the loveseat and your feet landed in Jake's lap.

"I think she's going for your fake man," Lillian warned and you shared an amused look with Jake.

"I figured she would." You gently wiggled your toes out of instinct but Jake's hand landed on one of your calves as he gently started to massage it.

"We have a whole plan," Jake told the pair and you nodded at his words.

"When you told me you two have been planning for three weeks, I didn't think you meant all three weeks," Matteo told you and you shrugged.

"We have rules too," you announced with pursed lips.

"Oooh, like in To All The Boys I've Loved Before?" Lillian questioned and you nodded.

"Yeah, but less high school and more two people who work together and still need to work together after this," you told her. The four of you talked for a little while longer before you all agreed to call it a night.

There were no words spoken when you and Jake got into the bedroom, you already had the talk. You two would separate the bed with a pillow and lay back to back, no touching necessary. 

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

The next day was a slow start, neither of you set an alarm since you both were used to getting up so early for work. But you let Jake shower since you showered the night before. While he was showering, you used the stocked kitchen to make you two breakfast.

You could see Cass out with Owen, you could tell Owen didn't want to be there and that Cass was trying to spy. Jake walked out of the bathroom, a pair of jeans low on his hips and shirtless. Your back was turned to the windows that Cass was spying through so you knew you could talk without her trying to read your lips. "Cass is outside looking through the window," you warned Jake as he walked closer.

Jake walked up to you and spun you to face him, putting your side to the window, before dipping down to kiss you. You let yourself melt into it as Jake pulled you closer by the hips, you were sure it looked just as heated as it felt. It was over too soon but you knew it was just the rules. "Think she got the show she was searchin' for?" You dumbly nodded before blinking a few times and turning back to the stove. 

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

The day's activities kept you and Jake away from each other, but Cass had told everyone she had seen you and Jake share a kiss that morning. The group was buzzing with wedding excitement and the possibility that you had found "the one". 

You actively avoided answering all questions by diverting the attention back to Lillian and Matteo's wedding. It worked every single time, allowing you to move through the motions of helping Lillian. 

Jake, on the other hand, was having more trouble with avoiding questions. Most of the men only wanted to know about you and Jake, it's how he learned that you hadn't ever brought anyone home. That you once mentioned liking Owen and that was the last time you've ever told anyone anything. 

Your dad, Alec, told Jake that he was glad Jake made you so happy that you felt comfortable enough with him to bring him home. Jake smiled at the words but avoided answering when he was going to propose. It just took a well timed comment telling the others that you two hadn't even said "I love you" yet for them all to stop.

By the end of the day, Cass was fuming that she hadn't once been asked about her and Owen. You could tell that she was mad so you decided to stir the pot just a little. "Hey, Cass?"

"Yeah?" She practically sighed as she responded, you were sitting on Jake's lap as everyone talked in the living room of the main house.

"Are you and Owen official yet?" You asked, your best attempt at a friendly smile on your face. You saw the way she quickly glanced at Owen before coming back to you.

"Uh, no. We're still just casual," she responded and you gave her your best sympathy pout as Jake pressed his face to your hair to hide his smile.

"Oh, can I ask why?" You knew you sounded convincing but you were fighting a smile as you watched everyone pay attention to the conversation. Everyone wanted to know, you looked at Lillian and Matteo and noticed they were both silently laughing with each other.

You watched as she struggled for an answer before Owen spoke up himself. "She doesn't actually like me," Owen shrugged and you widened your eyes while turning your face to look at him. He was to your side so you could see Jake in your peripheral as you looked at Owen.

"I'm so sorry, that must hurt," you told him, surprised no one has called out your passive aggressive way of stirring up some drama. 

"You get used to it," Owen shrugged and you glanced at Jake as you two shared a look of understanding. The group moved on to another topic, but the seeds had been planted. You and Jake were going to get you your childhood best friend back and make Cass pay for being so mean to you.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

You were sure you had put the pillow between you two that night, but you woke up with Jake's front pressed to your back and his arm over you. His hand was resting on your stomach and the very tips of his fingers were resting under the waistband of your shorts. Your first thought was to pull away, but you felt Jake sigh and his hand flex causing his fingers to dig into the skin of your lower stomach, so you stayed. 

You stayed in his hold for a good five minutes before Jake stirred awake, his hand flexing again before withdrawing it. He said nothing as you two moved through the same motions as the day before, right down to the shared kiss in the kitchen. You weren't sure if his small "she's watching" was a lie, but didn't complain as his lips landed on yours. 

You were spending time with Jake that day and knew you two had to absolutely play the shit out of your fake relationship. You knew Cass was going to look for any small thing that might hint at you two lying, so you knew you had to make sure there was none.

Your personal plan? Let yourself fall into the belief that it wasn't fake, that you and Jake were really together. It worked too because each touch, each glance, each kiss shared was filled with all the love you didn't dare say aloud. 

Owen was there too, you saw the way he watched you and Jake and knew he was thinking. It's why you weren't surprised when he entered the kitchen after you to talk. "Hey," Owen greeted you.

"Oh, hey," you gave him a small smile.

"It's been a minute since we've talked, huh?" He rubbed the back of his neck as you nodded.

"Yeah, it has. How have you been?" 

"Pretty good, been helpin' dad at work," he shrugged and you nodded slowly.

"And with Cass?" You saw him look around and took a glance yourself. Cass was next to Jake on the couch with both of their backs to you, even so you could tell Jake wasn't giving her the attention she wanted.

"It's like I don't exist until someone or somethin' reminds her of you," he revealed.

"I'm sorry," you apologized, bringing your cup to your lips.

"What the hell are you apologizin' for?"

"She wouldn't even be all over you like this if I never ruined our friendship by developing a crush," you responded.

"You didn't ruin shit, it was my fault for fallin' for Cass' bullshit," Owen shook his head.

"Can't blame you, she is pretty," you mused, looking back at her and Jake only to see Jake had moved seats away from Cass. You met his eyes and watched as he silently asked if you needed his help, you gave him a small shake of the head before looking back at Owen.

"Yeah, but she ain't ruin your oldest friendship pretty," Owen responded, his eyes trailing between you and Jake. "He's good for you, haven't seen you this happy since before your dad's wedding."

"Jake's a good man," you vaguely responded, forgetting you were talking to the only person who would be able to see through the lies.

"Uh huh," he slowly nodded before a slow smirk spread on his lips. "A good enough man you asked him to be your date to your brother's wedding despite obviously being in love with him and pretendin' you aren't while pretendin' you are?"

"Owen Fisher, are you callin' me a liar?" You cocked an eyebrow at him while he laughed, calling the attention of your dad and mom who watched the interaction. You were standing across the kitchen from Owen with your arms crossed and cup resting on the counter behind you while Owen leaned against the doorframe and laughed. It was a sight that wouldn't have had them looking twice if not for the fact you two had barely looked at each other the last few years you were home and that you came with another man.

"I ain't sayin' you're a liar, I'm sayin' you're not tellin' the whole truth," he said and you couldn't help but smile at him. You missed this, being friends with someone who wasn't afraid to call out your bullshit. Maybe that's why you liked Jake so much, he was the same yet different in every way.

"Jake's a good man and yeah, I like him. But we haven't said the big L yet," you smoothly lied, watching as Owen bought it. He had lost his touch at reading you in the past couple of years.

"You don't gotta, you show it in every way you interact, Moony," the childhood nickname made your smile waver for a second.

"Haven't called me that in a while, Owen," you pointed out.

"Haven't felt like I deserved to in a while," Owen countered and you looked at Jake, needing a way out of this before you got too involved again. You weren't scared of falling for Owen again, you were scared to get close only for him to choose Cass again. You made eye contact with Jake and gave a small nod this time, signaling him to walk over. You looked back at Owen as he glanced around too.

"Owen," you called his attention back to you. "I don't think you ever stopped deserving it, but I can't lie that I'm not scared that you'll choose Cass again," you told him as Jake walked in and beelined for you.

"Hey, darlin'," Jake pressed a kiss to your head and you smiled up at him.

"Hey," you responded before you two walked out of the kitchen. You gave Owen a small smile before leaving. "Jake and I are going to retire for the night," you announced as you and Jake walked out the back door to make your way to the guest house.

"How'd it go with Mr. I-lost-my-chance?" Jake questioned as you two got into the guest house.

"Asked how he was, asked about him and Cass, he told me that she only ever goes to him if someone or thing reminds her of me. He told me he's sorry for ruining our friendship even though I was the one who had the stupid crush. He almost caught onto us but I successfully redirected the conversation. He called me Moony, which was my childhood nickname, and then said he felt like he didn't deserve to call me that. And then I needed you to come get me out of there before I got my hopes up again," you briefed Jake on everything you and Owen talked about. 

"You fallin' for him again?" You heard Jake's accent slip out a little more as he asked and scrunched your eyebrows in confusion while your back was turned.

"No," you denied, it was the truth too. Jake could hear that it was the truth. "I just don't want to think I could be friends with him again only for him to choose Cass once again," you told Jake as you collected the rest of your things for your shower. Jake hummed at you and you didn't know what that meant, but didn't press him on it.

You cracked the door as you got into the bathroom, you had the previous nights just in case Jake needed to tell you anything while you were in there. You assumed Jake had left the room by the time you turned on the shower like he was the other nights, but you were wrong. Jake had stayed relaxing in the bed and when he glanced up, he saw a glimpse of your bare back in the mirror. 

Jake felt like he was creeping on you, even if it was an accident, and quickly looked away from you. He kept his eyes trained on the wall until he heard you open the glass door and close it once you got in. As quietly as he could, he slipped out of the room and went to the living room. The TV was on but Jake wasn't paying attention, his mind was on the way your back looked moving as you reached to unbuckle your pants. 

Jake ran his hand down his face as he thought about how stupid he was acting. One glance at you had him imagining you spread out on the bed for him, he felt like a teenage boy seeing a naked woman for the first time. Jake knew having a crush on you was stupid, that there was no way you liked him. Not after his reputation and the way he never made a show of stopping it, even though he had. 

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

Jake's shower was longer than the others and it was at night, but you didn't question it. When and how long he showers wasn't something you felt like you should comment on, even if there was very little steam flowing through the cracked door. You were lounging in the bed when Jake exited the bathroom, the towel low on his hips while he went to look through his bag. You let yourself look over him, your eyes trailing the muscles he had. "Are you starin'?" One thing you've learned about Jake Seresin, his accent came out when he was tired, his emotions were running high, or if he was around other people with one.

"You know what you look like, Hangman, don't even try and claim otherwise," you shot back, your eyes moving from his arms to his face. He had his shit eating grin resting on his lips and he was already staring at you. "Don't make me throw a pillow at you, get dressed," you reached for a pillow just to prove a point. 

"Ok, ok, no need to get violent, darlin'," Jake smirked before moving back to the bathroom to get dressed.

You were looking back at your phone when he walked back out, missing the fact he purposefully forgot a shirt until he was crawling into bed. You glanced at him quickly before taking a double take causing Jake to laugh at the action. "Where the hell is your shirt?"

"Figured you'd be happier if I was without one," Jake shrugged with a smirk and you huffed at him.

"Then lose the pants too," you joked and Jake shrugged before reaching for his waistband. "I was joking!" You laughed, gripping his forearms and roughly pulling his hands away from his sweats. You were both laughing as you kept your hold on him, you were using him to keep yourself stable as you doubled over in laughter. 

"Are you sure you were jokin'? Cause I'll do it," Jake offered but you wheezed when you went to answer, making yourself laugh harder. 

You kept wheezing before it turned into snorts as you officially lost all grip on your sanity for a moment. "It hurts to laugh," you finally managed to get out but it caused both of you to laugh even harder. Once you managed to calm down, you collapsed with your forehead pressed against his pec. "I don't know why but that killed me," you gasped as you tried to catch your breath again. Jake let his hand rest on the back of your head as you laid there, your breathing slowly going back to normal. 

You stayed there even after your breathing was normal, enjoying the heat radiating off Jake. It soothed the headache you had been nursing since lunch, the dull throb of pain going away. "You ok?" Jake gently gave the back of your head a squeeze as if to show who he was talking to even if it was just the two of you.

"Yeah, I've just had this killer headache since lunch and your body heat is making it go away," you mumbled, adjusting how you were sitting so you were flat on your stomach instead of crouched over. Jake let you lay there for a minute before fully readjusting you both. Instead of you laying the wrong way on the bed, the side of your head was pressed to your pillow while Jake tucked your forehead against the middle of his chest.

"Sleep, I'll be here the whole time, I promise," he mumbled as he pulled the blankets over you. The lights turned off a few moments later and you realized he had grabbed the remote to them while readjusting the two of you. You were sure you felt him press a kiss to the top of your head before you drifted off, but you couldn't be sure.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

Jake had decided he wanted to make breakfast the following morning so you let him. You sat yourself on one of the bar stools at the counter and watched as he made the food. "Is the pillow barrier officially done for?" You questioned, sipping the coffee Jake had handed you a few moments prior.

"I don't care if it is," Jake told you honestly and you smiled at his back. A knock on the door let you know someone was there. "It's open!" Jake called, clearly not caring that someone was going to see him shirtless. You both looked over at whoever knocked and you were shocked to see your dad, step mom, and Cass walk in.

"Morning," your dad greeted the two of you and you glanced at what the two of you were wearing. You were in an old TOP GUN shirt that accidentally ended up in your things after a wash, it was several sizes too big and seemed like it should be Jake's. And Jake was in sweatpants, just sweatpants.

"Good morning!" Cass called, her eyes trained on Jake. 

"Mornin'," Jake glanced at them before glancing at you. You didn't care if he told you to just sit there while he cooked, you were going to at least stand by him while they were there.

"We just wanted to stop by, we haven't had time to properly talk to you two since you got here," your step mom, Whitney, announced and you pressed your back to one of the counters by Jake, allowing you to see his face while also looking at the others. 

"Talk about what?" You questioned, worried that they might have picked up on the lie. 

"How you two met," Whitney responded.

"Oh, we met through work," you told her, there was no need to lie about this part you two decided. "When we were called back to TOP GUN for a special detachment that's when we met, we were asked to stay as a permanent detachment after the mission," you explained.

"How'd you start dating?" Cass asked and you glanced at Jake, his head was turned forward but his eyes were on you. 

"Honestly? We aren't really sure," you started telling them the lie. "We just kinda realized that we both had feelings and that we were practically dating already. The only thing that changed was that we no longer hid our affection," you shrugged as Jake wrapped his arm around your midsection and gave you a small side hug despite the two of you facing opposite directions.

"You've been awfully quiet, Jake," your dad pointed out and you quickly jumped in before he had to think of an answer.

"He's not much of a talker when he cooks, he likes to focus," you lied smoothly and gave Jake a smile when he mouthed 'thank you'. Your dad and the other two finished their quick little chat with the two of you before leaving, you were sure they were trying to find out if you two were really dating. You'd like to think you two were convincing enough.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

Jake had you spread out on the bed, his lips were on yours as his hands slowly undid the button of your jeans. You had half a mind to ask about the rules, but any thoughts were pushed out of your head as his hand dipped into your jeans and panties. You heard him chuckle as he gently ran his middle finger through your folds to collect your slick before running it up to circle your clit. 

It was slow circles before he withdrew his hand all together. Jake slowly kissed down your neck, chest, and all the way down until he gently pulled your jeans off. You sucked in a harsh breath as Jake leaned in to press a feather light kiss to your clit. Your hips jumped up and Jake chuckled again right before he dove in. 

The annoying sound of your alarm pulled you from your dream, why you agreed to be up and ready this early baffled you. It made you groan as you pulled away from Jake, his warm body not helping the heat radiating through you from the dream. You watched as Jake blinked awake before smiling over at you, it was a softer smile. You gave him one back before rolling back a bit more and landing on the floor with a small grunt. "Did you just?" Jake stopped his question short as you spoke.

"Roll too far and land on the floor? Yes, shut it," you hissed, already sitting up to get off the floor. You gave him a lighthearted glare when he laughed, the same one from your dream. The dream you didn't get to process before falling on your ass off the bed. 

"Come on, darlin', give me your hands and I'll pull you back up," Jake's hands came into view and you grabbed them. You used your ab muscles to help him and your legs before you were back on the bed and pressed into Jake's side. Yeah, you were going to have to splash cool water on your face to get rid of the dream running through your mind.

"Why'd I agree to such an early morning?" You whined, burying your face into Jake's shoulder. You felt Jake's shoulder move as he laughed but he ran his hand up and down your back.

"Because you love your brother and soon to be sister in law," Jake stated. 

"I know," you dramatically announced before getting up and heading to the bathroom to get ready for your day.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

Jake was watching you as you did your makeup, Lillian had requested that everyone had extra glitter on them that day. You had dragged Jake to the store the day before to get a new eyeshadow pallet, one with just pure glitter shades. It was mesmerizing to Jake as he watched you put the glitter on your eyes. You went around the color on your lids to make it look almost like it was a sun glow surrounding the pretty purple. "Do you think there's enough glitter?" You turned to look at Jake, the light catching the glitter perfectly. If Jake hadn't already been in love, he swore he would have fallen right then.

"I think it looks perfect," Jake replied and you happily hummed before spinning back to do your lips. Jake would have never guessed that watching someone do their makeup would be as entertaining and mesmerizing as it was.

You had noticed him just watching you the whole time, but said nothing. Not when you were focused on lining your lips with the lip liner stain before adding the normal stain itself. You used the small piece of paper you had next to you to dry down the stain, it took a moment but you got it dry. "So, after I have breakfast with my mom and Lillian, we are free for the day until dinner. That means, you're stuck with me again," you told Jake as you finished adding the clear gloss to your lips.

Jake laughed at your words before speaking. "Better than Owen," he told you and you chuckled before looking over at him.

"Are you going to get dressed?" Jake was still in his pajamas and shirtless behind you. 

"I will, don't worry. No one will be getting a show here," Jake assured you.

"What? It's only for me?" You joked, shoving your feet into your shoes. You missed the look across Jake's face as you did but you heard his words.

"Hell yeah, it is, darlin'," Jake smirked at you when you looked back at him with a smile on your face. You looked at the time and gasped lightly, you were going to be late.

"Mhm," you hummed before walking over to him. "I gotta go. Be good, I love you, bye," you gave Jake a kiss on the cheek before rushing out the door.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

Jake was still sitting on the edge of the bed a few minutes after you left. He knew realistically you probably were just in a rush and not thinking what you said through, but there was a part of him that hoped you meant your words.

You, on the other hand, were sitting at breakfast thinking about what you said to Jake before leaving. It was a slip of the tongue, sure you loved him but you hadn't planned on telling him. Jake was Jake, he had his way of living and you had yours. You doubted he would be open to a real relationship, let alone one with you. 

"What's going on in your head, babes?" Lillian asked and you looked up, you realized you had been zoned out for a while.

"Uh," you looked at your soon to be sister and your mom, it was just the two of them but your mom didn't know about you and Jake. "Just thinking, this whole wedding thing has given me something to think about," you waved your hand in a noncommittal circle as you spoke.

"Are you thinking about marrying Jake?" Your mom giddily asked.

"Oh, uh," you looked at Lillian who was also looking intrigued about your answer. "I don't know, I hadn't given much thought to marriage before. You know how my job is, and, yeah, Jake works with me but we haven't even said I love you yet. Or he hasn't, I kinda just said it while rushing out the door this morning without thinking about it," you ranted and saw your mom raise her eyebrows and Lillian gasp.

"Did he not say it back?" Your mom asked.

"I, uh, didn't exactly give him time to. I was in a rush to leave so I wasn't late!" You defended when you saw her get ready to say something more.

"Do you love him?" Lillian questioned, her tone letting you know she was genuinely asking and not just to keep appearances.

"I think so, I don't know. It's just an all new feeling! For all I know, I'm just getting swept up in the wedding romance and said it because it's all been going so well," you ranted, your thoughts running a mile a minute.

"Tell us what was happening before you said you loved him," your mother said, Lillian scooting closer to grab your hand.

"Well, I was doing my makeup at that vanity that's in the bedroom and he was sitting on the bed watching me. When I asked if there was enough glitter, he said it was perfect. We were talking about how we were free until dinner after I'm done here. And then I asked if he was going to get dressed because he was still in his pajamas. He said he would and that no one would be getting a show, so I jokingly asked if it was all for me because, you know, we live in San Diego and he's gone shirtless at the beach before. He replied "hell yeah, it is, darlin',"" you put on your best impression of him and his accent making your mom and Lillian laugh. "That's when I noticed I was going to be late so I kissed his cheek and said "I gotta go. Be good, I love you, bye," before rushing out of the guest house," you finished explaining as Lillian and your mother gaped at you.

"He's in love with you," Lillian mumbled but you shook your head.

"What?" You almost denied it and said that he was still sleeping around, but you had to remember that your mom didn't know.

"That man is in love with you," your mother reiterated as if you didn't get it the first time, which you're pretty sure you didn't.

"No way, we've only been together for a few months!" You tried to reason.

"And yet you love him," Lillian told you, her hand moving to your shoulder as she spoke.

"Yeah, but that might be hysteria from all the wedding things getting to my head," you denied but they both gave you a flat look. "I'll talk to him later," you promised after a moment of silence.

"Good," Lillian stated before the conversation drifted back to whatever they were talking about before your confession.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

You were practically dragging your feet as you walked back to the guest house, your mom and Lillian refused to make breakfast longer than necessary. You weren't ready for Jake to ask about what you said, or for you to have to explain it.

Yet, Jake was just casually spread out on the couch watching TV when you walked in. "Hey, darlin', how was breakfast?" Jake called over.

"It was fine, just idle wedding talk," you told him, throwing your purse on the entry table and toeing off your shoes. You sat yourself down on the opposite end of the couch as Jake turned the TV down.

"Owen came by earlier," Jake told you and your scrunched your eyebrows.

"What did he want?" 

"You," Jake plainly stated.

"For what?" You leaned closer to Jake as you studied his face. He had a pinch to his brows and he looks over all upset.

"No idea, wouldn't tell me. Just kept sayin' that he needs to tell you somethin' before the wedding," Jake shrugged and you shook your head.

"Why wouldn't he just tell you to tell me?" 

"You're the one who knows him, not me," Jake responded and it rubbed your wrong.

"Do you have a problem with that?" You got defensive.

"No, I was just sayin'. He's your friend, not mine. Though from his tone he doesn't want to be just friends anymore," Jake responded, his tone taking a sharper edge.

"And you think I want that?"

"I don't know what you want, Moony," Jake's voice was bordering on venom. "I'm not your real boyfriend, remember?"

"What is wrong with you? What the hell happened in the last hour and a half?" You stood up and crossed your arms as you started talking.

"Owen wasn't the only one to come over while you were gone. Cass did too, apparently I'm not even your type," Jake stood too and you took a step back.

"You're taking her word over mine?" Your voice lost the edge it had, your insecurities creeping into the edges.

"You're never told me your type, what am I supposed to think? You suddenly made an exception for me just because I was the only one who could help piss off your step sister? Cause that's what it's soundin' like, darlin'."

"You don't get to call me darlin' while being an ass, Hangman," you seethed, your eyes blazing even though your voice was still soft. You made your way back to your shoes and purse before speaking again. "And for the record, Cass is wrong. You've always been my type, in fact, you may be the only man who will ever be my type again," you were about to close the door before you decided to add the last nail in the coffin. "Oh, and I meant it when I said I love you. But I understand if you decide to leave, I'll tell the others that you had a family emergency."

The door shut behind you, leaving Jake to grapple with the fact he probably just let his own insecurities ruin whatever was blossoming between you two.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

"Babes, what are you doing here?" Lillian let you into the bedroom that her and Matteo were staying in. Your brother was sitting on the bed, his phone playing some video he was watching.

"Jake and I fought," you sighed, sitting down on the vanity chair.

"Do I need to go kick his ass?" Matteo stood but you quickly shook your head.

"No, it's not even his fault."

"It's always then man's fault, but continue," Lillian cut in.

"Apparently Owen stopped by the guest house while I was at dinner and from his tone it sounded like he wanted to confess he had feelings for me. And apparently Cass stopped by it too and told Jake he wasn't my type," you told the two, your eyes trained on the open window. "I told him that Cass was wrong, that I don't like Owen like that again, and that I meant it when I said I love him."

"You told him you love him?" Matteo sat up and you looked over at him.

"Lils didn't tell you?" You looked over to the aforementioned blonde.

"I was going to let yo two figure out your feelings first," she admitted.

"You told him you loved him and he still had the audacity to believe Cass?" Matteo brought the conversation back.

"Well, to be fair, I said it in a rush and we aren't actually dating," you mumbled, wanting to be quieter just in case.

"No because Lili told me all about what went on with you two this morning, except the love confession, but there is no way he doesn't love you," Matteo stated but you just sighed.

"If he loved me, why didn't he just say so?"

"If everything you've told us is true, that he's a playboy who no one believes can settle down, then he's probably scared about what you think," Matteo gently told you, moving over to grab your hands. "Y/n, you're my baby sister. I've always done everything I can to protect you, but this isn't something I can fix. But you can, go talk to him or something. The wedding is in two days and I doubt you want him to leave."

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

Jake was sitting on the edge of the bed when you walked back into the guest house bedroom. His bags were open but not packed and he was staring at something in his hands. "Jake?" You called for his attention as you walked around the bed to see what he was holding.

You saw the picture you knew existed but didn't know how he got. It was of younger you holding a white board, some of your friends and you thought it would be funny to write down a description of your dream men and pose for photos. "I'm sorry," Jake whispered and that's when you realized he was crying.

"How'd you get that?" You sat down next to Jake, leaning into his side as you did so.

"Your mom dropped it off, said somethin' about how she overheard you talkin' to your brother and sister in law about our fight," Jake admitted.

"Jake," you sighed, you needed to say something.

"No, you don't get to apologize. I was an ass, I was scared that you wouldn't want to be with someone like me."

"Someone like you?"

"I've slept around more than I probably should have, I was so mean to you in the beginning for no reason," Jake's eyes were still trained on the photo. "Then I believed your step sister over you even though you've told me all about her lyin' tendencies. But your mom gives me this, photographic proof that I'm your type, and it makes me think. I am so sorry," Jake let out a shaky exhale.

"I should have been more up front in the beginning. I made the no falling in love rule knowing damn well I was already half way there," you told Jake, your hand grabbing his free one. "I just thought that if you ever did fall in love, if you wanted to settle down, it wouldn't be with me. I'm nothing like those girls that throw themselves all over you at The Hard Deck."

"Exactly," Jake said before quickly clarifying. "I meant that in a good way, I meant that you're nothing like them because you're everything I ever wanted but never let myself to dream about."

"I know it may be a little late to ask, but Jake, will you be my date to my brother's wedding? For real this time?"

You watched as Jake's face split with his signature smile before he answered. "I'd love nothin' more, except you. I love you more," Jake replied, his movements self assured as he pulled you to him for a kiss.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

You freely cried while you listened to Lillian and Matteo share their vows. You glanced out to the crowd to see Jake watching you with a soft look. "You ok?" He mouthed while you gave him a small nod, a smile on your face as you did so. 

"I now pronounce you husband and wife, you may kiss your bride!" The officiant announced as you clapped with the others in the ceremony hall. You watched as they walked down the isle before you were supposed to follow. You met up with Jake by the stairs of the hall after exiting the doors. 

"Here," Jake gently dried your face with a tissue he produced from his pocket. You smiled as he held your chin and tilted your head up, a look of focus on his face. 

"Thank you," you mumbled, your eyes trained on his. He smiled down at you before dipping his head and kissing you softly.

"Ready?"

"Yeah," you took his hand and you both walked hand-in-hand to his truck. Jake opened the door and gently gripped your waist to make sure you didn't fall backwards while getting into the truck.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

You were grateful that Lillian and Matteo decided to let the bridesmaids and groomsmen sit with everyone else instead of a table in the front of the room. You and Jake were sitting at a table with your step mom, your dad, mom, Cass, and Owen. It was a little awkward, but you were thankful that you were between your mom and Jake. 

Jake was obviously trying to seem casual while sitting as far from Cass on his other side as possible. You gently tugged the side of Jake's chair closer to you to hint to him to scoot it closer. He caught on and, when no one was watching, scooted his chair right up next to yours. 

When dinner was over and after Lillian and Matteo had their first dance, you got up and took Jake away from Cass. "Was it just me or was Cass leanin' towards me more and more as time went on?" Jake questioned once you were a safe distance away.

"She was!" You laughed a little, leaning into Jake as you did so.

"You're laughin' at that?" Jake fake outraged.

"Hey, you told me you love me," you gently poked his chest as you spoke. "There's no take backs, you're stuck with me."

"Good because I've been imaginin' you in a white dress since we showed up at The Hard Deck the first night," Jake admitted, dipping his head down to kiss you once again. Both of your smiles making it a little hard but you neither of you cared, not when you finally got each other.

➽──────────────❥

Masterlist | Requests If you want to be added to the tag list, follow the directions on my masterlist

[munsster]

WHEN IS IT MY TURN!!!!!!!!!! ⌛️⏳⌛️⏳⌛️⏳THIS WAS SO BEAUTIFUL I COULD CRY

[sansaorgana]

— THE GIFT

PAIRING — Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader

SUMMARY — You were born to be Feyd-Rautha's wife. You arrive to Giedi Prime to get adjusted to the new environment before your wedding. Your betrothed is trying to court you properly... but he only knows The Harkonnen ways of doing so.

REQUEST — (1)

AUTHOR’S NOTE — After a whole month of writing Thrown To The Wolves, I felt weird writing something with Feyd with a different Reader and a different plot. 🙈 But at the same time I was excited to explore a new scenario. 😄

WARNINGS — arranged marriage, blood, death

WORD COUNT — 3,700

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

THE GIFT

Giedi Prime was an unfriendly place – cold and colourless, nearly lifeless as well. The people you were seeing reminded you of machines more than humans. You were terrified as you realised you’d spent the rest of your life there. The Harkonnens were even worse. Rude, harsh, not very talkative. Your future husband had looked you up and down on your first day in a way that turned your blood cold.

You missed home. You missed your family. But you knew it was impossible to ever go back. You could run away – if you somehow managed to bribe the servants to help you – but it was impossible to hide from your destiny. You had been born to be Feyd-Rautha’s wife, and most importantly, to give birth to his child.

You were a daughter of an important Lord, therefore you weren’t opposed to the idea of an arranged marriage. You knew nothing else was waiting for you in this world and no one would ever let you marry a person of your choice. But why was Feyd-Rautha your betrothed? Out of all the people in the galaxy, why did you have to be promised to a Harkonnen?

Ever since you had been a little girl, your friends had been teasing you about it. Repeating the dreadful gossip about Giedi Prime and your betrothed who had become a famous and dangerous gladiator in the meantime. And now you were finding out that the gossip was not true – reality was even worse than anything you had heard and expected of this place and of this man.

You were supposed to spend three months on Giedi Prime before your wedding, away from your home and family, to adjust to the environment and the customs. Then the wedding would take its place and you’d become the na-baroness of The Harkonnens.

On your first morning you were woken up with breakfast brought to your bed by the servants.

“Why can’t I eat with my husband’s family in the dining room?” You asked them while sitting up and resting on your pillows.

The pale and bald women looked at each other significantly. Everyone looked the same here, you felt like a freak.

“Baron Harkonnen and his nephews do not eat their meals together, unless it is a special occasion, a banquet of some sort,” one of them explained. “Everyone eats their meals in their own private chambers.”

“I see,” you nodded and sighed at the sight of the food. It was as colourless as everything around. You missed the bowls of fruit and yoghurts you had been getting on your homeplanet.

After swallowing the last bit of your breakfast, you took a shower and let your new servants dress you up. The Harkonnens had requested for you to leave all your clothes and personal belongings at home. They wanted you to be as detached from your old self as possible. You were gifted a whole wardrobe of new outfits instead. All black.

You wondered if they’d ask you to shave your head, too. You dreaded that. Your hair was like an armour you could hide under. Your servants had no idea how to manage it so they left it loose. You brushed it with your fingers since there was no brush.

When you saw yourself in the mirror you thought that on your homeplanet you’d be called a feral woman. In a black, long dress, hair unkempt and dark bags under your exhausted and empty eyes that lacked any sort of emotion.

You were supposed to have classes about The Harkonnen culture. You had been studying it since you were a little girl but they did not trust your progress and they wanted to test you in a more practical sense. Your teacher was an old man with a contemptuous smirk, a close advisor of the Baron and most likely his spy.

He had been asking you questions for the past hour to which you answered perfectly well. It was becoming difficult for him to hide his surprised facial expression.

“You’ve been trained well, my Lady,” he admitted.

“This is all that has been expected of me,” you explained with a nod, your voice was hollow and emotionless as you realised how true your words had been. Your whole personality was limited to be the future Harkonnen Baroness ever since you had been a little girl. You couldn’t possibly tell what you would be like under different circumstances. You had never been given a chance to find out.

“Very well then,” he hummed to himself. “I’d like you to roam freely around the fortress and try not to get lost. Tomorrow during our class you will ask me questions about the things and places that made you curious,” he informed you and bowed down before leaving the room.

You looked around, expecting someone to fetch you but no one was coming. He had to actually mean that you were allowed to roam freely around the fortress. Carefully, you left the room and chose to turn right. You had arrived from the left side of the corridor so you were naturally more curious about the right side and exploring a brand new territory.

You were too scared to try to push any doors, though. You didn’t want to walk in on things that would possibly make someone beheading you for seeing. The occasional guards passing you by were looking at you suspiciously but they were not saying anything. After a while you stopped seeing them at all and realised you were in a dark maze of endless corridors that you had no idea how to get out of.

Trying to go back, you only ended up getting lost even further as you were going deeper and deeper into the maze. Your heart started to pound in your chest and your hands began to shake as they turned cold. The corridor was cold in general – much colder than the rest of the fortress. And it was terrifyingly empty.

You decided to stay in one place and wait. Someone had to eventually look for you, right? You hoped for it to be true. Trying to hug your own self for warmth and comfort, you rested your back on the cold, grey wall, taking deep breaths in. 

Suddenly, a loud and animalistic cry emerged from behind one of the black doors. You were startled by it and your body began to tremble even more. You wanted to get away as far as possible from that door but when you were about to turn around and run, they opened and your heart squeezed in your chest.

To your surprise, it was your betrothed leaving the mysterious room. He was wearing gladiator attire and holding a blade in his hand with blood still dripping. His eyes widened at the sight of you and you froze.

“What are you doing here?” He asked in his deep and raspy voice.

“I… I got lost, I’m sorry. I’ve been told to roam freely around the fortress and explore on my own but I got lost…” You explained as you shivered.

Feyd-Rautha approached you slowly like predators approach their prey. You took a step back and felt the wall behind you. You were trapped.

“Lost, you’re saying?” He smirked as he hovered over you. Your heart was pounding so fast in your chest that he just had to hear it. He rested one of his hands on the wall above your head and leaned in even closer. “You’ve accidentally gone underground where I train on my slaves,” he smiled almost playfully, showing off his black stained teeth.

“I’m sorry, I did not mean to..” You gasped but he shushed you with a soft hiss.

“Did I say it was forbidden?” He asked and you shook your head. “Come, I’ll show you,” Feyd straightened himself and reached out his hand towards you as if he was a proper gentleman.

Everything inside you was screaming to run away and to not follow him anywhere. But you were aware that he would catch you in a second and your attempt would only most likely enrage him. And very soon you would belong to him anyway. You would be his property whether you wanted it or not.

You held his hand and he froze at the feeling of your ice cold and shivering fingers.

“You are cold,” he pointed out. “And scared.”

“I am not scared,” you lied. You had been taught that The Harkonnens hated fear and cowardice.

“And a liar,” Feyd-Rautha sneered and led you inside the mysterious room he had previously left.

It was big and dark like every other room in that fortress. There was a dead body of a servant in gladiator gear laying on the floor in the puddle of his own blood. The walls were covered in all sorts of weapons.

“This is where I train,” Feyd announced proudly. He had to think it would impress you but it only made you sick, especially the sight of the dead man on the floor. You had never seen death in such a brutal and ugly way before. But now you were sure it was not the last time.

Feyd was visibly waiting for your response as he let go of your hand and took a step back to tilt his head and watch your expressions carefully. You realised it was a test of how much you were able to handle as his wife.

You wondered what would happen if you failed all the tests. Would they just send you back home or would they get rid of you? Were they even able to do that? You didn’t want to find out.

“It is impressive, my Lord na-baron,” you admitted with a shaky nod of your head and he winced at your words which made you furrow your brows.

“Don’t address me like a servant, pet,” he clicked his tongue and you nodded, slightly uncomfortable at the way he had called you.

“I’m sorry,” you apologised. “How should I address you then?”

“However you like,” Feyd shrugged his arms and approached you once again, raising his bloody blade slightly as you flinched. It brought a smile to his full lips. Looking deep into your eyes, he licked the blade clean. You clenched your jaw and tried to keep a poker face on but a knot formed in your stomach at the disgusting act.

You hated to admit that he was attractive for a Harkonnen. There was a magnetic energy about him that made you attracted to him like a moth was driven to a flame. Even his harsh and unpleasant voice was leaving you wanting more.

Feyd brushed your hair with the tip of his freshly cleaned blade, carefully, making sure not to cut any strand.

“I want you to always wear your hair like this,” he looked even more intensely into your eyes.

“That would be inappropriate,” you tried to explain. “It’s not considered elegant.”

“I said, I want you to always wear your hair like this,” he repeated like he couldn’t understand why you were trying to argue. He was a spoiled na-baron and completely not used to people disobeying him. So, you just nodded this time.

“Then I will,” you promised. “If I could only get a hairbrush, though. Or a comb. So they don’t tangle,” you pleaded and he squinted his eyes at you as the tip of his blade moved to under your chin. You swallowed thickly at that gesture.

“A hairbrush or a comb,” he repeated your words. “That can be arranged,” he added and you smiled nervously at him. “What are you scared of?”

“Of the blade under my chin perhaps?” You raised an eyebrow at him and he chuckled, however his hand remained still.

“Weren’t you sent here to be my wife?” Feyd’s smile dropped in an instant. He was serious again and you took a deep breath in, tugging on the folds of your dress to hide how sweaty your hands had become.

“Yes, I was,” you nodded.

“And what do you think of that?”

“I don’t think. I have been preparing for that since I was a child,” you answered.

“I want to be a good husband,” his sudden confession made your eyes widen. In one swift move he took the blade away from you and replaced it with his hand as he held your chin up, forcing you to look into his eyes. “My uncle says that a wife should not be an enemy. He wants me to court you properly,” he explained.

“Is your uncle experienced in marriage?” You asked, curiously. You had been taught that Baron Harkonnen had never been married.

Feyd laughed at your question as his grip on your chin tightened. He moved his face even closer to yours, your nose nearly brushed his and it made you hold your breath.

“Can you think of a woman who would not become his enemy after being forced to marry him?” He asked you and you dared to chuckle at that.

“So, I assume, I do not have to worry about you becoming like him one day?” You bit on your lower lip, realising that he indeed did not want to hurt you.

Perhaps that whole uncomfortable and threatening situation was his idea of intimacy. You wouldn’t be surprised.

“My uncle is not my role model,” he only answered and took a step back, removing his hand from your chin. “I don’t have idols.”

“What do you worship then?” You furrowed your brows.

“Blood and honour,” he answered with all seriousness. “Allow me to give you something, my pet. A gift for my bride to be,” he proposed and you hesitantly agreed, not wanting to hurt his feelings by refusing.

You expected him to approach one of the walls and hand you some of the weapons. But, to your surprise, he kneeled down next to the dead body laying on the floor and he opened its chest with the sharp tip of his blade. You gagged quietly and covered your mouth with your hand, trying to look away as the metallic smell of blood hit your nostrils, leaving you nauseous.

The sound of his heavy footsteps made you look in his direction again, not wanting to offend him in any way. He was walking towards you proudly with a real human heart in his hands, blood dripping off of it on the floor, leaving a trace. With all your force you stopped yourself from squealing at the sight. No amount of training and studying The Harkonnen culture had prepared you for this.

Feyd-Rautha reached his hands out as he offered you his foul gift. He was staring at you intensely, expecting praise of some sort or admiration. However, you had none. You let the wet organ slip into your hands as you gagged once again at the sensation and a shiver went down your body. Your reaction caused Feyd to tilt his head and squint his eyes.

“What am I supposed to do with it?” You asked in a shaky voice.

“You don’t like it,” he pointed out after a short while of silence and you got scared of upsetting him.

“It’s not that I don’t like it, I just…” you started, trying to nervously explain yourself.

“You don’t like it,” he repeated, both annoyed and disappointed.

“I appreciate the gesture,” you tried to assure him. “I will keep it,” you promised.

“Why don’t you like it?” He asked once again, ignoring all your words. You sighed.

“It’s just not something I’m used to. In my homeworld, we don’t give each other human hearts,” you explained softly.

“What do you give each other?” His question was genuine and curious.

“Haven’t you studied my customs like I have been studying yours?” You asked but the answer was obvious.

“My uncle says it is not important for me to know your culture because you are here to become one of us,” Feyd explained. “The only thing I have been studying was the blade,” he added. “So, what kind of gifts do your people give?”

“Flowers,” you answered. “For example.”

“There are no flowers on Giedi Prime,” Feyd pointed out. “No seed blooms in our soil.”

“I understand,” you nodded, nervously. “I am grateful for your gift, Feyd-Rautha. I appreciate your courtship,” you assured him but your voice and hands were shaking as your face was visibly disgusted.

Someone knocked upon the doors and Feyd barked at them to come in. You turned around and saw two guards sighing out of relief at the sight of you.

“There you are, my Lady!” One of them approached you. “We’ve been searching everywhere. Let us escort you back to your chambers,” he bowed his head.

You nodded at him, relieved as well at the sight of them. You wanted nothing else than to go back to the familiar part of the fortress and to finally leave this awkward and uncomfortable situation with your betrothed.

Still holding the heart carefully in your hands, you walked out without even glancing at Feyd-Rautha. The guards took you to your chambers where the worried servants had been waiting. They gasped at the sight of your gift.

“What is it, my Lady?” One of the girls asked you.

“It’s a gift from Feyd-Rautha,” you explained as they all widened their eyes. “I have no idea what to do with it,” you admitted.

“Feyd Rautha gave it to you, my Lady?” The servant swallowed thickly and you nodded. “Do you know what it means, my Lady?”

“No,” you shook your head and handed the organ to another girl. “I desperately need to wash my hands and change my dress,” you said and disappeared into the bathroom where you spent fifteen minutes getting rid of the blood.

You took the stained dress off and threw it on the floor before walking out back to your chamber. The girls were already preparing the heart as they put it in a jar full of some odd liquid.

“It will dry in there, my Lady,” one of them explained. “Na-baron must be really enamoured with you, my Lady, or perhaps he is trying to show his best side to you.”

“Enamoured?” You snorted at her. “It’s gruesome.”

“It’s the most romantic thing a Harkonnen man can give to a woman, my Lady,” the other woman added and you gasped.

“I haven’t been taught that…” You whispered, feeling extremely stupid for the way you had treated Feyd-Rautha before. You had to anger him dearly and his rage was not something you wanted to deal with. “What is the equivalent of such a gift for a man? What can I give him in return?” You asked the servants and they looked at each other’s faces, surprised.

“There is no equivalent, my Lady,” one of them answered. “Harkonnen women do not court. Only men do.”

On the next day, when you were leaving your chambers to go to your class, you spotted the doors nearby opening and your betrothed walking out of them. Your room was in the same area as his so it was no surprise but you didn’t expect to see him at the same time in the morning. At the sight of you, he looked down and walked past you without a word, which made you feel bad for him and for the way you had treated him. But it also made you anxious because his uncle has been right about marriage. You didn’t want Feyd-Rautha to be your enemy.

Giedi Prime was far from perfect and your betrothed was an odd, psychotic creature. You couldn’t change your destiny, though, so you had to embrace it to make it bearable.

“Feyd, wait,” you rushed after him and he froze when you grabbed the sleeve of his robe. He turned around and looked at you coldly.

“I am in a hurry,” he drawled.

“So am I. But I wanted to apologise. I have been studying the Harkonnen culture for years but I have never been told of the meaning of such a gift,” you explained, feeling your cheeks getting warm. “Please, forgive me. I didn't mean to reject you.”

“The heart was of a low quality,” he admitted as his face softened slightly. “Next time I will give you the heart of a real warrior, a real enemy. Not some slave,” he added. “My uncle has already reprimanded me for that.”

You broke a smile at him. It was adorable in a way how this scary and dangerous man was following his uncle’s guide on courtship, trying to be on his best behaviour around you. It was making you feel powerful in a way.

“I would like to return the favour but my servants have informed me there is no such tradition,” you confessed. “What can I do for you to forgive me?”

Feyd-Rautha hesitated for a moment as he looked away, thinking intensely about something. Then he laid his eyes on you again and leaned in to join your lips together. You were startled at first, your heart pounded in your chest. Raised to become his wife, you had never kissed anybody before and saved yourself for him only, however it felt as if his soft lips were truly made for yours. You put your hand on his chest and opened your mouth to invite his tongue in. He devoured you, greedily wanting to explore your mouth and feast on your taste. His hands pulled you closer by your hips and you put your free hand behind his head. Seeing him for the first time in real life two days ago, you had been slightly uncomfortable at the sight of him. But now you did not feel any of that.

Even if you hadn’t been prepared to become his wife, you’d still want him. You had been born to be his.

Feyd’s hands moved up and cupped your face before breaking the kiss and moving away gently. You took a deep breath in as he stared into your eyes and caressed your loose hair.

“You’re forgiven, my pet,” he told you. “By the way, I’ve ordered a hair brush for you.”

MASTERLIST

[munsster]

BOW WOW HELLO!!!!!!!!

[austinbutlerslovers]

There is SO much to look at….

[munsster]

MY GOD 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭