Stephanie

"Focus!" Riven lands a sharp punch to Sky's shoulder giving him a pointed look. "Or I'll personally drag your sorry ass to the infirmary."

"At least she'd have to talk to me then," Sky mutters, voice low and bitter. Glancing her way one more time, for one more stolen glimpse, he shifts just in time to block Riven's next punch.

"You're pathetic," Riven snarls. "She dumped you. Get over it!"

"It's not that easy!"

"Fuck that. There are dozen of girls who are falling over themselves for a shot."

Sky's shoulders sink as he exhales. "None of them are her."

Riven scoffs. "Cold hearted bitches? Maybe that's a good thing."

"Don't call her that!" Sky’s fist moved before his brain caught up, and the impact was solid, knuckles colliding with Riven’s jaw with a thud that echoed through the courtyard.

Riven hit the ground with a grunt, but laughed as he cradled his jaw. "Okay. Anger. That's something. Anything is better than this pathetic moping."

Sky runs a trembling hand through his disheveled hair, his chest heaving. "You don't get it! It's torture. This past month is pure, relentless torture! I don't understand why she left! She just did. No explanation, no goodbye, nothing."

"For fuck's sake." Riven pushed himself up, spitting blood into the grass before storming across the yard toward her.

"Hey!" he barked, frustrated.

Y/N turned slowly, one brow arching, her expression unreadable. “Yes?”

He didn’t get far. The second his boots touched the grass near her, her eyes flashed an otherworldly green. Vines erupted from the soil like serpents, coiling around his ankles and calves, tightening until he was pinned in place to ensure he remains at a respectable distance.

"Ha! Cute trick!" He rolled his eyes and tried to yank his legs free, only to find they didn’t budge an inch. "You're so quick with your fairy dust. What, now you're too much of a coward to even talk to us?"

"Us?" Her gaze sharpens.

"Me and Sky!" He glances over his shoulder, only to see his friend didn't follow him. Of course he didn't.

She smirks. "Yeah. I'm soooo scared." Her voice dripped with sarcasm as she stepped closer, and with another flicker of green in her eyes, the vines obey her command, instantly wrapping around his arms, locking him in place like a fly in a web. "How about you stay away from me? Your friend's smarter than you give him credit for."

"My friend is a fucking liability thanks to you!" Riven spat. "You've destroyed him He's a mess! He can't focus. Hasn't slept or eaten properly since you broke his heart! All he does is stare at you, a ghost of the life he imagined he can't stop grieving."

Swallowing thickly, her eyes flicker to Sky for a moment, a flash of vulnerability crossing her features before she averts her gaze and all signs of emotion vanish beneath icy indifference. "That's not my problem," she says courtly. "People break up every day. It's the circle of life."

"No. Fuck that. Listen to me," Riven demands. "He will get himself killed and I'm sure a few others who rely on him to do his job. Maybe you're right and it's just a break up he can't shake, but he deserves a reason." Riven's voice cracks. "Y/N, don't...He's my best friend and I've never once felt this worried about him - not when he had to kill Andreas, not when Silva was infected nor when he was almost executed, not when we were surrounded by the Burned ones." Pausing, he exhales loudly. "You don't have to take him back, alright? Just...talk to him? Give him some damn closure!"

"I can't," she says through gritted teeth.

"Can't? Why the fuck not?"

"Because if I do, he will realize..."

"That you still love him?"

The silence that followed was shattered by a single, choked breath.

Sky had moved without either of them noticing. His blue eyes locked on her like a magnet, his presence a storm pressing in on her feigned indifference. “You what?” he asked, voice trembling.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. “Sky…”

"Do you?" He steps forward, cautiously, as if she might disappear if he moves too fast. "Do you love me?"

Y/N's eyes flash green again, and vines twitch at her feet, but Sky moves first. His arms wrap around her waist, grounding her, tethering her in a way only he could.

"For once," he whispers, forehead pressing against hers, "just tell me the truth."

"What does it matter?" She sighs.

"It matters to me. It matters more than anything."

"Yes," she moves her hand slowly to rest over his chest, over his thundering heart, repeating, "I love you."

"Then why.... Why do this?"

"You're a prince," she reminds him. "And I'm not princess material."

"Wait...What?"

"You'll have to take that throne, eventually. I won't be allowed to rule beside you. Sky, I'm not a fool. I'll be cast aside when the time comes. Better to end it now than years later when I’ve given you everything and get a broken heart in return."

Sky stared at her like she’d just confessed to murder. "You really think that low of me? That I'd ever let anyone take you from me? That I'd choose a crown over us?"

"That's the thing...It won't be a choice," she says softly. "You will have to do this and I won't waste my life just to be torn apart later."

"So you decided to break both of our hearts now?"His voice cracks. "You think tearing us apart now rather than facing what might happen in the future makes it any easier?"

She smiles sadly. "I break my heart better than you can," she shrugs. "But I'd heal it faster too."

Sky’s hands cradled her face as he pulled her in, his forehead pressed against hers, his breath mingling with hers, and she allows it. "You're insane."

"You knew that when we started dating."

Sky laughs, a wet, broken sound passing his lips before they find their place on her forehead, leaving a gentle kiss. "Yeah. Which is why I'm telling you right now that I can't let you go. Not now. Not ever. So stop forcing me to suffer for no reason, because even when you tell me to go, I will still be yours."

"I'm no royal."

"Fuck royalty," he raises his voice, tilting her chin up so she can see it in his eyes - he means what he says and he won't change his mind on this matter. "If they want to dictate who I love, they can find themselves a new heir. I don't care about titles or crowns. I'd only ever ascend the throne with you by my side. if I can't have you, none of it means anything. I will walk away from it all." Brushing his nose against hers, he continues. "I will love you until this world is nothing but ash and dust, and even after."

"I'm sorry," her eyes water, blurring her vision.

"All is forgiven, love," he murmurs. "As long as you don't do this again. You're only ever allowed to leave me for reasons pertaining to us, not them. Okay? If I turn into a douche or you stop loving me, I'll leave you alone. But breaking my heart over a throne I don't even want? I don't accept that."

She nods.

"Good," he says, cupping her cheeks again. "I'm yours. Whether you want me to be or not."

And then he kissed her, soft at first, then deeper, like he was pouring all his broken pieces into her, trusting she could hold them without dropping a single shard.

They walked off together, hand in hand, leaving behind the chaos that left them broken, hearts stitched imperfectly, but still beating.

She wanted to be anywhere but here, stood in the centre of the stage with a blindfold turning her world black. Even with the blindfold on, (Y/n) could just imagine the amount of eyes that were currently burning into her like beams directly from the sun. They were watching her with curiosity, they were probably smirking and laughing at her already. Their eyes felt like they were creating blisters in her skin and (Y/n) had an almost undeniable urge to scratch her nails along her skin to try and calm herself down.

But most of all she could sense someone close by, someone standing right in front of her on the other side of the little table that separated them. Someone from school, someone who could be a complete stranger who was waiting to take her first kiss away from her and keep it for themselves as a reward.

Having people watching her was something that (Y/n) absolutely despised. When her dad glanced over her shoulder when she was cooking, (Y/n) would freeze and wait silently for him to disappear so she could carry on. If a teacher looked over her shoulder while she was working or writing down her essays or equations, she would hunch over her work and block it from sight, guarding it like buried treasure. (Y/n) felt like crying if anyone stared at her because she could just imagine what they were thinking of her.

They were waiting for her to break, wanting to watch her crumble into a million pieces and suffer another breakdown, just like she had done last year.

Sometimes she wanted to be invisible, she wanted to be a ghost who could glide through the world unnoticed and only have a select few people notice her when she deemed it appropriate.

But now the whole school was gathered round the booth she and Lee had come up with, watching in amazement and anticipation as she was about to have her first kiss with a total stranger- not that anyone at school knew this was going to be her first kiss.

The pounding of her heart in her chest felt excruciating and (Y/n) almost coiled forward in agony, but she knew it was just a wave of panic washing over her. All the air in her lungs had dissolved, leaving her lungs like shrivelled up balloons that felt useless and weak in her chest.

Anything would be better than this. Going home and hiding away in her room, going to the arcades with Lee, going to visit her mum's grave. Just anywhere else other than here where she was exposed and out in the open like this.

Then she felt a pair of hands.

A large, calloused pair of hands carefully and rather gently curved around the back of her trembling hands, like a guiding light or a star for shepherds to follow in the dead of night.

There was something oddly familiar about the hands that were cradling hers so firmly yet with a gentleness about them. It was as if the person wanted to help her but didn't want to be too firm or too rough or loose or cruel. The way their thumbs carressed over the back of her hands in slow soothing circles made (Y/n) wonder if this person too was unsure what to do or how to remain calm.

The motion was so calming and rhythmic and it seemed to automatically settle (Y/n)'s erratic heartbeat. By the size, feel and callousness of the hands (Y/n) guessed that it was a boy standing in front of her, which made sense since she was here at the front of the line up that was full of boys.

(Y/n) felt a subtle pull on her hands, and she quickly realised that the stranger in front of her was guiding her forwards, bringing her closer to the podium that separated them. Maybe he wanted her to hurry up so they could get this over and done with; that was fine with (Y/n).

She knew without a shadow of a doubt that this would be the only person she would kiss tonight. As soon as this was done, (Y/n) was going to flee back behind that curtain and hide away from the world. No way would she stand and do this again and again, (Y/n) wasn't as confident as the other girls who had put their names down to do this booth. Her nerves would be shot to pieces if she tried this for any longer.

Her toes scuffed against the floor and her feet tripped over thin air due to the mounting nerves and uneasiness about this unsettling situation. But she didn't fall or stumble, not when those hands that were so gently holding her were also firm and gripped tight, steadying her and keeping her on track. And those arms felt tense and strong enough to bear her stumbling weight without breaking into a sweat or a struggle.

Those hands carefully turned hers around until her palms were pressing down on the podium separating them, and again, (Y/n) felt that this stranger was somehow familiar to her.

Part of her wanted to reach out and take off her blindfold, desperate to see who was being so tentative and careful with her. The other part of her was fighting every urge within her not to reach out and grab onto those arms and scour her hands along that frame and try to gage who it was by using her senses rather than her eyes.

There was still that feeling in the back of (Y/n)'s mind that told her she was still the sole focus of everyone's attention. There was a spotlight beaming down on her, and it made her panic; the only consolation was knowing that she was sharing this spotlight with a rather sweet stranger.

She didn’t know whether to lean forward and just try to kiss him, to just test the waters and pray he wasn't some tall beanstalk who she would embarrass if she didn't find or reach his lips. Or whether to stay still as stone and wait for him to make the first move and kiss her, since he was the only one who could see what he was doing.

Noah almost felt bad.

He bought a ticket just for the sake of it; he'd refused every time Lee tried to beg him to do the booth, it had turned into a game. Now he had a ticket simply to irritate his brother and annoy the 'omg' girls who had been hinting every day for weeks that they thought he should do the booth. He was being a customer rather than a patron tonight.

Never in a million years did Noah believe that (Y/n) would emerge from the curtains and do a round on the booth. It seemed too good to be true and Noah just had to be the one to kiss her, he indulged in the selfish thoughts raging through his head and flashed the boy in front of him his best smile so he could cut in.

He felt bad. It was clear by (Y/n)'s timid movements and how she seemed to want to coil in on herself that she was nervous about doing this; she didn't want to be up here on a stage in front of people. This might be Noah's kind of scene, but it wasn't hers.

She was afraid, she was panicked like she always seemed to be nowadays and she was clearly unnerved by the fact that she didn’t know who she was going to be kissing. It made Noah feel bad because he didn’t want her to be afraid or upset like this, especially not when it was him who was about to kiss her.

But the selfish side of Noah made a hint of glee light up his stomach because in spite of (Y/n)'s nervousness, Noah wanted to kiss her. And what better excuse to do that than to be at a kissing booth with her?

He knew she'd never kissed anyone before. He was sure he wasn't supposed to know, but with Lee being her best friend, she had told him this and Noah had somehow overheard the conversation, quite by accident.

So here he was. He wanted to be her first kiss, he wanted her to kiss someone she knew and someone she- hopefully, liked. Someone who wouldn’t make her feel uncomfortable or push her or take advantage of her or turn this into a moment she wanted to forget rather than remember.

There was something about (Y/n) that drew Noah in like an anchor bound to a ship. She was the only girl he thought about kissing, the only one he wanted to be around, the one who he always had playing on his mind. Whereas all the other girls Noah had flings with, they passed the time, but they never stuck on his mind. Not in the way that (Y/n) did.

Everyone else was merely a distraction from the one person he was desperate to kiss but knew he couldn’t because he was bound by a promise he had made to his little brother.

This was different; this was the one exception to that promise.

Noah could kiss her for the first time and he could kiss her freely in front of everyone, knowing that Lee was bound to find out because this was a kissing booth. It was for charity, he didn’t plan this and it wasn’t as if people knew he was delighted that it turned out to be (Y/n) that he was going to kiss.

Wasting no more time since he could feel prickling beady eyes watching them, Noah gently cupped (Y/n)’s cheek, taking a second to glide his thumb across her lower lip before he ducked down to her height. The feeling of his lips attaching to hers was electric.

Noah could feel how he stole (Y/n)’s breath which she didn’t seem to have very much of in the first place. Her chest tightened and she almost wanted to pull back and tear herself away from him but after half a second, Noah felt her relax. He felt her body tensing before releasing, he felt her jaw loosen and her lips part ever so slightly and press more firmly against his own. He felt her hands moving to hold his arms like she needed something to ground herself to and her head leaned forward to try and get as close to him as possible.

This was something much different than any of the other many kisses that Noah had experienced before. He had imagined what it would be like to kiss (Y/n), his little brother’s most trusted best friend. But whenever he thought about it, Noah felt like he was doing something wrong.

It felt like a guilty pleasure to imagine himself kissing the girl who intrigued him so much, but here he was living out his most thought of fantasy.

Nothing could have prepared him for how it felt to kiss her.

Who was she kissing? Who was (Y/n) experiencing this moment with? Who was touching her skin so delicately it was as if he thought she was made of glass that was already starting to fracture. And yet the fire and passion that seemed to radiate through him came with a sense of passion that (Y/n) had never felt or born witness to before.

(Y/n) could have stayed in that one moment for the rest of her life and let that be her future.

She wanted to erase every bad memory that plagued her thoughts and have this one moment be her everything. Even before all the bad things happened, before she lost her mum and before this last year had taken a detour to Hell, (Y/n) was sure she had never had a moment quite like this.

She could feel every nerve and worry and spark of anxiety that were her constant companions suddenly vanish into thin air. She momentarily forgot that they were being watched my half of their peers from school. there were no pestering thoughts plaguing her mind, no worries or anxious butterflies swarming through her chest trying to steal her breath. And no knots in her stomach churning and tightening until she felt sick.

Whoever was kissing her seemed to be putting a drug into her system, one that (Y/n) was in dire need of and that she wanted to become addicted to.

The moment the kiss ended, (Y/n) wanted to rewind time and replay that moment again and again to see if it would feel any better the more she played it out. Because right now she couldn’t think of anything that would top this feeling.

She could barely breathe, but this wasn’t the breathlessness that (Y/n) was used to. She didn’t feel the panic that came with not being able to find her breath, she didn’t feel scared or like her lungs were screaming for air. It felt like she was full of helium and was about to float away into the clouds if those hands weren’t still cupping her face and holding her arm so tenderly.

The hand on her arm suddenly moved up her shoulder before reaching her face and for a brief moment, (Y/n) wondered if he was going to lean in and steal another kiss from her. She wouldn’t mind if he did because he just made her first kiss the most memorable and most precious moment of her life and right now she needed a moment like that to lift her spirits.

But his hand didn’t cup her face to take another kiss from her lips, instead his fingers moved to the elastic band around her head that held the blindfold in place over her eyes. Protecting her mind from panicking about who she was kissing and who she would see once her world was no longer shrouded in darkness. When the stranger very gently and cautiously removed the mask from her eyes, (Y/n) felt a spark of fear striking her heart that simultaneously jumped up into her throat.

"Hey you," Noah's voice was soft but it was his smile that caught (Y/n)'s attention and made her knees quiver and press forward into the podium to keep herself standing.

He was grinning at her. He was looking at her like that was something he'd wanted to do all his life. Did he know what he'd just done? Did Noah know the chaos that he had just caused? Or the delight he had just ignited within (Y/n)'s heart?

"Noah."

He bowed his head as if to hide the smile that spread across his features, but (Y/n) caught it and she saw how he sank his teeth down into his lower lip. An old habit he had just like how he was always chewing gum, but the vampire-ish look of him biting his lip just made him look even more inviting.

And bowing his head down caused his hair to fan around his face like it was forming a shield to hide his blush from her. (Y/n) didn't know that Noah Flynn could blush.

"Yep, it's me. Are you surprised?"

All (Y/n) could do was nod, no other word except for his name would pass from her lips like a prayer. She had always wanted her first kiss to be special and with someone she either loved or really admired. It was something she wanted to be meaningful and something that she could take comfort in and not look back on in awkwardness.

When she was younger she always wanted to kiss Noah, she wanted to know what it felt like because so many girls had had the pleasure of touching his lips- and indeed every other part of him.

Whereas (Y/n) had the pleasure of actually knowing Noah better than simply what it felt like to share his bed.

She knew what made him laugh, what movies he enjoyed, his favourite foods, the jokes that he would pull and how he loved finding new jokes to tell his family. (Y/n) knew what it was like to be so close to Noah, which was probably where her crush had stemmed from.

With their families being so close, (Y/n) always had to gain control over her crush, she had to push it down and try and ignore it. Things would get awkward if her crush turned into something more, no matter how happy it would make her.

This moment seemed unreal. Her first kiss was with her crush who she had known her entire life, someone she would have to face seeing almost every day and live down the embarrassment this moment would now cause.

Her first kiss was with Noah, and despite everything that told her how bad this could make things, (Y/n) couldn't have been happier.

***

"You kissed her!" The anger and pain that were fuelling Lee’s words were unmistakable, especially to someone who had known Lee all of his life and had bore witness to his temper tantrums growing up. But the way that Lee looked at Noah made him both infuriated yet sorrowful, like he had truly cut into his brother when he never meant to hurt him.

And the way that Lee was talking about what happened was as if Noah had hustled in and kissed his brother's girlfriend. That wasn't the case, (Y/n) was Lee's best friend, she was sort of like a twin to him- although it was a good job that Noah didn't see her in that light or this really would have been a problem.

News travelled fast around here, and Noah wondered who had been the one to let slip to Lee that Noah had kissed (Y/n) at the booth. It had barely been an hour since it happened and already Lee had cornered his brother to start a row with him over this.

It wasn’t as if Noah had planned to kiss (Y/n), he didn’t think she would be the one who would come out behind the curtain, he thought it would have been one of the OMG girls that appeared before him. It wasn't until he got in the queue that he saw (Y/n) stumbling out wearing that blindfold, and Noah just knew that he had to be the first (and hopefully the only) one to kiss her.

He couldn't help himself, and it wasn't as if Noah could have turned around and left. How cruel would that have been to (Y/n) if he walked away? No one else there would have known that he would have been turning her down out of loyalty and respect for his brother, they would have thought he was being cruel and conniving. Noah couldn't do that to (Y/n).

He had bought a ticket to kiss someone and (Y/n) just happened to be the one to kiss him. Noah didn’t pre-plan this at all and Lee couldn’t treat him as if he had.

"How was I supposed to know that (Y/n) would come out on stage? What would you have me do, walk away and leave her there in front of everyone?"

Noah held his hands out at his sides to emphasise his point as his large shoulders shrugged and tensed upwards. No matter what Lee thought of him, Noah wasn’t heartless and he would never hurt or embarrass someone like that, especially not (Y/n). She was like family, she was someone Noah respected and he wouldn’t do that. He could joke around with her, play the odd prank or name call with her but he could never show her up like that.

"But you still kissed her, Noah! You can’t do that again, you promised me you wouldn’t go near her-"

"Jesus Lee, what is it with you and (Y/n)? It’s not like you have a claim to her or as if you even like her like that because you don’t. I had a ticket, so I kissed her I’m not making a move on her."

The words tasted sour in Noah's mouth and he gritted his teeth, trying to top his upper lip from curling because he knew he was about to tell his brother a lie. If given even half a chance, Noah knew he would take that chance again and kiss (Y/n). He wouldn't waste that opportunity and he would risk lying to his brother about it if he had to.

The way that Noah rolled his eyes caused Lee's hands to instinctively curl up into fists, making his short nails dig uncomfortably into the palms of his hands.

He knew he had no claim to (Y/n) whatsoever and he didn’t want to be that person that tried to control someone else, but he wanted to protect her. Lee loved (Y/n) as a sister, she was his best friend and he would do anything for her and that meant making sure Noah wouldn’t break her. Noah didn’t use people but he did play around with girls and he couldn't do that to (Y/n), she was too special. She was one of them, part of their family, their world and Noah couldn't toy with her heart and risk breaking it.

This was his best friend and Lee couldn’t afford to let anything happen to her, especially not when it would be his brother who would be the one hurting her.

"(Y/n) is fragile Noah… you’re not good with fragile people." Lee said it so matter-of-factly that Noah actually growled in retaliation.

That was a low blow, even for Lee. Since when had Noah ever done anything bad to someone in need? When had he ever treated someone badly or laughed at them or messed them around when they needed to be treated carefully?

"What the Hell does that mean? I would never hurt (Y/n)-"

"You don’t do relationships, you have flings and one night stands and that's fine, but you can’t do that to her. She’s not well and she’s special to me, I have to protect her. You promised me you wouldn’t go near (Y/n) and you can’t break that promise."

Lee wanted to stomp his foot down on the ground like he used to do when he was a child in a fight with Noah that wasn’t going the way he wanted it to. He wanted to bash his hands into his brother's chest and try to push him back, despite Noah being the sturdy-built boulder that he was.

He wanted to scream and shout and swear to make his point clear and make sure that Noah knew this wasn't a negotiation he could wrangle out of. This was an open and shut case, Noah had to listen to Lee for once in his life and that was the end of it.

(Y/n) was like Lee’s twin sister, they grew up together, they knew one another inside out and back to front. Lee couldn’t have anything happen to her and he looked out for her just like he knew she looked out for him. After everything that had happened, Lee felt like (Y/n) needed protecting for once and he was going to make sure that he did just that.

He and Noah had a deal of sorts, when they were younger and (Y/n) used to come round they had rules. Noah couldn’t try and join in their games and get involved and he couldn’t try and steal (Y/n) away from Lee. She was the one thing that Lee had which he didn’t have to share with his brother or that wasn’t overshadowed by his big brother who got everything he wanted all his life. Noah respected this wish because it was the only thing that Lee had ever asked of him.

Now they were growing up, the rule had changed a little, Noah couldn’t get close to (Y/n) and he couldn’t try and make a move on her at all. That rule was getting harder and harder for Noah to follow because as much as he tried to keep his distance, he found himself drawn to (Y/n) and he was close to her, despite how hard Lee tried to prevent it.

Was it really fair of Lee to ask Noah to keep a distance and ignore his feelings for (Y/n) simply because it was easier for Lee and what he wanted?

Lee still didn’t want his brother to try and steal (Y/n) away from him, but at the same time (Y/n) was fragile and he didn’t want Noah to hurt her in any shape or form. In Lee's mind it didn't matter if Noah never intended to hurt her, he presumed that Noah would and that was enough for him to try and keep his brother at arm's length from (Y/n). She couldn't get hurt.

But Lee's words caused a fire to spark within Noah's chest and rage throughout his system like his heart had caught fire. A dangerous glint twinkled within his eye and his head tilted to one side as he narrowed his eyes down at his brother.

"What do you mean she’s not well?" Caution flooded Noah's voice as he stooped forward so that he was at his brother's level and it caused an ache to spread through his spine.

He didn't like the sound of that.

Part of Noah could understand where Lee was coming from, but he couldn't believe that Lee thought Noah was so cruel and heartless that he would think of stringing (Y/n) along or that he would actually hurt her. She was far too important to their family for Noah to do that.

And that wasn't who Noah was. Maybe he did have a lot of different relationships and flings with other girls, but that didn't make Noah who he was; there was so much more to him, so much more depth than his brother or anyone else seemed to realise.

Noah also knew that Lee felt threatened. He feared whenever Noah talked to (Y/n) that his brother was going to hustle in and take away his favourite toy from him just to tease him, but that wasn't Noah's intention at all.

But he didn't understand what Lee meant by saying that (Y/n) wasn't well.

Noah knew more than what anyone else at school did. Their families were close, they were like one big family because their mums had been like sisters, so family secrets were known and shared between them which the rest of the school would never find out.

Noah knew that (Y/n)’s mother passed away when she was thirteen, and then her older brother passed away last year.

Her brother Andrew had been a year older than Noah, he had been about to graduate from school when he died. But where Lee and (Y/n) had been as close as siblings, Noah had always been wary and irritated by Andrew, the two of them never got along.

Everyone at school knew how Andrew died, it had been rather hot gossip when they found out someone at school had committed suicide. Noah had done his best to shut people up, he threatened them, started fights with them and scared them into being silent because he didn't want them to start talking about something they knew nothing about.

But Lee and Noah were the only people in the whole school to know that (Y/n) had been the one who found her brother when he died. They knew she went to therapy for that and they knew it affected her very badly, everyone else was simply under the impression that Andrew's death had hit (Y/n) hard.

But Noah didn’t know if Lee was referring to that or to something else entirely because he knew (Y/n) had been getting back on track lately. She was determined to get her life back on track and hold her head up high, she didn't want to be pitied or stared at when they were at school. Noah respected her for that, he wasn't sure he could be that brave if he were in her shoes.

So why was she unwell?

When he didn't receive an answer, Noah took a step forward. "Lee, what’s wrong with (Y/n)?"

A dangerous look seemed to pool in Noah’s electric blue eyes that were darker than Lee had ever seen them. He wanted to know what Lee knew because it seemed important and he wanted to know if something serious was wrong with (Y/n) because he cared. Noah couldn’t tell his brother just how much he cared for (Y/n), but he could pretend it was in a brotherly sense.

With a deep breath Lee turned his head to the left and glanced around at the carnival that was slowly beginning to dwindle down as the night went on. People were going home and becoming scarce which left very little for Lee to focus his sights on.

He knew it was something that (Y/n) didn’t want the whole world to know, but he wondered if she wouldn’t mind Noah knowing this secret. He knew about Andrew, he knew about the little secrets and family problems she'd had over the years because their families had always been close. They were mingled into one big, blended family. It wouldn’t necessarily be wrong for Lee to tell Noah as long as Noah didn't tell anyone else. And he was pretty sure his brother was going to drag it out of him eventually anyway.

"She’s not eating, her dad’s getting pretty worried. I’ve taken her out to the arcades and tried to get her to eat but she won’t. If her dad thinks she’s getting depressed again he’ll think she’s going to harm herself and send her to therapy."

When (Y/n) lost her mother when she was thirteen, she took it hard but losing Andrew had hit her in a whole different way and both brothers knew it.

Andrew died almost a year ago and everyone had seen how quickly (Y/n) deteriorated, within a month she became depressed and she harmed herself only once, but it was enough for her dad to send her to therapy. He had lost his wife and then his son, he couldn’t lose his daughter too, he had very little family left, (Y/n) was all he had and he would be damned if he let anything happen to her.

Everyone had tried to get (Y/n) back on track and help her through this and she was slowly picking herself back up and piecing her life together. But Lee had started to notice her not eating properly.

She wasn’t hungry, she didn’t have an appetite and when Lee took her to the arcades she didn’t eat many chips or even want their usual ice cream. Lee couldn’t have her falling behind or dropping out or making herself ill, he had to help (Y/n) to keep pushing forward and he didn’t want Noah pushing back her progress by getting in her head or hurting her.

Noah could feel his hands clenching into fists at his sides but he quickly uncurled them before his brother noticed. It wouldn't do him any good to start a fight with his little brother. But he couldn't help the rage that was flowing through him.

Lee seriously thought Noah was going to damage her, that he didn't care about her half as much as Lee seemed to. He didn't know how deeply Noah's affection for (Y/n) ran through his veins, it was a part of him and something he couldn't control. Something that was amplifying with every passing day.

All he wanted to do was help (Y/n) in any way he could, he cared about her, he wanted to show her that affection he felt for her and be with her and be that person who could love her.

His own eyes scanned around the carnival as if he thought (Y/n) was about to appear out of nowhere, and when he looked back down at his brother, he let his shoulders relax and loosened his stance a little.

"Lee… I’m not gonna hurt her I promise, I would never hurt (Y/n) you have my word."

"Thank you."

Noah would never hurt (Y/n), he wasn’t that kind of person and he cared for her far too much to do that.

But he wasn’t saying that he wouldn’t kiss (Y/n) again. Kissing her wouldn’t hurt her because he didn’t want to string her along or toy with her or have a fling with her because she was different. (Y/n) never flung herself at Noah’s feet, she joked with him and teased him and she was shy and innocent and quiet but there was also a sly, cheeky side to her. She was different and intriguing to Noah and if he got the chance to kiss her like that again he wouldn’t turn it down for Lee.

He wouldn’t turn down that chance for anyone; he just hoped that (Y/n) felt the same way.

***

"It's getting too dangerous, I have to pull over."

Pulling over felt like Noah was turning down a path where there was no going back from. He felt as if he was on the verge of doing something awfully risky.

At least when he had been riding his motorcycle, he had (Y/n) sitting behind him and he was on the straight and narrow path of taking her home. It was the least he could do, he couldn't just go home and leave (Y/n) to make her own way home from the carnival.

But now, as he held his leather jacket over (Y/n)'s smaller frame to shield her from the torrential downpour, Noah had a nagging feeling in his gut that something was going to change. It wasn't very often that Noah found himself in (Y/n)'s company without anyone else around. He never got her alone, all to himself.

His broad shoulders hunched up near his ears and his hair began to stick to his forehead and glue around his ears as he followed (Y/n) down the garden path that had turned into a stream. Noah was pretty sure he had been here before, and when he saw that (Y/n) was aiming for the gazebo in the centre of the public garden, he knew he recognised this place.

It was a good place to hide out from the rain and wait until it lessened and it was safe to continue driving home.

As soon as they were under shelter, Noah gently draped his sodden jacket around (Y/n)'s shoulders, trying in vain to keep her a bit warmer. He shook his head to try and rid the excess water that was gathering in his hair and he held his breath until the trembles radiating through his system finally started to wear off now that they were out of the rain.

His eyes immediately followed (Y/n), curious as to what she was doing when she stepped towards the open door. Noah thought for a moment that she was going to risk going back out in this storm, although he wasn't sure why. But she didn't.

(Y/n) sank down just before the threshold, crossing her legs and curving her arms around her chest. She pulled Noah's jacket a bit tighter around her frame, unable to refrain from smiling at how large it felt on her and seemed more like a blanket than a jacket. And it held his smell. She closed her eyes and pressed her lips and nose against the collar, breathing in the scent of Noah and fresh summer rain.

She realised as she sat there that it had been more than a year since she'd last been in Noah's company without anyone else around. Usually it would only be for a minute if she was at his house waiting for Lee or they were passing company at school.

Being somewhere secluded like this with no one around to interrupt them was a novelty.

Excitement and adrenaline battled in her stomach when she felt Noah hovering close behind her, like he wasn't sure what she was doing or whether he should join her or not.

It was strange to sense Noah being so cautious, it wasn't usually in his nature and he was the one person that (Y/n) could rely on to not treat her like he thought she was damaged goods or on the verge of a breakdown. Sure, Noah would ask her if she was alright, he would give her those serene looks that showed he was trying to check on her, but he still treated her like she was (Y/n), not the girl who'd lost her brother last year.

Her adrenaline doubled within her when she felt Noah kneeling behind her, close enough that his knees were practically touching her skin and when she felt his deep breaths fanning against the back of her neck, (Y/n) shivered.

She couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips when Noah silently curved his hands over her shoulders and gave a little squeeze. He began to smooth his thumbs over her shoulders like he was wiping away the droplets of rain collecting on his leather jacket she was clinging so tightly to. It was the same way he'd held her hands earlier tonight in the kissing booth when he tried to calm her nerves.

Other than earlier in the evening when he'd kissed her, (Y/n) wasn't sure she'd ever been this close to Noah except for one or two childish games as a little kid. And (Y/n) had certainly never felt Noah breathing down the back of her neck, close enough that he could be mistaken for kissing her skin.

"Why do you like the rain so much?" Noah's voice was no more than a murmur, but his words made (Y/n) grin.

He remembered that she likes the rain. From a young age (Y/n) had always found it fascinating when it rained. How the clouds could hold so much for so long and then release it all at once and go about their day again. She loved how it was a necessity, something beautiful and magical and something they couldn't live without, despite how many people seemed to hate the rain. (Y/n) thought it was lovely.

"It's like the heavens are weeping." She spoke with a little shrug that made Noah's hands lift.

"I like that," He hummed softly, his voice a lot more mellow than his usual gritty tone.

He thought that sounded lovely. As if the heavens understood what toll they imposed on people when they took loved ones away. Or if those loved ones couldn't find their way back or couldn't bear to be parted from this world.

Noah's hands remained on (Y/n)'s shoulders as he leaned in closer until his chin was hovering over the top of (Y/n)'s head due to their height difference. He tried to look out at the pelting rain, he tried to see it the way (Y/n) did and listen to the sound it made as it soaked into the grass and hit the stone pathways.

With how much rain that was coming down, Noah could just imagine it creating a flood, a stream that would take them away. That thought didn't sound too bad.

"It's like, like they're looking down on you, the ones we lose." He couldn't see the stars for the clouds, but Noah could imagine them shining a little brighter. He might not be fascinated with the rain in the same way (Y/n) was, but the stars were something he could truly admire. The stars, and the girl sat in front of him.

"I don't want him looking down on me."

(Y/n)'s response was so sharp that it felt like it had cut through Noah's hands that tightened around her shoulders out of instinct.

His features contorted into a frown as he watched her turn her head to one side like she was now ashamed to stare out at the rain. She looked torn between wanting to hide and wanting to look up at him. For a moment, Noah couldn't gather what she meant by that, until he realised the only two people she would think were looking down on her were her mum and brother.

"Why?" He didn't want to pry and if she told him to shut up then he would clamp his lips shut and not utter another word for the duration of the night. But he was intrigued.

He watched (Y/n) raise her head agonisingly slowly until she was staring up at him. Droplets of rain were clinging to her skin, beads rolling down the bridge of her nose and dripping from her lashes. The raindrops settled so perfectly on her lips were the ones Noah was most interested in, but he pushed that interest to one side when he saw the look in her eyes.

It wasn't so much sorrow like Noah was expecting, it was more like pain, torment. Anguish.

He couldn't help himself; before his self-control kicked in, Noah reached one hand up from her shoulder to brush a lock of hair back behind her ear. His touch lingered on her skin, fingertips tracing down the curve of her neck as he leaned in closer like he expected her to whisper a frightful secret to him.

"He haunts me enough," She mumbled, unable to lift her eyes and keep them in contact with Noah. "I don't want to imagine he's still here."

A rather tender uttering of "I'm sorry," left Noah's lips, although confusion blazed within his eyes. Usually when people lost a loved one, they were desperate to think that they were still here in some sense or essence. They wanted to imagine that a fallen feather or a wave of familiarity or a dream meant that their loved ones were still here, still by their side and watching over them.

But (Y/n) didn't want that. Her memories were full of her brother's ghost, he haunted her mind like a bad omen. (Y/n) didn't want to think he could still haunt her now, that he could still see her.

There wasn't anything else that Noah could say to that, not without coming across as rude or uncaring, which he desperately didn't want to be.

Where Lee and (Y/n) were the same age and in the same classes in school, Noah had been the same with Andrew; and they just couldn't get along. There was something about Andrew that used to irritate Noah, the way he was always giving people the cold shoulder, how uncaring he could be at times. How he closed himself off from everyone like his self-preservation was worth more than anyone else's happiness.

Noah had always steered clear of Andrew because their families were close, and fighting with him or causing rifts would do no one any good. But he thought that (Y/n) had been somewhat close to her brother, which was why Noah would ever say a bad word about him when he was around her.

Noah was also privy to the fact that (Y/n)'s dad had wanted to send Andrew to therapy, but Andre refused point blank. He wouldn't even give it a try, not like Noah used to.

The sound of the rain seemed to hum in the background and go along with the thudding of (Y/n)'s heart when she carefully turned around until she was looking at Noah. She was knelt in front of him, their knees nudging and imbedding together while she felt her sodden shoes soaking against her leggings and turning them damp.

She waited cautiously, anxiously, watching every rise and fall of Noah's breath like it was a spectacle she couldn't look away from. And she found herself unable to take in a proper breath of her own when Noah's hands crept around to cup her neck. His fingers toyed at the line of her jaw, tracing along the prominent edge like it was a ruler he was using for accuracy.

But when he dared to stretch his hand up and his thumb dragged along her lower lip, the last strand of reservation faded from existence.

Her hands dropped from where they had been clutching Noah's jacket around her frame and she grasped his face a bit hazardly, fingers pressing indents into his cheeks as she pushed up on her aching knees and smashed her lips against his.

It was nothing like their earlier kiss. It wasn't slow or calculated or precise or tender and quick.

This was heated, desperate, yearning. Their teeth clashed when Noah parted his lips, emitting a gasp into her mouth that (Y/n) took with reverence. She would take any kind of elicited response that she could get because she was taking a risk.

Lee wouldn't like this. Their families probably wouldn't like them being this close, this intimate. But in this moment, (Y/n) couldn't find the will to care. She wanted to kiss Noah, she wanted to be with him and if he wanted her too, then nothing else would matter.

Noah's touch seemed to ignite and (Y/n) could tell he was fighting every nerve within him and using his will power to restrain himself. He was trying not to dig his nails into her skin or grip her neck too tightly or yank her towards him and accidentally hurt her.

His restraint was touching, and (Y/n) pushed up even more until it felt like her knees were going to crack and pop, but it let her mesh her chest up against Noah's. It allowed her to lean into him until Noah was tilting backwards, almost slipping and risking lying on the concrete floor.

"I really shouldn't- shouldn't do this." He uttered each word against her mouth, punctuating them with little gasps and stranded gulps of air because he couldn't seem to tear his lips away from her.

(Y/n)'s touch was intoxicating and there was nothing Noah wanted more than to be sat here kissing her like the world was about to end.

But he'd made a promise to Lee; he'd pretended to agree when Lee tried to ward him away from (Y/n). He promised he wouldn't hurt (Y/n) and that was something Noah was never going to break.

No where in Noah's promise did he tell his brother that he wouldn't kiss (Y/n) again. He didn't say he would stay clear of her, that he wouldn't pursue something with her if it was what she wanted. So technically Noah wouldn't be breaking any promises, only the rules he and his brother had created over the years to keep the peace between them.

He almost moaned when (Y/n) reluctantly pulled her lips away from his. She took deep ragged breaths through those blushing, swelling lips that were inviting Noah back with just a look. And he could see her pupils dilating as she stared at him like she was trying to figure something out.

"Then stop." She breathed through the words, giving Noah the chance to back away, to let go and step back and erase this moment from history.

A coil snapped within Noah and he shook his head as one hand removed from (Y/n)'s neck in favour of binding his arm around her waist. Caging her in against him, just in case she even thought about letting him go. This was exactly where he wanted to be, and there was nothing else he would rather do in this world than kiss her.

Your thoughts were interrupted when a large hand flew out and grabbed you around the waist. It shocked you making you drop your books with a clatter. You looked up and glared at Tuppen.

“Looking good Y/L/N, I see the holidays have been kind to you.” You squirmed as his eyes raked over your body. You pushed him away, but his hold didn’t let up and you started to panic. People were looking now, and you started breathing heavier, you hated the attention, you closed your eyes as you heard El and Lee shouting at Tuppen to let you go, the shaking of your body a tell-tale sign of you impending panic attack.

The air whooshed out of you as you were pulled out of Tuppens meaty paws. Lee was on you in an instant, El picking up your books and when you looked up you realised what the commotion was.

Noah had Tuppen by the throat and his eyes were dark. His knuckles were white, and Tuppens face red where he lacked oxygen. People looked on in horror, Noah was known as the bad boy around school and was often in trouble but you’re not sure anyone had ever seen this side of Noah Flynn.

“Noah put him down you’re going to kill him!” Some of Tuppens friends approached but thought twice when they saw the flames in Noah’s eyes.

His voice was like venom, deep and deadly.

“You ever touch her again; I’ll beat you so bad you’ll forget your own fucking name.” Tuppen looked as if he would piss himself. Honestly, something about it all turned you all the way on.

Before it went too far, you tentatively took a step towards Noah’s shaking leather clad back. Your small shaking hand came up to rest on the tense spot between his shoulder blades.

“Noah let him go.” He either ignored you or through his rage didn’t hear you. You wondered what had gotten into him, he’d never acted like this, especially where you were concerned.

You stood around him to look at his face. His eyes flickered to you, looking you over as if checking to see if you were hurt. Not physically, maybe a bit emotionally.

“Noah let him go.” Your hand wrapped around his, the one that was still firmly gripped around Tuppen’s neck. “Noah, can we go, please let’s just go.” He looked at the pleading in your eyes. His hand finally relaxed and with a snarl he let Tuppen go. He glared at the gasping boy. You shoved him slightly your hands pressing against his stomach.

Surprisingly he started to follow you, until Tuppen decided to open his big fucking mouth.

“Yeah Noah, it’s clear what you’ve been doing, or who you’ve been doing over the summer, little bitch has you wrapped around her finger.” You gasped. Tears threatened to spill over as people around you snickered. You saw it coming but had no time to react. Noah reared back with a roar and his fist came down into Tuppens face, blood spurting from his nose.

His fists came down again and again raining blow after blow into Tuppens bloody face. You screamed at Noah to stop but he wouldn’t listen. You opted for your last resort and jumped on Noahs back, which seemed to work as he stopped punching to grab you so you wouldn’t fall.

“What the hell is going on here! You three, to my office now!” Noah spun with you still on his back, the principle staring at the commotion. Great, first day of school a disaster… check.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

“Noah, you got yourself and Y/N suspended for two weeks, and school hadn’t even started yet! There’s no way you’re still having that party.”

Noah’s mum, your godmother stood Infront of the two of you with a disapproving look. Noah was still seething, his anger radiating off him. No matter how much you’d pleaded with the principle he hadn’t taken pity on you, you were the victim! It was bullshit.

“What would you have had me do, let the guy grope Y/N and walk by?” Noah stormed out of the room leaving you alone with Sara where she proceeded to check up on you and make sure you were okay and let you know that none of it was your fault. She’d be going down to yell at the principle in the morning and knowing her, that’s exactly what she was going to do. Noah got his fiery side from somewhere….

Being suspended made you feel sick, you’d never been in trouble before, never even had a detention. What were you supposed to do with an extra two weeks? Luckily Lee agreed to bring you your assignments so you wouldn’t get behind, it helped a little.

Noah? What the hell were you going to do about Noah? Why did he snap like that why did he even care? You thought you had this whole hating each other relationship down to a tee but it seemed it wasn’t that simple.

Call it bad timing or whatever but Noah’s parents were going away for business, leaving Noah in charge and you alone in the house with him. Sara insisted on staying but her husband reminded her how important it was for them that they go on the trip.

After the reprimand, they’d left, and the house was eerily quiet. Loud music started coming from Noahs room and for whatever reason it infuriated you. You stomped towards the noise and banged on the door.

“Noah! We need to talk!” His music was so loud you were surprised he even heard you. His heavy door swung open, and he looked down at you with a scowl. It wasn’t the first time he’s done something like this, somewhere along the line your relationship seemed to have changed slightly.

“What do you want Y/N I’m busy.” The nerve. You scoffed and barged past him into his room.  He rolled his eyes and turned to look at you.

“How can you be so calm about everything. What the fuck was that all about in school!” You yelled at him, and he regarded you the same, no flicker of emotion across his face. It pissed you off, you moved closer to him.

“What, you have nothing to say? Why did you do that Noah!” His jaw twitched, the action alone sent tingles to your core, and you had to stop from squeezing your legs together.

“What, you would of rather me let him have his hands all over you?! It’s not my fault that you went to school looking like that, showing everyone yourself!” His words stung, it was like a slap across the face, and something flickered across his features but then he masked it with a glare.

“You shouldn’t have stepped in if that’s how you feel Noah, you’re such an asshole.” You shoved past him out of his room and all but ran to yours, tears spilling down your cheeks. You were used to Noah being a dick but this time his words cut deep. His door slammed shut, the sound echoing through the house and then he continued with his obnoxious music.

How the hell were you going to survive two weeks with Noah Flynn?

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Lee was pissed when he got home and found you in your room with a blotchy face and red eyes. He wanted to go and confront Noah, but you stopped him knowing it would make things worse.

To top it off, rumours were already spreading like wildfire, according to the student body, you and Noah had been shacking up and that’s why he flipped. They couldn’t be further from the truth.

“Noah says he’s still throwing the party tonight, obviously we can leave the house if you want to, or we can get so drunk we forget this day ever happened?” You groaned. Of course, fucking Noah would still be having a party after he caved in a guys face. It was just like him. Anger coursed through you when you thought about the kind of older girls that would be there, the last time he threw a party some random chick told you to leave! Leave the damn house you were staying in and had grown up around? Bitches be fucking crazy.

“We would still have to come back and literally face the music at some point Lee, might as well make the most of it.” You flopped on your back and looked up at the celling, you stayed here so much you had your own room, you looked at the yellow stars that stuck to your ceiling, remembering a time when things were simple.

Since you’d moved in the whole dynamic between you and Noah had been off. He seemed to care too much about what you were doing, making comments here and there.

“You need to drink more water.”

“You shouldn’t drink so much coffee you won’t sleep properly.”

It was little controlling things at the beginning, you put it down to him being annoying but after today’s fiasco you weren’t sure what it was.

You looked at your watch. It was only 4pm which meant you had plenty of time to get ready for whatever the night would hold. You looked to Lee who was absentmindedly playing with a strand of your hair.

“Wanna go to the mall?”

---------------------------------------------------------------------

El was looking after her brother so couldn’t go to the mall with you but said she would be at the party. You didn’t mind, sometimes it was nice to have some time with Lee.

Your arms were full of shopping bags, the best thing about your mum working away all the time was the guilt that came with it, she thought giving you a credit card which she paid into every month would fill the void of her absence, it would do.

You’d found a dress for the party tonight deciding to treat yourself since all your other, what you’d class as ‘party clothes” didn’t fit your physique anymore. You’d found the most perfect little black skater dress that was simple, but you knew you could dress up with some jewellery and heeled boots. As well as the dress you’d got jeans and t-shirts, some skirts, shorts you name it, you really did need a new wardrobe.

Lingerie was last, after the pink bra incident you thought it be best to get some of the standard colours, black, white, beige. You sent Lee to the food court to get you both ice cream while you looked about, he was as grateful as you were when he left.

You eyed the plain bras; they’d be good for every day but a part of you needed something a little more. Noah’s words playing in your mind earlier. If he was going to shame you then it better be for a fucking reason. You eyed the sheer lacy ones, black with not much to leave to the imagination. You selected a few and checked out, Lee waiting outside with ice cream in hand.

“He’s started acting weird around you, don’t think I haven’t noticed.” Lee shocked you, he said it so casually while licking around his cone, chocolate sauce dripping down one side.

“I don’t know why, he’s known me since we were in diapers, he’s never been like this, maybe I did something wrong.” You trailed off and your eyes widened. Lee looked towards what you’d spotted and faked a gag.

“What were you saying about him acting weird around me, it looks like he’s back to his normal self.” Across the food court was Noah, standing with some tattooed skank, his tongue down her throat and her hand pawing at his chest. It shouldn’t have bothered you, but it did, a pang echoing in your chest.

His eyes glance up, looking straight at you. Then he winked.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

You’ve been seeing Jake for a little bit now, but have made sure to keep everything quiet as you know that your relationship will cause quite the outrage with your dad and Rooster. 

Mav and Bradley are the most overprotective men, always wanting to look into your boyfriends or ‘make sure they’re good enough’. So the second you got involved with Hangman, you *knew* they would try to forbid you from seeing him or something along those lines. 

They mean well but it can get exhausting having them constantly trying to get in the middle of any relationship you have. Rooster acting as your adoptive big brother essentially meant that you spent the entirety of your middle and high school years being off limits to any boy since Brad was ready to throw punches without question.

Mav being the overprotective father who made sure he was cleaning his rifle whenever a guy came to get you for your date. The combination is just awful. 

You met your boyfriend while you were out for drinks with Bradley, he had just gotten back into town and was practically itching to see you. Since he was running late, you dared to entertain Jake, enjoying his cocky attitude. 

Thankfully you got his number before Bradley showed up because you’ve never seen him that pissed over a guy before. He warned you to stay away, that Jake was bad, bad news. The type of man needing a warning sign hanging from his neck. 

All of this talk, trying to turn you off of the blond, only piqued your curiosity more. So of course you had to entertain his date request. 

Honestly you were beyond shocked that he didn’t try to get into your pants at all that night. You figured, with all the ranting of Bradley, that you wouldn’t make it 30 minutes into the date before he would be bursting at the seams with desire. 

But the way he touched you, brushed your hair from your face, insisted that he sit next to you while you ate so that he could cut your steak and have more intimate conversation. Jake was nothing like Brad tried to convince you he was. In fact, he sent you a boquete of roses the next morning to ask you on a date the following day. 

I mean obviously at first you figured he was trying to undo all the blabbering he would assume Rooster had done. Yet his sweetheart act never faltered, it took *you* initiating intimacy on the third date before he even touched you in a sexual manner. 

He’s the perfect boyfriend, someone you can depend on, and would want to. Jake is a totally sweetie who just pretends to be this cocky aviator. God does he drive you wild with his attentiveness. 

Your mind is stuck on him as you mindlessly scroll through Netflix suggestions, sinking on the couch as you wait for Jake to arrive. You haven’t been able to see him for days as Maverick upped the training, fully exhausting him and the rest of the team. So tonight, you were extra prepared. 

Restless even, you tried dressing up sexy for him. In a lingerie set matching the color of your eyes, a color which has now become his favorite, but it feels slightly embarrassing sitting there in barely anything. Even if it is your home. 

You finally decide on a random romcom, sprawling across the couch as it begins. Before you know it you’ve already fallen asleep, being awoken by Jake’s delicate touch on your skin. 

You felt a pair of soft hands run over your skin. Rubbing you, waking you from your peaceful sleep. “Hey pretty girl…” a soft, familiar voice whispered. His arms wrapping around you and pulling you into his chest.

Jake’s muscular frame, towering over your small and vulnerable self, pressing up against your body, holding you close. “You look beautiful tonight love.” He mumbled, pressing a soft kiss against your exposed shoulder.

“Mm baby,” you wrap your arms around him, pulling him tight against your chest. “You took so long and I’ve missed you so much.” You murmur into his ear.

“I’ve missed you too darlin’…” he whispered back, burying his head into the crook of your neck. Inhaling your scent. His body pressing up against yours more, practically laying on top of you.

Jake’s hands wander all over your body now. Running all along your curves and down your bare thighs. “Damn I missed you…”

“Jake,” you whisper into his ear, leaning into his touch. 

“Mmm yes sweetheart?” He murmured back. His hands slowly, softly, working their way up under what little clothing you were wearing.

His full attention was on you now, his focus on your body, your voice, his hands exploring every inch of you. Wanting to memorize every part of you. “You’re so goddamn perfect….” He mumbled

“You stink,” a soft giggle escapes your lips as you wrap your legs around his waist, the mesh fabric around you giving way and exposing your naval. 

“Hey, that's not very nice doll,” he smirked against your skin. His lips trailing down your neck and to your chest, peppering soft kisses against your skin.

Jake looked down, noticing the soft mesh clothing hugging your body, the color complimenting your eyes. “Well damn…” he mumbled. Taking a few moments to admire the way your body looks right now. “Is this for me baby?”

“Do you like it?” Your fingers grasp at the hem, pulling the fabric away, exposing more of your abdomen. 

“Oh I love it.” He breathed, watching your body as you pulled away more of the fabric. His eyes run up and down your body, taking in your every curve and inch. “You look absolutely stunning love. This is all for me?” 

He leaned in a bit. His lips hovering just above your hip, but not touching your skin yet. Jake was dying to touch you, but enjoying the tease.

“Mhm, all for you,” you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling his face to yours. “Though, I hope it doesn’t stay on for too much longer.”

“Oh that’s definitely not staying on for much longer sweetheart.” He chuckled. Pressing a few kisses along your jaw and cheek, stopping just millimeters away from your lips. 

His nose grazed against yours, breathing in your scent. Jake’s hands roamed along your body, still admiring just how beautiful you looked all dressed up, just for him. “I’ve been thinking about this for days now….” You arch into his touch, pressing a delicate yet desperate kiss to his lips.

“Then show me,” you let go of him, laying under his frame with a smirk. “Show me what you’ve been dreaming of doing to me..”

“Oh I will darlin’. I’ve got a few ideas, just for you.” He smirked, sitting up a bit to look down at you. Jake’s eyes locked with yours, burning with desire.

His hands gripped your waist, holding your body firmly. He slowly started trailing kisses down your body. His lips running all along your neck, down between your breasts, and stopping right above your hip again. 

“Mmm you’re so beautiful like this doll. I’m gonna ruin you..” you shiver in anticipation. 

With a predatory grin, Jake's eyes darkened as he took in your willingness. He leaned in, his breath hot against your skin as he kissed you, his tongue delving into your mouth in a passionate dance that left you breathless. 

His strong hands gripped the flimsy fabric of your lingerie, tearing it away from your body with an urgent growl. Your heart raced in anticipation as you felt his warmth and weight pressing you into the couch, his kisses growing more intense, claiming you as his own. 

His rough fingers traced your curves, his thumbs brushing against the lace of your panties, teasing the sensitive skin beneath. You gasped into his mouth, your hips instinctively moving to meet his touch, eager for the pleasure he promised. The anticipation was unbearable, a delicious ache building within you, and you knew that tonight was going to be one to remember.

With a groan of appreciation, Jake gently peeled away your panties, revealing your bare, wet sex. His eyes widened with lust at the sight of your swollen folds, begging for his touch. He kissed a trail down your stomach, his breath hot and teasing against your skin. When his mouth reached your center, he didn't waste a moment, eagerly lapping at your arousal. 

You gasped and arched your back, feeling your core pulse with need. His tongue danced around your clit, flicking and circling with expert precision, making you squirm and whimper under his touch. Jake's hands slid up your thighs, spreading you wider, giving him full access to taste and explore you. The feeling of his mouth on you was heavenly, and you could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge with every stroke.

With a feral grin, Jake looked up at you, his eyes smoldering with desire as he stripped away his clothes. His pants hit the floor, revealing the hardened length of his cock, standing proud and thick with need. He positioned himself over you, his muscular body a stark contrast to your soft curves. 

His hand guided his erection to your wet entrance, the tip teasing you as he lined up to enter. "You're mine," he murmured, his voice gruff with passion, and without further warning, he pushed into you, filling you completely. Your eyes rolled back as he began to move, his hips rocking in a slow, steady rhythm that had you panting for more. 

Each thrust sent waves of pleasure crashing through your body, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him deeper. His teeth grazed your earlobe as he whispered sweet nothings and dirty promises, his breath sending shivers down your spine. You clung to him, your nails digging into his back, as the intensity grew, your bodies moving in perfect harmony.

With a wild surge of passion, Jake's hips slammed into yours with desperation, his movements becoming more primal and demanding. The couch beneath you creaked with the force of his thrusts, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, urging him deeper with every stroke. His grip on your hips tightened, his eyes never leaving yours as he claimed you, his powerful body moving in a rhythm that sent shockwaves of pleasure through your core. 

Each time he filled you, you could feel yourself inching closer to the edge, your breaths coming in ragged gasps. Your fingernails dug into his back, leaving marks as you held on for dear life, your body a canvas for the overwhelming sensations he painted with his skilled touch. 

His teeth sunk into your lower lip, holding you in a possessive bite that made you moan into his mouth, the pain only heightening the pleasure. The room was filled with the sounds of your muffled cries and the slick sound of your bodies moving together, a testament to the desire that had been simmering between you for so long.

With a feral growl, Jake felt your body tighten around his, the intense contractions of your orgasm milking him, pushing him closer to his own climax. His strokes grew faster, deeper, as he chased his own release, his eyes never leaving yours. Your nails digging into his back, leaving a trail of fire that only added to the symphony of sensations coursing through him. 

He could feel the warmth of your pleasure coating him, the wetness of your desire smearing against his skin, and it was all too much. With a final, powerful thrust, he let go, filling you with his hot seed, his body shuddering with the force of his orgasm. 

For a moment, he remained still, buried deep inside you, savoring the feeling of your body clenching around him in the aftermath of ecstasy. Then, with a sigh of contentment, he collapsed onto the couch beside you, pulling you into his arms and kissing the top of your head. "Fuck, baby," he murmured, his voice still thick with lust. "That was..." Words failed him as he tried to express the depth of satisfaction he felt, his heart pounding in his chest. 

You giggled, snuggling closer, your cheek pressing against his chest as you felt his heartbeat slow. "Yeah," you agreed, still panting. "It definitely was."

You press a gentle kiss to his forehead, “Now come on, let’s get you washed up pretty boy.” Your thumbs brush over his cheeks as you gaze at him lovingly. 

His face was a picture of contentment, a soft smile playing across his lips. Jake's chest rose and fell with each deep breath, the rhythm of his heart beginning to return to normal. 

He chuckled softly at your suggestion, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. "Mm...I think I like the sound of that," he mumbled lazily, his voice tinged with exhaustion. 

He let out a soft sigh, resting his chin on the top of your head. "Are you trying to tell me I stink darlin’?"

“Didn’t I already mention that?” You smile sweetly, pulling him closer to you. 

He chuckled again, rolling his eyes dramatically. "Alright, alright," he mumbled, reluctantly sitting up, his body still heavy with exhaustion. 

Jake runs a hand through his messy hair, taking a moment to stretch his arms above his head. He let out a tired groan, his back popping softly. 

"Ugh...I swear I need a nice hot shower right about now," he grumbled as he stood up, holding a hand out to you.

“And I’ll wash you up,” you move to massage his shoulders, “get you nice and clean.” 

His smile widened slightly as he felt your hands massaging his shoulders. "Mmm…now that’s what I like to hear,” he said, leaning into your touch. 

Jake leaned back against you, letting out a soft sigh of relief as you worked the knots out of his muscles. "Damn darlin’...I could get used to this,” he mumbled.

You push him toward the bathroom, your hands moving on his tight muscles. “You like me that much?” You hum, pressing a kiss to his back.

He chuckled warmly, letting you guide him to the bathroom. The feeling of your hands on his back, rubbing and massaging his muscles, felt incredibly relaxing. 

Jake glanced over his shoulder at you, a lazy smile on his face. "Mm…you have no idea. I like you a whole lot, sweetheart," he responded, his voice low and soft. 

As soon as they made it to the bathroom, Jake turned to face you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close.

“I like you a whole lot more,” your lips connect with his. “How about we take a warm bubble bath? That way I can pamper you some more.” 

Jake's smile widened under your touch, his hands roaming over your waist as he returned the kiss. "A warm bubble bath, huh? Well, who am I to say no to that…especially if you're doing the pampering," he teased. 

He gently tugged you closer, his body pressing up against yours. "You gonna wash my hair too darlin’?"

“Mm, anything you want.” You wiggle out of his grasp, starting the bath water, “You deserve all the pampering after all your hard work,”

As you worked on getting the bath ready, Jake took the opportunity to admire you from behind. Despite his exhaustion, seeing you move around the bathroom with confidence and care fueled his desire for you all over again. 

He approached you from behind, wrapping his strong arms around your waist and leaning down to press a soft kiss against your shoulder. "You spoil me, you know that?" he whispered, his breath hot against your skin.

“What can I say?” You move your hands to his arms, caressing his skin delicately, “you have me hooked on you.” 

Jake's heart skipped a beat as he felt your gentle touch on his skin, the feeling of your fingers running along his arms sending a shiver down his spine. 

He let out a soft chuckle, pulling you closer and pressing himself against your back. "Oh yeah? You’re hooked on me, huh?" he murmured, his voice low and possessive. 

He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, his lips finding your skin and leaving a trail of soft kisses.

“Come on handsome,” you pull his arms away, “get in the bathtub.” 

He chuckled softly at your forwardness but obeyed, stepping into the tub and settling down into the warm bubbles. 

Jake let out a content sigh, sinking lower into the water and letting the heat soothe his sore muscles. "Damn, that feels good," he murmured, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

You slide in the water behind him, your legs pressed against his sides as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling his back against your breasts. 

The feeling of your body pressed against his back was comforting and exciting all at once. Jake leaned back into your embrace, letting out a soft moan of contentment as he relaxed into your touch. 

He tilted his head slightly, giving you access to his neck as he closed his eyes and surrendered to your gentle touch. 

"Mmm…you know just how to treat a guy, don’t ya darlin’?" he mumbled, his voice dripping with desire. He let out a deep sigh of pleasure, his body relaxing once again under your touch. 

You continue to bathe him, making sure *every* inch of him gets clean. Intoxicated by the soft groans of pleasure coming from his lips, his body pressing into yours. 

Your hands move to his shoulders, giving him a massage, working on his tight muscles. “You’re so handsome,” you murmur in appreciation. 

You notice his erection standing in the water, loving the effect you have on him. Your hand trails down his abs, fingers wrapping around his length. 

Jake's breathing hitched as he felt your hand on him, your touch sending a jolt of pleasure through his body. His shoulders tensed for a moment before he forced himself to relax, letting himself give in to your caresses. 

He let out a soft moan, his head falling forward as his eyes flicked open to look down at your hand. "Damn…you-you can’t just do that darlin’…" he mumbled, his voice strained with arousal. 

“I’m pampering you tonight, remember.” You kiss his temple, your hands working at his hardness. 

"Let me take care of you," you murmur, your hands stroking him faster, feeling him throb in your grip. The warm water swirling around you only added to the intimate atmosphere as you teased the tip of his cock with your thumb, smearing the precum that had beaded there.

Jake's breath grew ragged, his hips subtly rocking against your touch. "Yeah, baby...just like that," he breathed, his voice thick with need. You kiss his temple again, smiling against his skin as you feel his body tense. The sensation driving him wild, and he knew it wouldn't be long before he was begging for release.

As you stroke him with increasing fervor, you feel Jake's body begin to tremble beneath your fingertips. His breaths become shallower, his hips rising slightly to meet the rhythm of your hand. The water laps against the sides of the tub as he moves closer to the edge of ecstasy. 

His muscles tighten, and a deep groan rumbles from his chest. "Fuck, baby," he whispers, his voice a desperate plea. The tension in his body reaches a peak, and with a final stroke, he comes undone in your grasp, his hot release filling your palm as he surrenders to the intense pleasure coursing through him. 

His body goes limp, leaning heavily against you as the aftershocks of his orgasm pulse through him. "Damn, darlin'," he gasps, his voice filled with awe and satisfaction. You pepper his cheeks with gentle kisses, shaking your hand in the water to clean his cum from it. 

Jake's body trembled against yours, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths as he tried to come down from the intense wave of pleasure you had just given him. His eyes were dark with desire, and his voice was soft and rough as he spoke. 

"You're gonna be the death of me," he murmured, his eyes fluttering closed as he leaned back against you, his body completely relaxed in your arms.

You run your hand over his pecks, kissing down his neck as you press your body closer to his. “Honey, it’s getting late. Are you tired?” You hum into his ear, noticing the water around you cooling with the surrounding air.

Jake let out a soft moan as your lips brushed across his skin, his body still buzzing from the pleasure you had gifted him. He leaned into your touch, his eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. 

"Mm, yeah...I guess I am," he admitted softly, his voice tinged with a hint of fatigue. "Time sure flies when you're having fun, darlin’," he added with a weary chuckle.

“Let’s get dried off baby,” you pat his chest softy, motioning for him to get out of the tub. 

Jake nodded in agreement, his body still heavy with exhaustion as he slowly rose from the tub, the water dripping from his skin.

He stood there for a moment, taking in the sight of your naked body before him, his gaze darkening with desire. "You're quite the sight, you know that darlin’...?" he murmured, his voice laced with tiredness.

Your cheeks flush in embarrassment as you cover up with a towel, drying your body as you hand him one. “You’re full of compliments tonight.”

Jake chuckled softly, accepting the towel from you and drying himself off. He couldn’t help but let his eyes roam over your body as you covered up, his thoughts no doubt lingering on the intimate moment you had just shared in the bath.

“Lets go to bed, flirt.” You press a chaste kiss to his lips, walking toward your room. You throw on one of Jake’s shirts he’s left behind for you, basking in the scent of his cologne seeped into the fabric.

Jake followed you into the room, his gaze never leaving your form as you slipped into one of his shirts. A warm smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he took in the sight of you, his scent enveloping you like a gentle caress.

He closed the distance between you, his arms wrapping around your waist from behind and pulling you close to him. "You look damn good in my shirt, darlin’..." he murmured, his voice filled with affection.

“Ten!”

Well, this was stupid. 

It wasn’t even the New Year in California, but the ball was dropping in New York City and the pixelated screen over the bar at The Hard Deck was broadcasting the display, and now everyone was counting down. 

“Nine!”

You swirled your soda in a mason jar, Penny’s attempt to make sure you felt included, even though you both knew you had to stay sober because you were 100% the one driving yourself home tonight. 

“Eight!”

It wasn’t even like you’d never been alone on New Year’s Eve before. 

In fact, having Jake to kiss when the clock passed midnight had been a more recent development, and five years against the rest of your life was really only a fractional number. 

“Seven!”

This year, you’d spent a lonely holiday in Texas with the Seresins, all painfully aware of the empty seat at the table. And they were a lovely family, and it was special to facetime Jake with all of them, but so bittersweet to know he was just four hours south in Corpus Christi, leading officer’s training. Your flight back to San Diego hadn’t come soon enough. 

“Six!”

Natasha and Javy meant well, and you were grateful they’d insisted you come out, rather than wallowing in your house, alone. You hadn’t dressed up—for all that it was an institution, the Hard Deck was still just a bar—jeans that fit you well, and a college tshirt of Jake’s, offset by lipstick that you’d never wear if your husband was here, for how he’d grumble about not being able to kiss you for fear of smudging it. 

At first, it’d been fun to play pool, suggest increasingly obscure songs for Rooster to struggle through on the piano, and then rifle through songs on the Jukebox when he gave up. But then you’d been across the bar, as the Daggers settled into their partners or the single ones found equally devastatingly beautiful people to talk to, and someone had played a Randy Travis song on the jukebox. 

“Five!”

Not just any Randy Travis song, but “Forever and Ever, Amen” —the sweet, hokey song that had been playing over the loudspeakers at the Poway rodeo five years ago, when Jake had spun you around in the dark parking lot and whispered “I think I love you” into your hair. 

“Four!”

Coming out had been a stupid idea. 

In addition to keeping your left hand practically glued to your shoulder, in clear line of sight so that enterprising sailors could see the rock Jake had put there, and discourage them from trying a line, you were about to ring in the new year three hours early, in a bar, without your husband. 

Nope, you decided, it was time  to drive yourself back to your home—nevermind that it was too small for you and Jake, but somehow felt cavernously empty with just you there—put on Christmas pajamas, give yourself a perfunctory orgasm with the vibrator you’d made sure to plug in before you left, and then cry yourself to sleep in peace.

“Three!”

You put your glass in the bus bin on the end of the bar, grateful Penny had kept your tab current. She was probably in some back room with Mav, so you weren’t keen to find her to settle before you left. 

A quick look around the bar saw your friends with their arms around each other, their sweethearts, and hot strangers, and the smile on your face felt bittersweet. The 13 weeks of officer training wasn’t even that long, even if it felt like an eternity to you, but they deserved to start the new year without your rainy cloud of melancholy hovering over them.

“Two!”

The crowd of people seemed especially dense, as folks clinked glasses together and pressed closer to the heart of the bar as the countdown got louder. You knew you needed to be outside, away from the crush before ‘midnight’ hit, so you ignored it when you heard Natasha calling for you to wait. 

“One!”

And you should’ve panicked. 

You should’ve pulled away immediately when a hand closed over your arm, when someone pulled you back to face them, when green eyes winked at you, but before you realized it was Jake, before you recognized the smell and presence, and rightness of him being there, you knew. 

“Happy New Year!!!!”

The bar erupted in cheers and Jake dipped you, like the end of one of the countless line dance moves he’d taught you over the years, and you kissed him even as your mind raced to catch up with the impossibility of him being in this bar.

“How are you here?” you whispered, and Jake pulled you up to standing. 

“Couldn’t let you start the new year without me,” Jake shrugged, like that made 1,418 miles pass in the blink of an eye, and maybe it did. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and his banded around your waist. You feet may have left the floor, for how tightly he was hugging you, but he was pulling even closer.

“Don’t know if that’s your shade, Seresin,” a voice behind you said, and a second later, Jake rocked forward as Bradley smacked his shoulder, the two of them laughing at your lipstick smeared across Jake’s lips. 

Your husband was pulled into hugs by the rest of his former crew, and you let him go reluctantly—you’d facetimed him last week for Christmas, and they hadn’t seen him before officer training had started. New rounds were ordered, introductions to strangers were made, and you were wedged under Jake’s arm. You didn’t know how long he was in town for, and the fact that he was in his khakis didn’t bode well, so you were sticking as close to him as physically possible. 

Jake must’ve been feeling some of the same clinginess, because, earlier than he normally would’ve opted, he was steering you out the door. 

It still wasn’t anywhere close to midnight, but the ocean air was cool, wrapping around you as you stepped out of the Hard Deck. Jake’s hand found yours as you walked toward the car, and you squeezed his fingers. Before he opened the door for you, he guided your back to the car, and your head tipped up to meet him. 

Unlike earlier, there was no surprise in this kiss, just Jake. The softness of his lips, the taste of cider on his tongue, the way he smelled like the cloves and pine of his cologne, rather than the planes he must’ve been in and out of today. His tongue swept your bottom lip and you opened for him, accepting a deeper kiss. 

God, you’d missed him. 

So damn much, and you knew you should be grateful he was only a couple states away, but having him back in your arms reminded you that you’d almost started the year without him. 

Jake seemed to sense your urgency, his body pressing against yours, and you curled into the warmth of him. 

He pulled back, too soon, his forehead pressing to yours. 

“Let’s get you home, Mrs. Seresin,” Jake said, and you felt your cheeks heat at the gravel in his voice. You leaned up to brush a kiss against his jaw, and pushed off the door so he could open it for you. Jake let you into the car, jogging around the front of it to get behind the wheel. A moment later, his hand was sliding across the center, palm up, and you placed yours in his. His broad fingers wrapped around yours, and you smiled as you pulled away from the curb. 

It was a quick drive, quiet, and you were comfortable in the silence. Jake’s thumb brushed back and forth across the top of your hand, and you tried to ignore the sparks his simple touch sent up your spine. 

“How long are you home for?” you asked, as he parked in the driveway. 

“They have me heading back on an overnight tomorrow,” Jake responded. “Training starts up again at 0800 on the 2nd, so you’ve got me till this time tomorrow.”

It wasn’t as much as you’d hoped, but more than you’d expected. Jake’s grip on your fingers tightened slightly, and you knew he felt the same. 

You’d barely gotten through the front door when Jake’s hands were on you. 

You could feel the warmth of his palms through the thin cotton of your tee, and even the thicker denim of your jeans. His hands were greedy as he guided you deeper into the kitchen, his lips seeking yours as you whimpered into his kiss, months of longing condensing into the urgency of this moment. Dishes rattled as Jake pressed you against the cabinets, and a moment later, his hands dipped lower to the bottom of your thighs, lifting you up onto the counter. 

You scooted to the edge eagerly, appreciating the proximity of the angle. Jake fisted a hand in your hair, pulling your head back to control the angle of the kiss and you felt yourself go molten. Heat followed his touch as he ran his other hand over you—your thighs, waist, back to the front of your shirt. It was like he was convincing himself you were here, reassuring himself by touch, and you were more than willing. 

“Were you missing me, honey?” he asked, his fingers skimming over the familiar cotton of his tshirt, a statement of the obvious. 

You nodded, gasping when his hands slipped under the shirt. He trailed kisses down your neck, and you squirmed as he reached around you to undo your bra. You shrugged out of it, unsurprised that Jake wanted access to your boobs but not at the cost of taking his clothing off of you. His mouth continued hotly down your collarbone, his fingers closing around your breasts and he groaned at the weight of them in his fingers. Your back arched, an automatic response to his touch, craving more of him, and Jake brushed his thumbs over your nipples. He looked up at you, his green eyes meeting yours as he kissed over the fabric, lower, his lips drawing your breasts into his mouth through the fabric of his shirt. 

“Jake,” you whispered his name, the heat of his tongue dragging over fabric, drawing your nipple to a stiff peak. You hadn’t realized your hand had wound into his hair until he grunted as your fingers pulled, laving his tongue over you. His ministrations turned the thin fabric almost translucent, a display of both your desire, and you whimpered as his hand tightened on your other breast. 

“You always look so good in my clothes, baby,” Jake muttered against your chest, switching to the other nipple. His tongue was punishing, and you felt your pulse quicken as he sucked on your fevered skin. Jake was always so attentive to you, so keyed in to what was working, but you’d missed him so much, pretty much everything was doing it for you, right now. 

“Yours,” you said, your voice already shaking, “wanted to look like yours.”

Jake groaned, his teeth nipping at you lightly before he straightened. 

“Mine,” he repeated, before his lips reclaimed yours. His kiss was frenzied and messy, and you loved that he was just as desperate for you as you were for him. Your hips were rocking towards him, and when you reached the edge of the counter, your zipper met his khakis and you broke away from his kiss with a gasp. 

Your jeans were fitting a little tighter these days, a fact you were grateful for as the pressure of his body against yours ground over your clit. You rocked your hips back slowly, a whine slipping out of your throat at the heavenly drag of wet fabric over your pussy. 

“That needy for me already, honey?” Jake asked, satisfaction thick on his voice, and you loved the sound of it. You nodded mutely, more than happy to stroke his ego, and rewarded when he dropped a hand to undo the button of your jeans. It shouldn’t have been hot how quickly he had your jeans undone and his hand in your pants, but it was, it really fucking was. Your head fell back at the first brush of Jake’s thumb over your aching core, and your husband chuckled, his shoulders shaking under your tight grip. 

“Honey,” he whispered, dragging a knuckle through your folds, meeting no resistance, “is this all for me?”

Obviously, you wanted to snipe at him, but you couldn’t, not when he felt this good. 

His finger was so thick, and there wasn’t much room between the front of your pants and the hand cupped over your pussy; you ground your hips against him, and Jake shifted so you could move against his palm, and you moaned at the feeling. His rough palm, his fingers slipping lower, the sureness of his touch, like he couldn’t be more certain that this was exactly what you wanted, because it was. You were pretty sure you could come just from the fact that he had crammed his hand so close to you, and you reached for him again, kissing him messily as you ground against his hand. 

“Good girl,” Jake praised, his voice deep against your lips, “God, you’re soaking my hand. You feel so fucking good, baby, humping yourself against my palm. How’s that feel, hmm?”

It felt amazing, it always did with him. The roughness of his hand, the way he held you steady, it was perfect. Your hips sped up, and you bit your lower lip as you built your orgasm. His fingers felt so good over you, but you needed him in you. Your arms were wrapped around his neck, and you were practically lifting yourself off the counter to get closer to him, but Jake was holding back. 

“Jake,” you panted, your hips canting into his touch. “Touch me, please.”

“Baby,” Jake said, a hint of condescension creeping into his voice, and you whimpered as he held his hand still. “Need something to fuck yourself onto, don’t you?”

“Please,” you gasped. “Jake, please, yes, want to feel you.”

Jake hummed, dipped his head to kiss lightly along your neck, like he was considering it. He ground his palm against your core and you whimpered, your hips rising to meet him, but Jake tightened a hand on your hip, holding you in place. 

“Ask me nice, baby,” he said, his voice dropping impossibly deeper, as he pressed another wet kiss to your throat. 

His words registered a moment after you heard them, and you blinked your eyes open, flitting between his. 

It was something you’d sexted about, during his assignment to Corpus Christi. Something you’d read about, in your romance novels that Jake teased you about, and something he’d told you he wanted to try, but you’d never said it aloud to him.

“Jake,” you whined, not sure why you were shy suddenly. He called you any number of pet names, and they never had any deeper meaning, but this felt forbidden.

“Baby,” Jake taunted back, and you shivered at the anticipation in his voice. He pushed against your jeans, keeping steady pressure on your clit with his palm, but curling his fingers back. You felt him trace between your thighs, a tease, a promise, he was just waiting for you. 

You closed your eyes. 

“Touch me, Jake,” you whispered. “Please…daddy.”

“Fuck,” Jake groaned, the curse ripped out of him like you’d truly leveled him with a word. He slammed two fingers into you and you keened, arching off he counter and curling into him. “That’s right, baby, take it. Good girls get what they ask for, when they ask for it right, and that’s the sweetest you’ve ever asked, isn’t it?”

You moaned, your thighs shaking as you shoved your hips back to meet his hand. You were clinging to him, shoulders braced against upper cabinets but suspended by your arms wrapped tightly around his neck and his hand thrusting in and out of your cunt. He felt so good, his fingers so much longer and thicker than yours, filling you. 

“Look at me,” Jake gritted, and you lifted your head back to meet his gaze. His eyes were piercing in the dark of the kitchen, and you saw he was breathing hard. His gaze raked over you. 

“Fuck, baby, how could I stay away? I’ve got the prettiest girl just waiting for me, her cunt weeping and so fucking ready for me—God, you feel so good, baby, you’re so fucking tight. Will you come for me like this? Just with daddy’s voice and fingers?”

Your eyes rolled back and you felt yourself tighten when he called himself it. Fuck, why was that so hot??

You meant to moan his name, but all that came out was the most pitiful whine of “daddy,” and Jake groaned. 

“That’s right, baby, I’ve got you. Let me make you feel good, honey, you’re doing so good for me. Taking my fingers so fucking well, like you always do. God, you gotta come for me, baby, gotta loosen up so you can take me. I have to be inside you, need you so badly, baby—”

Jake broke off in a moan, your hips bucking wildly into his hand. 

You reached blindly for him, pulling his face back to yours and Jake kissed you messily, his fingers stroking inside you as his tongue licked into your mouth. You could feel how hard he was breathing, holding you up and seeking your pleasure as greedily as if it was his own, and his palm ground harder against your clit and you shattered against his hand. 

Jake groaned, feeling your release on his fingers, drenching your panties. “Fuck, honey, look at you, coming for me. You did so good, did that feel good, baby? You’re so beautiful for me, like this.”

You moaned, your hips still weakly flexing against Jake’s hand, riding out your orgasm. Your skin felt on fire, and the air around you felt cold suddenly, and you realized Jake had set you back down on the counter. Through heavy eyes, you watched him pull his hands out of your pants, watched him lick you off his fingers, and his shoulders slacken at your taste.

He bent down, pulling off your shoes and tossing them somewhere behind him, before giving your jeans the same treatment. Then he was pulling off his khakis, a foresight that made your cheeks heat, because if he got any closer to you right now, you’d ruin his uniform. When he stood before you in just his boxers, he pulled you to him, a rumble of contentment rolling through him when you pressed against his chest. 

He was broad, and smelled so good, and he wrapped his arms around you like he wanted nothing more than to warm you. Your wet tshirt snagged against your breasts, but you snuggled against him anyways, and Jake’s arms tightened, like he also couldn’t get close enough. 

“That okay?” he mumbled against your hair, and your nodded. Only your husband would bring you to the fastest orgasm of your life, wring you out on the kitchen counter, and then check in if you were okay with his guilty pleasure nickname. You turned your head to kiss his chest, surprised to taste salt on your lips. It pleased you that what you’d just done was hot enough to work Jake Seresin into a sweat. 

“More than okay,” you said honestly, pulling back to smile up at him. “Now what’s this about needing to be inside of me?”

“Nothing new there,” Jake said, his eyes roaming your face. He tipped his head to the side. “Need water, or anything?”

You shook your head. “Just you, Jake.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled with his smile, and he framed your face with his hands, kissing you gently. You ran your fingers up his side, feeling goosebumps rise in your wake, and smiling against his lips when Jake leaned into you, like he couldn’t help it. Your hands trailed down, one of your hands coming to the front of Jake’s boxers, and you lifted your chin, breaking the kiss to watch Jake’s expression as you reached between his legs. 

How was it possible to miss him this much? 

It made you shiver to feel the hot length pressing against the front of his boxers, like every inch of him was straining for your touch. You ran your hand over his bulge, and Jake’s eyes fluttered shut, before his hand stopped your wrist. When he stepped back from the counter, you hopped off of it, following him eagerly to the bedroom. Jake turned to you, his grip on your wrist tightening to help you onto the bed, but you had other ideas. 

You dropped to your knees, fingers curling around the hem of Jake’s pants as you went.

“Honey,” Jake protested, but you grinned at him from the ground. Jake would call you greedy when you were begging for him between your legs, but you’d call yourself just as greedy here. You’d already cum for him, and now you wanted the taste and weight of him on your tongue. 

“Let me taste you first,” you said, pulling down his boxers, and looking up at him through your lashes, already smirking before you added, “Daddy.”

Jake groaned, his head tipping back to the ceiling. “You’re gonna be too dangerous with that, aren’t you?”

You liked the thought of being dangerous, just to him. 

When you pulled his boxers down his thighs, his cock bounced free, and you cooed at the precum smeared over the tip. It was so hot that he’d gotten this hard from fingering you, making you cum. You didn’t know what your expression was doing, but Jake mumbled something to himself, running a hand through his hair, his other settling on the top of your head, a gentle caress. 

You wrapped your palm around his base, squeezing lightly, and traced your tongue over a vein on the side of Jake’s cock. Jake’s breath stuttered, and part of you wanted to keep teasing him, but the other part of you wanted to take him, hard, like he’d taken you. 

You wet your lips, opened your mouth, and took your husband’s cock as deep as you could. 

Jake stumbled, knees fully buckling, and pride swelled in your chest as his cock hit the back of your throat before he straightened. 

“Baby,” Jake groaned, “Jesus, that mouth…”

You hummed around his cock, pulling yourself back and bracing your hands on the front of his thighs. You couldn’t take all of him down your throat, not this quickly, he was too thick. But you wanted to, and you set up a quick rhythm, sliding your mouth up and down his length. The salty taste of him, the weight of him on your tongue, made your movements slower than you wanted, but you stretched around him as best you could. 

“Such a good girl for me,” Jake murmured. “Christ, baby, look at you. Couldn’t even wait to get to the bed to take daddy’s cock.”

You moaned; you loved when he praised you like this—eyes barely open, mouth hanging slack, awed by you. 

You still felt shivery from your orgasm, but his words were like wind over embers, slowly rekindling heat. You bobbed your head, twisting your hand at his base, and your other hand reaching up to cup his balls. At your first touch, Jake jolted, and he swore quietly, before pulling you off of him. A moment later, his hands closed around your upper arms, pulling you to your feet. 

“Gonna finish too quickly if you start that,” he muttered. He kissed you, moaning at the taste of him on your lips, and then he moved quickly, tossing you onto the bed. You gasped when you hit the bed, pushing yourself up onto your elbows, but Jake was already crawling over you, his hands pinning your arms to the bed.  You writhed, your body pressing up against his, addicted to the slide of bare skin between you. 

“Every damn part of you,” Jake muttered against your skin, sucking in a long breath through his nose as he ran it along your neck, “that mouth, your cunt, every fucking inch of you feels so good, baby.”

He sank on top of you, and you moaned, your arms clasping around his back as his weight settled over you. His sharp body, hard were you were soft, was the most delicious friction, and you gasped when his cock brushed between your thighs. 

You tried to lift your hips, seeking him, but his weight had you pinned. Jake seemed content with the contours of your body aligning with his, you were aching for where he wasn’t yet filling you. 

“You’re too smug for someone who almost came after two seconds in my mouth,” you muttered, and Jake’s shoulders shook as he laughed. 

“Baby, you haven’t seen the beginning of smug,” he chuckled, but he leaned down to line himself up with you. 

Just the tip of him at your center had your eyes rolling back, and your hips frantically shifting. To have him so close, and not in you yet, was maddening, and you fully whined before you realized Jake was waiting. 

“Jake,” you panted, your hips rolling, helpless, “please, want you to fuck me, come on.”

Jake pressed into you obligingly, filling you with the head of his thick cock, and you spread your thighs, welcoming the stretch of him. But a moment later, he stilled, and you whimpered again. 

Jake kissed your cheek, pushing off of you enough to reach for your chin. He tilted your head up to meet his eyes, the green of them barely visible around his blown irises. “Want you to fuck me…?”

You moaned, knowing what he was asking, and felt a rush of arousal flood through you, just at the thought of begging him like that. 

“Jake—” you started, and he only had to pulled back slightly before you recanted. “Daddy—shit, please, fuck me. It’s been too long, need your cock inside of me, daddy, please—”

“That’s my girl,” Jake gritted, and then he moved his hips. 

God, what a man. 

It was like he was working you open, bludgeoning his way into your body and you spread wider and opened further to him, but there was still more of him to fill you. You moaned, a long broken sound as his hips worked closer to yours, his cock pressing deeper into you. 

“Fuck, it’s so good like that, isn’t it?” Jake asked, his voice rough. “Feeling you open up for me, honey, it’s the sweetest thing. Your tight pussy clenching around daddy’s cock, like you don’t want me to stop—”

“Don’t you dare,” you gasped, your body tightening further around him. “Feels so good; keep going.”

“Anything, baby,” Jake gritted, his head dropping to beside yours on a groan. You felt he meant it, with his breath shuddering through him, and the way his shoulders were shaking. You realized he was still working into you, holding himself back, and that wasn’t what you wanted at all—you wanted to feel him, all of him. 

“I can take it,” you whimpered, your hips pressing weakly up into him. “I can take it, daddy, let me feel all of you.”

Jake groaned, but his hips slammed forward, shoving the rest of his length into you. You cried out, the stretch of him brutal and perfect, and what you’d needed for months. Jake was around you, pinning you down with his body, filling and stretching you so perfectly, and you couldn’t help but come. 

“Fuck, baby, did you just—” Jake whispered, feeling you flutter around him, but it was all you could do to keep riding it out. You felt like you were coming out of your skin, like his touch was everything you needed but you needed it so much more for it. 

“Didn’t mean to,” you gasped, or maybe sobbed, your body shivering at the intensity of the orgasm. Jake propped himself up on his elbows, so his hands could run over your skin. He soothed you with his touch, his warm fingers and gentle hands sliding wherever he could reach, while his hips kept up a gentle rocking to help you through it. 

“Shh, you did so good, baby,” Jake promised, and you wanted to curl inside the warmth of his voice. “Such a good girl for me, for daddy, so perfect. Coming on my fingers, on my cock, baby that’s so hot.”

“Daddy,” you echoed, and you felt it settle over him. He’d let go of your hands, so you wrapped them around him, feeling his muscles work as he nudged his cock further inside of you. “Feels so good...”

“You have no idea, baby,” Jake said, and then he pulled partially out. “Shit, you cannot imagine how fucking perfect this pussy feels. Fluttering around me, can tell you missed me, makes me want to make sure you remember me here, all over.”

You moaned at the drag of his cock through your core, and the way he pressed back into you, perfect, full. 

“Yes, daddy,” you panted, unsure what you agreed, or wanted, but knowing it was more, “please.”

Jake grunted, reaching for your hands and winding his fingers between yours. He stretched your arms above your head, bracing himself in your grip, rutting in and out of you as you spread under him. 

You were pretty sure you’d melted into the bed. 

The cotton of Jake’s shirt felt scalding against your skin, but it was nothing against heat in his eyes. He was grunting with each thrust, fucking deep into you and your thighs burned where they were spread for him. His cock was brushing a deep part of you, and you couldn’t come again, not that quick, but it felt so damn good. 

“Shit, baby, this pussy,” Jake groaned, “She’s so tight for me. God, I missed you, baby, miss you so much. Miss you in my bed, in my arms, having you to come home to…”

His thrusts got sharper, and something clenched in your heart at his words. “I’m right here, baby,” you whispered. “I miss you too, so so much.”

“Baby,” Jake whispered, his voice impossibly soft, like you missing him was harder to bear than his own hurt. 

He pushed up, rising to his knees and his hands going to your waist to hold you to him. You moaned at the way he kept his cock in you, like he needed a change of position but not enough to be anywhere other than inside of you. He reached for a pillow to wedge under your hips, and then his hands wrapped around your waist again to pull you on and off his cock, when his gaze snagged on something on the nightstand. 

“Honey,” Jake said, his breathing still rough, but a thread of amusement in his voice, “did I interrupt your new year’s eve plans?”

You craned your head to follow his gaze, your cheeks heating when you saw your still-plugged-in vibrator. 

“Didn’t know if you were going to be able to call me,” you admitted, not sure why it felt like a secret. Jake had helped you pick out a number of toys for when he was away; it wasn’t like he didn’t know you had them. “It was just to help me get to sleep, it wasn’t—”

Jake reached for the vibrator, pressing it on, and holding a thumb over it, feeling the vibration. “Last I checked, that was my job,” he growled, possessiveness heavy on his voice, before he pressed the vibrator to your clit. 

You bowed off the bed, the sudden sharpness of the vibrations rocking through you. 

“Jake,” you moaned, collapsing back to the bed, reaching for him weakly, but in the position he’d pulled you into, you were spread beneath him, and couldn’t reach more than the hand holding the vibrator. 

“Who?” he said darkly, circling your clit with the vibrator. Sensations sparked through you, the vibrations intensifying the press of Jake’s cock within you, how unbelievably full you were, and how you couldn’t hide from him. 

“Daddy,” you sobbed, pulling on the hand that held the vibrator, not sure if you needed more, needed less, what you needed, just him. “Daddy, please—”

“You’re going to come on my cock,” Jake commanded, actually commanded, a voice he often used to order squadrons, and your eyes rolled back. “Come with my vibrator on your clit, my cock in your pussy, and you’re going to call me daddy until I come in this pussy, and finally keep her full.”

“Daddy,” you whimpered, begged, your legs shaking from the heat the vibrator was churning up under your skin. Jake started moving again, his hips slamming into you. His other hand gripped your waist, holding you steady as he fucked his cock impossibly deeper into you, holding the vibrator against your skin. 

“Fuck, baby, you’re gripping me so tight,” Jake groaned, his voice breaking as he slammed into you, “this pussy feels so good, you’re so good to me, baby, clenching around me, shit.”

“Jake,” you managed, your hands traveling up his arm and pulling weakly. Jake knew, of course he did, understood you were still with him, still into this, just needed him closer. He pulled you up and sat back; you all but collapsed into his lap, gravity now pulling you tightly onto Jake’s cock, shoved deeper by his thrusts. 

“Jesus Christ,” Jake groaned, and you realize the new position wedged the toy between you. The vibrations now moved over your clit and over the base of Jake’s cock, and his thrusts spread up, taking on a more frantic note. 

“Need you to come, baby,” Jake gritted and you shook your head. It was too much, too good, but you were pretty sure you couldn’t bear it if he stopped. You turned into his shoulder, your mouth gaping open on a continuous moan as he thrust up into you. 

“So deep,” you mumbled, your voice reedy. You couldn’t tell where he ended, what was melting you, his cock, the toy, the togetherness you’d gone crazy for missing. “So good, please—”

“I didn’t ask, honey,” Jake said, shifting the toy and making you cry out. “Come on daddy’s cock, baby, do it. Let me feel you milking my cock, need to feel the pussy I missed so fucking bad, need to feel my girl come on  my cock, come on.”

He let go of the vibrator, wedged it between your bodies and dug his hands into your waist, pulling you down on his cock. You moaned as he held his cock against that soft spot inside of you, as his toy shook you, as he mumbled things you couldn’t hear into your ear, and you fell apart. 

You couldn’t stop shaking. 

Everything was aflame, your body wrung out and floating and perfect, and you were crying but couldn’t stop your hips from moving. You needed more of Jake, needed him forever, needed him deeper and harder, and you were pretty sure you were rubbing yourself raw against him, but you couldn’t stop. 

“My beautiful girl,” Jake was whispering, his hips moving slower and he finally pulled his shirt over your head, wrapping you tightly against his chest. You could tell he was still hard, straining inside of you, and you were still shaking, but you tightened around him as best you could. 

“Shit, baby,” Jake choked, and you licked at his chest. He was salty and slick with sweat, and you were dead weight in his arms, but you needed to feel him, needed more of him, and you were burning alive with it. 

“Come for me, Jake,” you asked, needing it. 

Jake groaned, like he was just holding himself together, and your words might undo him. 

“Give me a sec, baby,” he gritted, even as his hips punched up before he could stop them. “That was a lot, need to make sure you’re—”

“Come in me, Jake,” you whispered, another kiss to his chest. “Let me feel you.”

Your back hit the mattress and Jake crawled over you again. His hair was slick with sweat as he hovered over you, his beautiful profile illuminated in moonlight, and he reached between you again. His touch was light over your clit, not to stoke anything, but a gentle touch to soothe you there, and you melted into the bed. You curled a hand behind Jake’s head, and his eyes fluttered shut at the softness in your touch. 

“You’re so fucking good to me, baby,” he said, his voice almost tortured.

You could say the same to him. 

His cock was so hard inside of you, and you could feel him trembling, just waiting, so you licked your lips, and waited for him to look at you again. 

“Jake, I need you like this,” you whispered, and his hips pushed forward. Your mouth fell open, and you whined out your final request, “Breed me, daddy.”

Jake groaned, his shoulders dropping to the mattress. At first he braced himself against the bed, but then he reached under you, holding your shoulders and pressing your body to him, needing to be so close to you as he rutted into you. 

“I love you so much,” he groaned into your shoulder, his teeth catching as he thrust. “Fuck, I love you. I’m gonna come, baby, gonna fill you up…”

His hips slammed into yours and you lifted your body weakly to meet him. The world was a midnight cloud around you, there was only this bed, your husband, the strength of his body as he used it to cleave to yours. His hips pumped, once, twice, and then he stilled as a long moan poured past his clenched teeth. You whimpered as Jake spent inside of you, your body opening for him, taking the final promise of his presence, that he was here, that he was yours. 

“Just like that, baby,” you whispered into his hair, your hand still playing with the damp hair at the base of his neck, and Jake groaned. His hips moved of their own accord, weakly fucking his release into you, and you smoothed your hand over the muscles of his back.

You lay there together, until the sweat on your skin reminded you that it was December, and Jake reached out blindly for the blanket. 

“Happy New Year, Mrs Seresin,” he mumbled, pulling you into his side as the blanket wrapped the two of you closer. 

The lock turns softly, the sound sticking out in the quiet of the apartment. You’re already on your feet when the door opens. Jake steps inside, duffel slung over one shoulder, jacket still on, hair a little longer than when he left. His eyes lift, find you, and for a half second, he just stops. Like his body hasn’t quite caught up to the fact that he’s home. 

“Hey,” he says, voice rough, familiar in a way that makes your chest ache.

You cross the space between you in two steps, and the moment your arms wrap around him, he drops the bag. It hits the floor with a dull thud, forgotten immediately as he pulls you in, one arm tight around your back, the other coming up to cradle the back of your head. His forehead presses into your hair, his breath warm against your temple.

The hug lasts too long. Not awkward long. Necessary long. The kind that feels like a deep breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding for weeks.

Jake exhales shakily, his grip tightening for just a second before easing again. You feel him everywhere, warm and solid, and it makes something unclench in your chest. His hand slides down your spine, then back up again, slow and deliberate, like he’s memorizing you all over.

“You’re here,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

“I am,” you say quietly. “You’re home.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands still anchored at your waist. His eyes search your face, tracing familiar lines like they might have changed while he was gone. You notice it then, the exhaustion sitting just beneath the surface. Not dramatic, not obvious. Just…there. A heaviness in his gaze, a tiredness around the edges that wasn’t there before. He looks older somehow. Or maybe just more real. 

Jake’s thumb brushes under your eye, gentle, reverent. Then your cheek. Then he cups your face fully, like he needs the confirmation.

“Sorry,” he says, dropping his hand, flashing you a quick, crooked smile that doesn’t quite land.

You shake your head, stepping back into his space. “You don’t have to apologize.”

He leans in again, resting his forehead against yours. You feel the warmth of him, the steady beat of his breath evening out as the moment settles. The apartment smells the same—coffee, clean laundry, a faint hint of pine from the tree still standing in the corner—but with him here, it finally feels right again.

“I’m sorry I missed Christmas,” he says quietly.

The words hang between you, weighted. Not just for the day itself, but for the plans that never happened. The flights you didn’t take. The house and family in Texas you never saw. The version of December that existed only in messages sent across continents and time zones.

You lift your head, meeting his eyes. “You came home. That’s all I care about.”

His jaw tightens, emotion flickering across his face before he nods. Jake pulls you back in, slower this time, his arms wrapping around you with careful intention. One hand settles at the small of your back, the other threading through your hair. He kisses the top of your head, lingering, like he’s grounding himself in the moment.

Outside, January presses cold against the windows. Inside, everything feels warmer. For the first time since he left on a last minute deployment just a few weeks before Christmas, you let yourself relax, in the safety of his arms.

Jake lets go of you after a few minutes and kicks his boots off by the entryway. He does it slower than usual, like he’s in no rush to be anywhere else. He shrugs out of his jacket, and hangs it over the back of a chair.

The Christmas tree stands in the corner of the living room, lights glowing softly in the dimly lit room. It’s not overly bright or flash. It’s just enough to cast a warm halo across the walls. A few ornaments catch the light casting faint reflections dancing across the ceiling.

“You didn’t take it down,” he says.

You follow his gaze, suddenly self conscious. Maybe you should have taken it down. But you had only had it up for about a week when he got the call that the mission that was supposed to happen in mid January was getting pushed up. You just couldn’t quite bring yourself to take it down until he got to enjoy it just a little more. 

“Yeah, well. I—” You shrug, tucking your hands into the sleeves of your sweater. “I didn’t really get around to it.”

He hums, low and unconvinced, eyes still on the tree. “You’re usually pretty on top of that stuff.”

You glance at him. He’s watching you now, something knowing softening his expression. He knows better.

Jake steps closer, stopping just in front of the tree. He reaches out, fingers brushing one of the lower branches, making a glass ornament sway gently. Beneath it, a few wrapped gifts sit neatly arranged. Not many. Intentional. Waiting.

His voice drops when he speaks again. “You were waiting.”

You swallow. There’s no point pretending otherwise.

“I didn’t want to do it without you,” you say quietly.

 Jake’s shoulders ease like he’s just exhaled a breath he’s been holding since the moment he walked in the door. He turns to you, crossing the space between you in two easy steps, his hands sliding into yours.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Thank you.”

You smile, small but real. “I figured we could…I don’t know. Do it late. If you wanted.”

His lips curve, warm and fond. “I’d love that, honey.”

The lights stay low as you and Jake order takeout. It’s something easy and familiar, and requires minimal effort from you and Jake. You eat dinner cross legged on the couch, socks brushing against the hardwood floors when you get up to grab napkins or drinks. 

After, Jake stretches out on the floor, leaning back against the couch. He pats the space beside him, and you join him without hesitation. The tree hums quietly behind you, lights blinking in lazy patterns.

He gestures toward the gifts. “You really waited.”

“I did,” you admit.

Jake reaches for the first one, turning it over in his hands. “Guess we should open them properly then.”

One by one, you trade small smiles, quiet laughs, the rustle of paper filling the room. Everything feels slower. Intentional. Like you’re both trying to savor each second.

When the last gift is opened, Jake leans back, bumping his shoulder gently into yours.

“Best Christmas yet,” he murmurs.

Then his gaze drifts back to the tree. 

“There’s one more,” he says eventually.

You look over. “I thought we—”

He leans forward, reaching beneath the lower branches. When he straightens again, there’s a small box in his hands. No wrapping paper. No bow. Just matte cardboard, worn at the edges like it’s been opened and closed more than once.

Jake doesn’t offer it right away. He turns it over in his hands, jaw flexing, eyes fixed on nothing in particular. For the first time since he walked through the door tonight, he looks unsure.

“I was gonna give this to you before I left,” he admits quietly.

You nod, heart thudding, and he finally passes the box to you. It’s heavier than you expect. You open it carefully.

Inside, nestled against dark foam, is a familiar chain. Silver. Worn smooth with time. Two tags catch the light from the tree as you lift them free.

Dog tags. His dog tags. A match to the ones he wears around his neck.

For a second, your brain doesn’t quite catch up. You stare at them, thumb brushing over the stamped letters you know by heart: his name, his identification number, everything that makes the weight of his job feel real.

Jake watches you turn the dog tags over in your hands, the soft clink of metal loud in the hush of the room. The tree lights glow against the silver, catching on the familiar stamped letters. Your thumb traces his name without you realizing you’re doing it.

“I thought about it every day I was gone,” he says quietly.

You look over at him.

“I kept thinking about this set,” he continues, voice steady but low. “About you.” He swallows, shifting closer. “My mom’s carried this set since I joined. She’s always said it helps, knowing there’s a piece of me somewhere safe.”

Your chest tightens.

“But I think it’s time,” he adds, eyes locking onto yours, “that you hold onto them for me.”

For a second, all you can do is stare at him.

“A-are you sure?” You ask softly. “Jake, that’s…that’s a big thing.”

A small smile curves his mouth, warm and a little sad. 

“Yeah. I know.” He reaches out, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “I wouldn’t give them to you if I wasn’t sure.”

You nod slowly, emotions crowding your throat. “Those are usually—”

“—held onto by wives,” he finishes gently. “I know.”

Silence stretches between you, thick and fragile. Jake’s gaze drops for a moment, his jaw tightening like he’s bracing himself.

“I was hoping maybe you’d be that too.”

Before you can respond, Jake shifts. He pushes himself up from the floor, movements careful, deliberate. You watch, confused, as he reaches into his pocket, fingers fumbling just slightly before he pulls out a small box.

“I was supposed to do this in Texas,” he admits quietly, dropping down onto one knee in front of you. “I had it all planned out. At home. With my family around. I wanted to do it right.”

He opens the box, revealing the ring. It's simple, elegant, clearly chosen with intention.

“But after everything,” he continues, voice thick, “after being gone and realizing how wrong it felt not knowing if you were really mine… I can’t wait until the next time I go home to ask you.”

His eyes shine as he looks up at you.

A small, nervous breath leaves him. “I want a life with you. I want you holding onto those tags when I’m gone. I want you to be the one I come home to.”

Tears spill over before you can stop them. You laugh softly through them, overwhelmed, reaching out to cup his face in both hands.

“Jake,” you whisper, shaking your head like you can’t quite believe this is real.

He leans into your touch, smiling up at you with quiet hope. “Will you marry me?”

You don’t answer right away. You lean forward instead, pressing your forehead to his, breathing him in, grounding yourself in the warmth of him. Then you pull back just enough to meet his eyes.

“Yes,” you say, voice breaking. “Of course yes.”

Jake exhales a laugh that sounds like relief and love all tangled together. His hands are steady when he slips the ring onto your finger, even though you can feel the way his breath catches as he does it. The metal is warm from his palm, settling perfectly in place like it’s always belonged there. You stare at it for a moment, stunned, before looking back up at him through wet lashes.

Jake leans in and kisses you. His thumb brushes along your jaw, his other hand resting at your waist, grounding you both in the moment. When he pulls back, he presses his forehead to yours, breathing you in.

After a while, you pull away just enough to hold up the dog tags still curled in your palm. “We should…put these somewhere.”

He nods. “Yeah.”

Together, you cross the room. You choose the small hook by the door — the one that holds his keys when he’s home. It feels right. A place tied to coming and going. To return.

The tags clink softly as you hang them there, the sound gentle and final. Jake’s arms wrap around you from behind, chin resting on your shoulder as you both look at them.

“I like that,” he says quietly. “Means I’ll always know where they are.”

You lean back into him, fingers lacing with his. “Means I’ll always know you’re coming home.”

He presses a kiss to your temple, then another just beneath your ear. 

“Merry Christmas,” he whispers, a smile in his voice. After a heartbeat, softer still: “I love you.”

Your chest aches in the best way. You turn in his arms, cupping his face, making sure he sees you when you say it back.

“I love you too.”

Later, you curl up together on the couch, your socked feet tangled with his, the tree lights still glowing quietly in the corner. Outside, January hums cold and distant, but inside everything is warm.

You rest your head against his shoulder, his arm draped around you, thumb tracing slow, absent circles against your side. The ring catches the light when you move, and every time it does, Jake glances down at it like he still can’t quite believe it’s real.

Christmas didn’t happen the way you planned. It came late. But as you sit there beneath the tree, the future tucked safely between you and your soon to be husband holding you close, you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

-

Tags:

The week between Christmas and New Year’s has always felt like borrowed time. Like the world exhales and forgets to start breathing again. The tree is still up in the corner of your apartment, lights glowing softly even though you can’t remember the last time you turned them off. A stray ornament swings slightly when you brush past it, and you pause long enough to straighten it, even though you know you’ll be back in a few hours. Holiday music still hums faintly from someone’s open window outside. It could be Thursday. It could be Sunday. It doesn’t really matter.

You pull on your coat and check your phone: no new messages, just a reminder of the friendsgiving-Christmas-New-Year’s mashup party happening across town.

By the time you arrive, the house is already buzzing. Warm light spills out through the windows, the front door propped open against the chill. Inside, it’s loud in the best way: laughter layered over music, overlapping conversations, the clink of bottles against glasses.

The smell hits you immediately. Mulled wine. Sugar cookies. And, unmistakably, stuffing.

You wrinkle your nose, smiling as you step inside. Of course someone reheated stuffing. Of course.

Shoes are kicked off near the door, coats draped over every available surface. Half empty wine bottles crowd the kitchen counter, alongside a plate of Christmas cookies that look like they’ve been picked over strategically.

And then you see him.

Glen is already there, leaning casually against the back of the couch, sweater sleeves pushed up, a drink in his hand. He looks relaxed in a way he rarely does when work is involved, off-duty and unguarded. Like he belongs exactly where he is.

His face lights up when he spots you.

“There you are,” he says, pushing off the couch and crossing the room in a few easy strides.

The hug is immediate and familiar, warm arms wrapping around you like muscle memory. You breathe him in without thinking: clean, comforting, something that feels like home in a way you’ve never quite unpacked.

“Good to see you,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to look at you.

“You say that like it’s been years since you saw me,” you tease.

Before you can respond, a blur of fur barrels toward you.

“Hey! Hi, buddy!” you laugh, instinctively crouching as Brisket skids to a stop, tail wagging so hard his entire body gets involved.

Glen groans. “Unbelievable.”

“What?” you say, scratching behind Brisket’s ears as he presses into you. “He missed me.”

“He sees you once every few weeks and acts like you’re his long-lost soulmate,” Glen says. “I feed him. I walk him. He literally sleeps in half of my bed.”

Brisket responds by licking your hand enthusiastically.

Glen sighs. “Traitor.”

You grin up at him, heart doing that quiet, familiar flip it always does when he looks at you like with something fond, amused, but with something softer underneath. The kind of look that’s always lingered just a second too long.

“Okay, everyone…attention for approximately thirty seconds,” your friend calls out from the middle of the living room, clinking her glass with a spoon. “I need to introduce a new house rule.”

A collective groan ripples through the room, followed by laughter. Glen shifts beside you as you stand up, leaning closer. “This is never good.”

You grin. “Relax. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Your friend beams, entirely too pleased with herself. “Since we’re still pretending it’s the holidays, I felt it was only right to bring in mistletoe.”

A few people cheer. Someone whistles.

“And,” she adds, crouching to fasten something green and festive around Brisket’s collar, “since I refuse to hang it in a doorway like a normal person, I’ve upgraded.”

Brisket sits patiently, tail wagging, clearly thrilled with the attention.

“Behold,” she announces, standing back. “Mobile mistletoe.”

Laughter breaks out immediately.

“Here’s how it works,” she continues. “If Brisket bumps into you or touches you while wearing the mistletoe, you have to kiss your significant other.”

A chorus of ooohs and exaggerated groans follows.

“And if you’re single,” she says, pausing deliberately as her gaze slides pointedly to you, “you kiss whoever you want.”

Your stomach flips.

You laugh it off, lifting your hands. “This feels like entrapment.”

“Absolutely is,” she says cheerfully.

Brisket chooses that moment to trot away, already on a mission, and chaos erupts as he weaves through legs and coffee tables. A couple near the kitchen complies dramatically. Someone fakes a swoon.

You glance sideways at Glen just as he looks at you.

There’s a beat.

He lifts his brows, lips twitching. “Your best friend’s causing trouble.”

You scoff softly. “Please. He’s innocent.”

Glen hums, clearly unconvinced, but his knee bumps yours as the two of you settle in on the couch. 

The host reappears a few minutes later, pressing a glass into your hand before you can protest.

“Drink,” she says simply. “You look like you’re overthinking.”

You snort. “You say that like it’s new.”

She gives you a knowing smile, and then she’s gone again, swallowed by the kitchen crowd.

Glen glances at your glass. “What is it?”

“Some kind of punch situation,” you say, sniffing it cautiously. “I think there’s cranberry in there.”

“Festive,” he says, lifting his own drink in a mock toast. “To the holidays and good friends.”

You clink glasses and take a sip. It’s sweeter than you expect, warming on the way down. You make a small, approving noise before you can stop yourself.

Glen grins. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you admit. “Dangerously drinkable.”

“That could be bad.”

Conversations overlap and peel away, but you and Glen stay where you are, knees angled toward each other without either of you really choosing it.

An hour passes without you noticing. You’re laughing about something ridiculous, Glen reenacting a moment from earlier in the year, doing an exaggerated version of himself that has you nearly spilling your drink.

“I did not sound like that,” he insists, pointing at you accusingly.

“You absolutely did,” you say. “That’s exactly what you sounded like.”

“I refuse to believe this slander.”

“Oh, I have witnesses.”

He shakes his head, smiling despite himself. “Unbelievable. I leave you alone for five minutes and suddenly you’re my biggest hater.”

You bump his shoulder lightly. “Please. You love it.”

Brisket hops up onto the couch at some point, it looks as if he’s thinking about wedging himself between you before immediately deciding that was a mistake and relocating so that half his body is draped across Glen’s lap. Glen absently scratches behind his ears, still midsentence, like it’s second nature.

“Careful,” someone calls from across the room, nodding toward Brisket. “You’ve got mistletoe proximity.”

Glen glances down at the green sprig hanging from Brisket’s collar like it’s only just occurred to him. “That feels vaguely threatening.”

“It is,” the host says brightly. “Rules are rules.”

Brisket chooses that moment to shift, paws pressing more firmly into Glen’s thigh as he resettles himself. The mistletoe bobs cheerfully.

A chorus of oooohs rises.

“So,” someone else chimes in. “Who’re you kissing, Powell?”

Glen groans, dropping his head back against the couch. “This is harassment.”

“Pick a kiss!” another voice insists. “No dodging.”

He laughs, shaking his head, clearly buying time. Then, with exaggerated deliberation, he leans down and presses a dramatic kiss to the top of Brisket’s head.

“There,” he says, straightening. “Problem solved.”

Brisket wags his tail, pleased.

The room erupts.

“Oh, absolutely not,” the host says immediately. “That does not count.”

“Yeah,” someone adds. “Nice try, though.”

Glen spreads his hands. “He’s my emotional support animal. And he goes everywhere with me. It totally counts.”

“Coward,” someone mutters fondly.

You laugh along with everyone else, but your chest feels oddly tight. For just a second, barely even a second, you’d thought…

You meet Glen’s eyes without meaning to. Something flickers there. Surprise, maybe. Or hesitation. Or the same unspoken question that’s been hovering between you all night.

His gaze drops away first.

“Well,” he says lightly, scratching Brisket behind the ears again. “Guess I’m safe for now.”

The conversation shifts, laughter rolling on as easily as before, but the moment lingers. Unresolved. Sitting between you like an empty space neither of you knows how to cross yet.

Brisket hops down soon after, mistletoe swinging as he trots off in search of his next victim.

You watch him go, heart still thudding just a little too hard.

Safe for now, you think.

And you’re not sure whether you’re relieved or disappointed.

At some point, someone you vaguely know passes by, slowing when they notice you and Glen deep in conversation.

“Well,” they say, grinning. “You two look cozy.”

You laugh, a little too quickly. “We’re just talking.”

“Uh huh,” they say. “Sure. You’re basically an old married couple.”

Your stomach flips.

Glen chuckles, shaking his head. “Don’t be starting rumors now.”

But he doesn’t say that’s not true.

The person wanders off, leaving the comment hanging between you like a snowflake that hasn’t quite melted yet.

You take a sip of your drink to give your hands something to do. “People are ridiculous.”

“Extremely,” Glen agrees. He glances at you, then away, like he’s debating something. “We do spend a lot of time together, though.”

You shrug, aiming for casual. “We’re friends.”

“Yeah,” he says. “We are.”

You shift slightly on the couch, suddenly hyperaware of how close he is. How normal it feels. Like this is where you’re supposed to be, shoulder-to-shoulder, sharing quiet jokes and half-empty drinks while the rest of the party hums around you.

You steal a glance at him while he’s listening to someone across the room, his attention split but his body still angled toward yours. You wonder if he feels it too. Or if you’ve just been romanticizing the closeness you’ve always had with him.

Brisket bounds off somewhere across the room, tail wagging like a metronome, before he suddenly reappears with a burst of energy that leaves us both laughing. Without warning, he leaps onto the back of the couch, legs splayed and ears flopping, and plops himself down right between you.

You freeze for a beat as his front paws drape over your shoulder and the weight of his head presses warmly against you. His back legs sprawled across Glen’s shoulder, who lets out a startled, soft laugh.

“Okay,” Glen says, raising his hands as if surrendering. “He’s officially the boss of this couch.”

You both turn to look at him, smiling, brushing his ears and laughing softly. The absurdity of the moment makes the warmth between you feel lighter, unspoken, easy. For a few heartbeats, the mistletoe rule and all its implications slip entirely from your mind.

“He’s ridiculous,” you murmur, pressing a hand gently into his fur.

“Absolutely,” Glen agrees, scratching behind Brisket’s ear. “And somehow, somehow, adorable.”

You laugh, your shoulders bumping lightly against his, just enough to make your chest flutter. Brisket wriggles a little more, squirming into your side, and you feel the warmth of Glen’s arm grazing yours.

And then from across the room someone’s voice breaks through, teasing and melodic. 

“Uh oh. Don’t forget the rules, you two!”

Your stomach does a sudden flip as you realize the green sprig of mistletoe dangling from Brisket’s collar now hovers perfectly between you and Glen. You look up. Glen looks up.

The two of you freeze for the briefest moment, caught in a strange, suspended awareness. Then, somewhere behind that awareness, laughter ripples from the rest of the room, light but insistent.

“Rules are rules,” someone calls again, smirking.

You exhale a nervous laugh, brushing your hand along the back of the couch. “We…we don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you say softly, the words out before you can second-guess yourself.

Glen’s eyes meet yours, soft and steady, and something unspoken passes between you. The tension that has been building all night—the teasing, the near misses, the accidental touches, the quiet yearning—it all seems to hang in the air.

“I want to,” he says, his voice low but certain, deliberate.

Your chest warms, your heart skipping a beat. There is no hesitation now, no ambiguity. He leans closer, gently, as though testing the waters, and you lean in without thinking.

His hand brushes yours briefly before settling against your arm, careful, grounding, and then he is closer still, lips just brushing yours in that slow, tentative first contact that makes everything else disappear.

The kiss deepens naturally, softly at first, gentle but deliberate. You press into him, matching the rhythm, tasting the warmth that has always been there under the surface. Brisket’s head stays on your shoulder, oblivious to the moment he has engineered, tail thumping quietly against Glen’s side.

When you finally pull back just slightly, both of you breathing a little heavier, you rest your foreheads together. The laughter from the other side of the room fades into background noise. For a moment, there is just you, Glen, and the little chaos-maker between you.

“I—I’ve wanted to do that,” you admit softly, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“Me too,” Glen says, brushing your hair back gently, fingers warm against your cheek. “Longer than I probably should have.”

Your chest swells at the honesty in his voice, the careful sincerity. You laugh softly, shaking your head. “Well…better late than never?”

“Absolutely,” he murmurs, leaning in for another, briefer kiss, this one lighter but no less sure.

Brisket shifts again, giving a little grunt, and you both laugh quietly, breaking the tension just enough to catch your breath.

The room hums around you, but in that small pocket of warmth, you are suspended in your own quiet, chaotic, perfect little world.

And in that moment, you realize: maybe the week between Christmas and New Year’s, the limbo of leftover lights and slightly stale cookies, isn’t confusing at all. Maybe it has just been waiting for this…waiting for you, Glen, and a very mischievous dog to finally figure it out.

-

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The kitchen smells like butter and sugar and vanilla and cinnamon, warm and familiar in a way that settles deep in your chest. It’s the kind of smell that only exists in December, the kind that makes you think of childhood holidays and small town winters and traditions you never quite outgrew.

You’re halfway through your third batch of cookies, sleeves pushed up, fingers dusted with flour, a playlist humming softly from your phone on the counter. Snowflake shaped dough waits patiently on a baking sheet while another tray cools nearby, the edges just barely golden. You pause to scrape a smear of dough from your thumb and taste it, smiling to yourself.

The living room glows just beyond the doorway. The fireplace crackles steadily, flames dancing low and slow, casting warm light across the floor and up the walls. You don’t technically need it, it’s not that cold, but you turned it on anyway. Because it feels right. Because you’re thirty and single and home for the holidays and allowed to indulge in a little cozy atmosphere if you want to.

You slide the tray into the oven and set the timer, leaning your hip against the counter as you exhale. The house is quiet in that peaceful, end of day way, the kind that usually sneaks up on you around this time of year. It’s comforting. Safe.

You’re just reaching for the cookie cutters again when the doorbell rings. The sound cuts through the calm like a dropped plate.

You freeze, fingers hovering mid-air, brow furrowing. You’re not expecting anyone. The party isn’t until tomorrow, and your parents already stopped by earlier with unsolicited dating advice and too many opinions on your singleness at your age.

The doorbell rings again, firm and insistent. Your heart gives a small, confused thump as you wipe your hands on a dish towel and head toward the front door, the fire popping softly behind you.

You open the front door expecting the neighbor from next door. Or your mother, back again with another last minute opinion.

You are not expecting Jake. 

The man standing on your porch feels like a trick of memory, like someone you dreamed up while staring into the fire for too long. But he’s real. Solid. Familiar in a way that makes your chest tighten before you can stop it.

Jake stands there with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, a paper grocery bag dangling from one wrist. He’s bundled up against the December cold, beanie pulled low, cheeks pink, green eyes bright. He looks older than the last version of him you keep tucked away in the corners of your mind: broader, but still unmistakably him.

Your first love. The boy you dated senior year. The one you loved quietly and lost loudly.

Jake’s smile falters just slightly, like he’s realizing how sudden this all is. 

“Hey,” he says again, softer this time. “Uh sorry. I probably should’ve called.”

You blink at him. Once. Twice. Like that might make him disappear.

“Jake,” you manage. “What are you….I thought you were in Key West.”

He lifts the grocery bag a little, sheepish. “Change of plans. Got leave last minute. Mom said you were in town and—” He shrugs, a familiar half-roll of his shoulders. “I figured I’d stop by.”

A beat passes. Cold air curls in around your ankles. Somewhere behind you, the fire pops.

Jake shifts his weight, suddenly unsure. “If this is a bad time, I can— I mean, I don’t wanna interrupt anything.”

You glance over your shoulder at the quiet house, the counters dusted in flour, the oven humming patiently. Then back at him—at the man who once broke your heart gently and still somehow owns a piece of it.

“No,” you say quickly. “It’s… it’s fine. I’m just baking.”

His eyes light up. “Yeah? Smells incredible.”

“That’s because I’m a domestic goddess,” you deadpan, stepping back. “Or because I use too much vanilla. Jury’s out.”

He laughs, and the sound settles something loose in your chest.

“Can I come in?” he asks, still polite. Still Jake. “I can help with the cookies if you want?”

You nod, finally. “Yeah. Come on before you freeze.”

You step aside, and he crosses the threshold like it hasn’t been years since he last stood in this house. Like it hasn’t been years since he last stood this close to you.

The door shuts behind him, warm air replacing the cold, and suddenly he’s there kicking his boots by the mat, jacket coming off, grocery bag swinging lightly at his side.

“Smells amazing in here,” he says.

“Really, Jake, you don’t have to—” you start, stepping back toward the kitchen, already planning how to reclaim control of your evening.

“I know,” he says quickly, following you anyway. “But I want to.”

You glance over your shoulder. “You want to help me bake cookies.”

He shrugs, a little too casual, like he’s trying not to look at you too closely. “Stranger things have happened.”

“They really haven’t,” you mutter, grabbing a clean baking sheet.

He hovers near the doorway for a second, uncertain, then steps fully into the kitchen like he’s committing to something. The warmth from the oven hits him, and he smiles again.

“I mean,” he adds, rubbing the back of his neck, “your mom said you were doing this all on your own, and I figured company might help.”

You sigh, turning to face him. “I don’t need help.”

“I know,” he says, too easily. “But I could still help.”

You meet his eyes. They’re steady, familiar, searching your face in a way that makes your pulse trip. He looks like he’s waiting for permission. Or forgiveness. Or something else entirely.

“You’re bad at following instructions,” you point out.

“That’s not true,” he says. “I follow some instructions.”

You huff a laugh despite yourself, reaching for a second apron and tossing it at his chest. “Fine. But if you ruin a batch, you’re explaining it to my mom.”

He catches it, grin spreading like he’s won something important. “Deal.”

As he ties the apron on himself you realize too late what you’ve done. You’ve let Jake back into your kitchen.

You regret the decision to let him back into your kitchen (and your life) almost immediately. It starts innocently enough. You hand Jake the mixing bowl while you line another baking sheet, explaining that the key is gentle folding. He nods along, expression solemn, like you’ve just entrusted him with something sacred.

Then he starts mixing like he’s trying to fight the dough.

“Jake,” you say, watching the spoon scrape aggressively against the bowl, “you’re not trying to win.”

“I am absolutely trying to win,” he replies, arm pumping with unnecessary enthusiasm. “This dough is testing me.”

“It’s cookie dough.”

“It started it.”

Before you can stop him, he dips a finger into the bowl and brings it straight to his mouth.

“Hey—” you protest.

He hums thoughtfully, eyes lighting up. “Wow. That’s good.”

“You can’t just—” You swat at his hand, but he dodges easily, grinning like he’s fifteen again.

“What? Quality control.”

“You’re going to eat half of it.”

“And?”

You turn back to your work with a huff, muttering something under your breath about men and impulse control. That’s when you feel it, a light tap against your cheek.

You lift your finger to your face and pull away to check. White powdery soft flour.

Slowly, you turn to look at him. His finger is still extended, dusted white, his expression perfectly innocent. Too innocent.

“Did you just—” you say flatly.

“Accident,” he says, not even trying to sound convincing.

You scoop a handful of flour and flick it right back at him.

“Oh, it is on.”

The kitchen dissolves into chaos after that. Flour dusts the air, coats the counter, smears across his sweater and your jeans. You laugh so hard your sides start to ache, chasing him around the island until he traps you between the counter and his body, both of you breathless.

He wins, eventually. Like he always did.

Jake stands there, flour streaked across his cheekbone, hair dusted white, chest rising and falling as he grins down at you like he’s conquered something important.

“Victory,” he declares.

“You’re impossible,” you say, wiping at your face.

He glances around, eyes landing on the grocery bag still sitting on the counter. His grin sharpens.

“Oh,” he says. “I almost forgot.”

He reaches in and pulls out one of the big ass candy canes that always start popping up after Thanksgiving in stores, holding it up like a prized artifact.

“You did not,” you warn.

“I absolutely did.” He unwraps it with exaggerated care. “These are structurally sound enough to be considered weaponized holiday equipment.”

“You’re not serious.”

He twirls it once, clumsy but enthusiastic. “En garde.”

You grab the nearest spatula in self-defense. “This is ridiculous.”

“You’re just afraid you’ll lose,” he teases, stepping closer.

You duel across the kitchen, laughter echoing off the cabinets. He advances, you retreat, until your back hits the counter and there’s nowhere left to go. He plants one hand beside you, candy cane raised in the other, suddenly much too close.

For half a second, the air changes. You can feel his warmth, smell sugar, and something distinctly just him, and hear your own heartbeat loud in your ears. His gaze drops just briefly to your mouth. 

Then you smell it. The all too familiar scent of burnt sugar.

You lean against the counter, arms crossed, staring into the oven like it personally betrayed you.

“Well,” you say flatly, “those are dead.”

Jake peers over your shoulder, hands on his hips. “Yeah. No amount of frosting is bringing those back.”

You pull the tray out and set it on the stove with a resigned sigh. The cookies are…aggressively brown. Charred at the edges. A casualty of poor decision-making and weaponized holiday equipment.

“That one’s on me,” Jake admits. “I got distracted.”

You arch a brow. “By what? The thrill of victory?”

He grins. “Worth it.”

Despite yourself, you laugh. The tension that had been buzzing between you since the candy cane incident eases, settling into something quieter, easier.

“Okay,” you say, rolling up your sleeves again. “Round two.”

Jake straightens immediately. “Coach put me back in.”

This time, you move with more purpose. You scoop flour carefully. He cracks eggs surprisingly well , like he’s done this before and didn’t want you to know. You catch him sneaking a swipe of dough anyway, but he does it slower now, less feral.

“You know,” he says casually, “these were always your thing. Christmas cookies.”

You pause, measuring sugar. “Yeah. Guess some habits stick.”

He hums in agreement, and for a moment, you’re not thirty and hopelessly single and standing in your childhood kitchen you’re sixteen again sneaking dough and pretending the future isn’t coming for you both.

You sigh, rubbing your face. “I need a break.”

He gestures toward the living room, where the firelight flickers invitingly. “We could relax on the couch while those bake?”

You hesitate just for a second, then follow him. 

The living room feels different once you’re in it together. You watch as Jake drops onto the couch like he belongs there. 

You linger for half a second, watching the firelight flicker across his face as he reaches for the remote. The flames snap and crackle, throwing warm gold across the walls, across the mantle strung with lights you swore you’d take down weeks ago.

“You still got Die Hard?” He asks, already scrolling like the answer is obviously yes.

You snort. “Of course I do. But no.”

He looks over, offended on a spiritual level. “Wow. Cold. I fly all the way from Key West and you deny me tradition?”

“It is not a Christmas movie.”

“It is absolutely a Christmas movie,” he says, jabbing a thumb toward the TV as if Bruce Willis himself might back him up. “Snow? Family drama? Reconciliation? A man crawling through vents for love? Classic holiday themes.”

You sink onto the opposite end of the couch, hugging a throw pillow to your chest. “By that logic, every action movie with feelings is a Christmas movie.”

“Now you’re getting it.” He grins, wide and boyish, the same grin that used to undo you in high school hallways. “Top three. Non-negotiable.”

He hits play before you can argue again, volume low enough that the fire still fills the room with its soft hiss and pop. The opening credits roll, and Jake immediately starts quoting badly.

“‘Come out to the coast,’” he mutters, botching the cadence entirely. “‘We’ll get together, have a few laughs.’”

“That is not how he says it,” you laugh, despite yourself.

Jake turns, pointing at you like he’s caught you. “You know the line.”

“Unfortunately.”

The couch dips as he shifts closer, not quite touching, but close enough that you’re suddenly very aware of the very small space between you. Your knee brushes his thigh when you adjust, a brief, accidental contact that sends something sharp and familiar straight to your stomach.

The firelight dances over his hands: strong, steady, dusted with flour you missed earlier while cleaning up after the food fight. He smells like clean soap and cold air and sugar, and the combination feels unfair.

Nostalgia sneaks in quietly, uninvited: late-night movies, whispered jokes, the way your heart used to race just sitting this close. Jake leans back, stretching an arm along the back of the couch, not quite behind you. Not touching. Just…there. Like a question he hasn’t asked.

“You always liked this part,” he says softly, nodding toward the screen. “Said it was funny watching tough guys get sentimental.”

You swallow. “I still do.”

His gaze lingers on you instead of the TV, something unreadable passing through his eyes. The teasing edge softens. The room feels warmer. Smaller.

The fire pops again, louder this time, and you laugh quietly, breaking the moment before it gets too heavy.

Then he goes and ruins the moment. Jake mutters another horribly misquoted line under his breath, which is shocking for someone who claims to love this movie, he doesn’t seem to know any of the lines, then he reaches for the remote like he owns it, and you react on instinct.

“Oh no you don’t,” you say, lunging for it.

He laughs, startled, fingers tightening as you grab the other end. “Hey, hey this is a classic scene!”

“You’ve already ruined three,” you protest, tugging. “You don’t get to narrate and quote.”

The remote jerks between you, the movie volume blipping louder, then quieter. Jake shifts closer, bracing his foot against the coffee table for leverage.

“You’re cheating,” he says, grinning.

“I am absolutely not—”

You lean across him to get a better grip, stretching over his lap, your weight tipping forward more than you expect. Jake’s laughter cuts off as he instinctively catches you, hands sliding to your hips to keep you from face planting into his chest.

Everything stops. You’re half kneeling, half hovering over him, the remote forgotten and still clutched loosely in your hand. Your knees sink into the couch cushion on either side of his thigh. His palms are warm, firm, spread at your waist like they’ve been there before, like they remember being there.

Your chest is inches from his face. You can feel his breath against your sweater, steady but suddenly… heavier. His eyes flick from your mouth to your eyes and back again, like he’s trying to decide where to look and failing at all of it.

The fire pops loudly, sparks snapping up the chimney, but neither of you moves.

“Uh,” Jake says softly.

“This is not what it looks like.”

His mouth twitches. “I’m not sure what it looks like.”

His hands flex slightly at your hips before he stills them again, like he’s reminding himself not to pull you closer. Or maybe not to let go. It’s impossible to tell.

You should move. You don’t.

The space between you feels charged now, like the air before a storm. The teasing, the joking…it’s all fallen away, replaced by something slower and heavier that presses against your ribs. 

Jake swallows. His voice comes lower, quieter. “You okay?”

You nod, even though your heart is doing something reckless. “Yeah. Just… stuck.”

“Yeah,” he says, eyes never leaving yours. “I noticed.”

The remote slips from your fingers, clattering softly onto the rug. Neither of you reacts.

The firelight paints his face in gold and shadow, familiar angles softened by warmth and memory. You can see it there, in his eyes: the same thought you’re trying not to have.

“This is a bad idea, Jake,” you say, barely louder than the fire.

His thumbs press in the slightest bit at your hips, not enough to be a move, just enough to remind you he’s there. The contact sends a shiver up your spine that you absolutely refuse to acknowledge.

You lean back just enough to put an inch of space between you, forcing yourself to breathe. His hands drop immediately, respectful, controlled, and somehow that makes it harder.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I know.”

The fire pops again, loud in the quiet, and you become acutely aware of everything—the warmth bleeding through the room, the faint sugar and vanilla still clinging to your clothes, the way your knees are still bracketing his without touching.

“I think,” he cuts in gently, and then stops. Shakes his head once, like he’s recalibrating. “I think we should stop before someone, namely me, gets hurt. You know don’t want word getting back to the boys that you kicked my ass in a wrestling match.”

You nod, even as your heart stutters. “That’s…probably smart. I’d definitely tell Coyote.”

“Besides…” Jake’s mouth twitches into a small, crooked smile. “I’m not exactly known for smart decisions when it comes to you.”

That does it. Whatever string of restraint holding you back snaps, and before you can overthink it or remember every single reason why you shouldn’t, you lean in.

Jake’s hands dig into your hips as he meets you halfway. The kiss is soft at first. Like he’s asking without words. You answer by pressing closer.

The firelight flickers across his closed eyes, his brow creasing slightly as the kiss deepens—slow, unhurried, full of everything you never said back then and everything you’ve been trying not to feel now. His thumb brushes your side, absent but reverent, like he’s memorizing the shape of you.

You kiss him like you’ve waited years.

Jake kisses you like he knows it.

When you finally pull back, foreheads resting together, both of you are breathing harder than you should be.

“Well,” he mutters, a breathless laugh slipping out, “that was… not stopping.”

You smile despite yourself. “No.”

His eyes soften, something vulnerable flickering there. “You okay?”

You nod. “Yeah. I just—” You hesitate, then add quietly, “I don’t regret it.”

His grip loosens, not letting go completely. “Good. Because neither do I.”

The moment lingers as you look into each other’s eyes. Then the faint, unmistakable smell of burning sugar drifts in from the kitchen.

Your eyes widen. “Oh no.”

Jake’s head snaps up. “The cookies.”

You scramble apart, laughter breaking through the tension as you bolt for the kitchen, Jake right behind you.

-

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The precinct never really sleeps, but it does slow down. By the time you’re finishing up your paperwork, the bullpen has thinned to a low hum of keyboards clacking, a printer whining in protest, someone down the hall laughing too loud at something that probably isn’t that funny. Your coffee has gone cold beside you, forgotten sometime around your third attempt to make sense of a report that should’ve been straightforward and somehow wasn’t.

You rub at your eyes and glance at the clock. End of shift. Almost.

That’s when you feel it, the subtle shift in the room before you actually see him.

Gary Johnson steps inside like he always does: unassuming, neat, posture relaxed but alert in a way that suggests he’s taking in more than he lets on. He’s not in uniform, never is, but he moves through the precinct with a familiarity that tells you he belongs here, at least partially. Consulting, assisting, checking in…whatever his role is this week, it’s never been fully explained to you. Not that you’ve asked.

He pauses at the front desk to exchange a few words with the desk sergeant, voice low and polite. Always polite. You’ve noticed that. He thanks people. Remembers their names.. Makes eye contact. Doesn’t rush.

You’ve met him a handful of times now. Enough that your brain supplies his name automatically when you see him. Enough that he nods at you when his gaze sweeps the room, and then stops.

“Hey,” he says, already angling toward your desk.

“Hey,” you reply, sitting up a little straighter without meaning to. “Long day?”

He smiles, small and wry. “Seems like that’s the default around here.”

You huff a quiet laugh. “You’re not wrong.”

This is how it usually goes. Easy. Brief. Orbiting the edges of something without ever stepping closer. You know the basics: his name, his demeanor, the way he listens like he’s filing things away for later. He knows yours, asks about your shifts sometimes, whether it’s been busy out in the Quarter or quiet along the river.

Once, weeks ago, you’d traded a dry joke about coffee being a food group. Another time, he’d held the door for you and said, “Stay safe out there.”

Nothing deeper than that.

And yet.

He drops a slim folder onto the desk of one of the detectives nearby, exchanges a few more words, then lingers by your workstation.

“You heading out?” He asks.

“Trying to,” you say, tapping the stack of papers. “This report’s fighting me.”

“Those are the worst kind,” he says. 

His eyes flick to the paperwork, then back to your face. Observant. Always. Before you can respond, a voice cuts across the room.

“Hey before anyone disappears,” the lieutenant calls out, clapping his hands once. “Quick reminder. Annual charity toy drive is this Saturday. We’re finalizing volunteer assignments.”

A few groans ripple through the bullpen, but they’re half hearted. You straighten a little, interest piqued. You volunteer most years when you can. It’s one of the few things that still feels uncomplicated.

The lieutenant starts reading names off a clipboard.

When he gets to yours, you nod absently.

“Johnson. You’re paired with her.”

Your head snaps up.

Gary’s eyebrows lift just a fraction as he looks at you, surprise flickering across his face before smoothing out into something like amusement.

“Well,” he says lightly. “Looks like we’re assigned together.”

“Looks like it,” you echo, unsure why your chest feels suddenly warm.

The lieutenant keeps talking, the room shifts back into motion, but something has changed. Awareness sharpens, settles between you like a quiet hum.

Gary offers you a smile. “See you Saturday, then.”

“Yeah,” you say. “Saturday.”

He turns to go, already blending back into the rhythm of the precinct, but your eyes linger a second longer than necessary.

You watch him leave, mind drifting…not to his role here, or the cases he works, or the version of him you see under fluorescent lights and departmental protocol.

You wonder what Gary Johnson is like outside the precinct. And why the thought stays with you long after your shift finally ends.

* * * * * * * * * *

The community center looks nothing like it does during the rest of the year. Strings of white lights are draped along the walls, tinsel looped around folding tables, and a slightly crooked Christmas tree is  glowing in the corner of the room. 

There’s Christmas music playing, and the air smells faintly of coffee, cardboard, and pine scented cleaner.

You step inside, shrugging off the cold, scanning the room for a familiar face. You find him almost immediately.

Gary stands near the donation table, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, a paper cup of coffee balanced in one hand as he listens to a volunteer explain something with animated seriousness. He nods along,brows drawn just slightly like he’s committing every word to memory. When he thanks them, it’s sincere enough that they beam before hurrying off.

He looks…different out of the precinct. Looser. Softer around the edges. Still observant, still composed, but without fluorescent lights flattening him into something purely professional. The rolled sleeves help. So does the faint smile he wears when he spots you hovering near the entrance.

“Hey,” he says, lifting his cup in a small salute. “You made it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” you reply, stepping closer. “Looks like you beat me here.”

“They put me to work immediately.” He gestures to the chaos behind him. “Apparently I give off ‘helpful’ vibes.”

You snort. “Yeah. Tragic reputation for you.”

There’s a brief pause after that. Nothing uncomfortable exactly, just the two of you recalibrating. No desks between you. No uniforms. No clear script.

“So,” he says after a beat, glancing around. “Do we…check in somewhere? Or do they just unleash us?”

Before you can answer, a coordinator swoops in with a clipboard and a harried smile. 

“You two together?” she asks, already writing something down.

“Looks like it,” Gary says easily.

“Perfect. You’ll start over here sorting donations, then rotate to gift wrapping and directing families. Holler if you need anything.”

And just like that, you’re assigned your job. You fall into sorting toys side by side, kneeling on opposite ends of a long table piled high with donated bags and boxes. Cars, dolls, board games, stuffed animals. Some brand new, some clearly well loved but still in good shape.

“This feels like a test,” you murmur, holding up a box that rattles ominously.

Gary peers over. “I think that one’s supposed to do that.”

“Concerning.”

He smiles, brief but genuine, and the knot in your shoulders loosens a notch.

As the minutes tick by, the work settles into a rhythm. You call out categories. He slides items into the right piles. You trade places without discussing it when one side gets overloaded. At some point, without comment, he refills your empty coffee cup from a communal pot before returning to his own task.

You notice things about Gary that you’ve never noticed before. Like the way he crouches to talk to kids so he’s at eye level. The way he listens to parents without interrupting, nodding along, never rushing them even when there’s a line forming behind. The way he watches the room, not in a guarded way just attentive, like he wants to make sure everything’s running smoothly.

When a donation box tips over and toys scatter across the floor, you drop to help gather them, heart rate spiking as the noise draws attention.

“I’ve got it,” Gary says calmly, already kneeling beside you. He takes the heavier boxes without being asked, blocking the chaos from your line of sight. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you say, exhaling. “Just didn’t see that coming.”

Later, while directing families toward the right tables, you catch him watching you. When you make eye contact, he doesn’t look away immediately. Just lifts a brow, like he’s sharing the moment with you.

“Good crowd,” you say during a lull.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Good to see a turn out like this.

As the afternoon wears on, the initial politeness fades into something easier. You trade dry commentary under your breath. Share a look when the music skips. Laugh quietly when a kid insists a stuffed dinosaur is “for babies” and then refuses to let go of it.

At one point, while wrapping gifts together, your hands brush. Neither of you pulls away right away.

“Sorry,” you both say at once.

You laugh. He does too. The moment passes, but it leaves something behind.

By the time the first families start leaving with arms full of toys, you realize you haven’t once checked the clock. Working beside Gary feels…natural.

And that, more than anything, catches you off guard.

The cold hits you the moment you step outside.

It’s sharper than you expect, slipping past your jacket and settling against your skin like a reminder to stay present. The noise from inside dulls as the door closes behind you, replaced by the muted sounds of the street and the faint hum of traffic somewhere beyond the community center. White lights glow through the windows, blurring softly against the dark.

Gary exhales beside you, a visible puff of breath curling into the air.

“Didn’t realize how loud it was in there until just now,” he says.

You nod, rolling your shoulders. “Yeah. I think my ears were ringing.”

He hands you a paper cup without ceremony. “Hot chocolate. They were running low on coffee, sofigured this was safer.”

You take it, fingers brushing his for half a second longer than necessary. “You figured right.”

The cup is warm against your palms. Comforting. You take a sip and let out a quiet hum before you can stop yourself.

“That good?” He asks, amused.

“Shockingly,” you admit. “Might be the cold.”

“Might be the marshmallows,” he counters, nodding toward the top.

You smile, leaning back against the brick wall. For a moment, neither of you speaks. You just stand there, shoulder to shoulder without quite touching, steam rising from your cups and disappearing into the night.

Snow hasn’t started yet, but the air smells like it might. Clean. Anticipatory.

Gary breaks the silence first. “So…you do this every year?”

“Volunteer?” You ask.

“Yeah.”

You nod. “When I can. It’s rewarding.” You search for the right word, then shrug. “Reminds me why I got into this job in the first place.”

He hums thoughtfully. “Helping people?”

“Something like that.” You glance at him. “What about you? You seem pretty comfortable in there.”

He smiles faintly. “That’s not usually the word people use.”

“No,” you agree. “But it fits.”

He takes a sip of his drink, eyes fixed somewhere across the parking lot. 

“I keep coming back because it’s simple,” he says after a moment. “At least…simpler than most things I do for the department.”

You wait.

“At the precinct,” he continues, quieter now, “everyone knows who they’re supposed to be. There are rules. Expectations. Lines you don’t cross.” He shrugs. “Here, it’s just show up. Help out. Don’t make things harder than they already are.”

“That sounds like you,” you say before you can stop yourself.

He looks at you then, really looks. “Does it?”

You nod. “You pay attention. You don’t try to be the loudest person in the room. You show up.”

Something softens in his expression. “You notice a lot.”

“Occupational hazard,” you tease gently.

He huffs a laugh, then grows thoughtful again. 

“This might sound strange,” he says, “but being here it’s one of the few times I feel like myself.”

The words land heavier than you expect. You don’t respond right away. Instead, you shift your weight, your shoulder brushing his this time. Neither of you moves away.

“I get that,” you say finally. “Out there” you tilt your head toward the building “you’re not a role. Or a rank. Or whatever label people want to slap on you. You’re just…Gary.”

He smiles at that. Small. Real.

“And you,” he says, “you’re not just a badge.”

The air between you tightens, charged with everything neither of you is quite ready to name.

Your hands hang at your sides, close enough that you’re acutely aware of the space between them. A fraction of an inch. A choice.

Gary glances down just briefly then back up to your face. His breath fogs in the cold, slower now. There’s a moment. Suspended. Fragile. You wonder, fleetingly, what it would be like to reach for him. To close that distance. To see if the warmth you feel has somewhere to go.

Instead, you take another sip of hot chocolate. He mirrors the movement, a smile tugging at his mouth like he knows exactly what just passed between you.

Inside, someone laughs loudly. A door opens and closes. Life continues. But out here, in the cold air and quiet, something has shifted.

And neither of you quite wants to step back inside just yet.

By the time the last family leaves, the community center feels hollowed out in the gentlest way.

The music has been turned down, the once-busy tables now cluttered with discarded ribbon and empty boxes. Someone unplugs a strand of lights and half the room goes dim, shadows stretching long across the floor. The tree in the corner still glows, stubbornly festive even as the night winds down.

You stack folding chairs with tired arms, your body pleasantly sore. It’s the good kind of exhaustion—the kind that settles in your bones and tells you the day mattered.

Gary moves through the space nearby, collecting stray cups, returning unused toys to their boxes. You fall into step without talking, passing things back and forth with an ease that feels earned. When your hands brush this time, neither of you apologizes.

“Good turnout,” you say eventually.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Really good.”

The coordinator thanks everyone, voice warm with relief, and volunteers begin to trickle out, coats pulled on, goodbyes exchanged. The room empties faster than you expect.

Suddenly, it’s just the two of you.

You glance around, a little surprised by the quiet. “I guess that’s it.”

“Guess so,” Gary says.

He lingers, like he’s waiting for something. He rubs a hand at the back of his neck, eyes flicking toward the door, then back to you.

You recognize the look. The hesitation before a choice.

“I was thinking,” he starts, then stops. A breath. “If you’re not in a rush…”

You wait, heart ticking a little faster.

“There’s a place down the street,” he continues. “Still open, I think. We could grab coffee. Or take a walk. Nothing big.” He offers a small, hopeful smile. “Just…not end the day yet.”

The room seems to hold its breath with you.

“I’d like that,” you say, and you mean it more than you expected.

His shoulders relax, the smile widening just enough to give him away. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Outside, the cold greets you again, softer this time. The streetlights cast a golden glow over the sidewalk, the air quiet in that post-event calm. You walk side by side, close enough to feel his warmth without touching.

At the corner, he gestures toward the coffee shop. “This way.”

You nod, falling into step with him.

As you walk, your hands swing naturally at your sides until they don’t. Until they drift closer, knuckles brushing once, twice. Neither of you pulls away. His fingers curl, tentative, asking. You let yours answer. Your hands fit together easily, like they’ve been trying to find each other all night. You glance up at him, catching the way his smile turns soft and unguarded when he realizes you’re still there. Still choosing this.

“This feels…” he starts, then laughs quietly. “Simple. In a good way.”

You squeeze his hand gently. “Let’s not overthink it.”

“Deal,” he says.

The coffee shop glows ahead of you, warm and inviting, but it’s not the destination that matters. It’s the walk. The shared silence. The promise unfolding between steps.

This isn’t an ending.

It’s the start of something small and real, something you’re both finally ready to step into.

-

Tags:

If looks could kill, you’d be dead right now. Good thing you’re impervious to Jake’s deadly glares. Any other person would’ve cowered, would’ve immediately yielded to his demands. But not you. Never you. It’s the only reason why you’ve survived as long as you have with him; that and being one of his oldest friends who takes no shit from him.

When the melody begins to play, his brows furrow at the sheet music before him. You can practically see him tapping his finger on his thigh, a habit to start counting and matching the beat to get into the rhythm. While this broody energy is not the one you want him to bring into a cheerful holiday song, you give him some grace considering this is him on his best behavior, particularly when you know the ask isn’t easy for him to do.

Jake Seresin is a man with a lot of pride. That pride comes from a rightful place of talent, skill, and dedication over the years to mold his career into the exact shape he wants it to be. He has always been a big believer in a musician’s genuine artistry over the mass-produced, soul-sucking, radio-targeting songs that many songwriters choose to do today. He would never sacrifice his craft for the sake of money.

It’s why he finds himself in this predicament today.

Times are changing. With that comes the change in taste. Those who spend money on music are no longer adults who idolize rock and roll, who blast the legends on repeat on their record players. Now, they are people who love nostalgic pop hits and mainstream upbeat tunes that go viral on social media. There’s nothing wrong with it, it’s just a sign of the times, but Jake absolutely loathes it.

Mainly because it’s not the kind of music he wants to write, or sing, or publish. Because of this, it means his fanbase is dwindling and so are his album sales, particularly his most recent one which underperformed against the target so much so that the head honcho of the record label had to step in and ask you what the ever loving fuck? Jake had been his cash cow after all. Now, he’s just on his way to becoming a has-been! His words, not yours.

But you’ve been with Jake from the start — when he was making music out of his bedroom, then his parents’ basement, and then into small studios before joining the big leagues. He went from underground gigs where he got booed off stage, to fifty-person shows at local clubs, to selling out stadium tours with nearly a hundred thousand in capacity. You’ve seen how much he has grown, how much he has changed. You respect the hell out of him for that; it’s why you’ve stuck around so long.

Well, that but also the fact that nobody else can put up with this diva. God knows how many times you’ve considered quitting, tried finding your replacement, only to decide that you wouldn’t subject any other poor sucker to the job of putting up with Jake Seresin.

Despite all this, you can complain about him all you want, but you love this man like family. He’s your best friend, in the loosest sense of the word. He has seen you through your highest and lowest, the same way you have done for him. He has supported you through that depressing post-college unemployment period before he offered you the opportunity of a lifetime. He made you a nepo friend before you could even sign on that dotted line. It’s why you’re here today, making a generous salary from a very generous friend who thought you deserved it.

However, this assignment you have placed on his shoulders may be too much to bear. You may finally be asking too much of him.

Out of all the things you’ve asked him to do before, this may be his greatest challenge yet. Because you are asking him to create a holiday hit.

A rendition of a classic Christmas song after negotiating the rights for it. It’ll still be heavily pop, but you trust Mark to twist in Jake’s usual sound into it. When you told him to head into the studio this morning, he never expected you to ask this of him.

“Absolutely not,” he harrumphed. You pointed once to the recording booth and he marched his ass right in there. It’s why he has been sulking all morning. You told him he’s not leaving this room until he sings the perfect Christmas song, good enough to take down good old Mariah Carey and whoever else only comes around this season.

Despite his protests, Jake sounds good. Really good. He always does. It’s what put his name amongst the stars in the first place. His career has been on a steep upward trajectory for a decade now. Hit after hit. It certainly doesn’t hurt that he is a typical blue-green-eyed dirty-blonde man with a slightly rugged touch. He tests well with both men and women. Magazines with exclusive photoshoots sell out as quickly as his albums do.

All you want to do is put him back on the map where he belongs. Jake still makes fantastic music, is still incredibly passionate about his craft. He’s just had… one too many distractions lately. By lately you mean the last few years when his reputation has been riddled with one scandal after another.

If it’s not a supermodel’s heart he’s breaking, then it’s a drug issue. Or excessive partying. Or being a foul-mouthed asshole to assholes who piss him off, assholes who are willing to sell their story to tabloids about how rockstar Jake Seresin cursed him out for serving his friend the wrong salad. Mind you, Jake had been out with a friend who was severely allergic to nuts, asked multiple times to verify that there were no nuts, asked the waiter politely to please swap out the salad when he saw nuts, and the waiter brought him another salad. A salad with peanut dressing. Poor Bob.

Nobody wants to touch that hot mess with a ten-foot pole. It’s a liability. If he doesn’t get his act together, he’ll be stuck doing small-time (but beloved) podcasts forever, ones that even you admittedly haven’t listened to. Not that you usually do, podcasts are the bane of your existence.

To his credit, Jake has been trying. He has been squeaky clean over the last year or so. No drugs. No crazy parties. No naked runs through the city’s biggest park at peak hours. He has been good. Well-behaved. 

Now, you want to bring him back to what matters. His music. That is, once he is completely back on the good graces of the general public. It all starts with a Christmas song.

Mark looks up at you from the soundbooth, doubt written all over his expression. “Is this really a good idea? I mean, I know he hasn’t been doing so hot, but a Christmas song? It’s not very him.”

You’ve had to justify this to your boss (Jake), your boss’ boss (record label CEO), and now his producer is last on the list. “I think we can inject his sound into a Christmas song. It definitely isn’t what he usually does but it’s not exactly a terrible shift for him. He needs this to worm his way back into people’s hearts. Like a little disease crawling back in, you know.”

“Not a promising visual.”

“I trust you and him to bring my vision to life. I think we can do this. I’ve been doing all the pre-release work. Promotions are out, marketing is on full force.”

“How did you get all of that out without him realizing?”

You huff, “You’d be surprised by how much I control what he consumes on a daily basis.”

As much as you want to keep this charade going, you need to face his reality as his manager. If this man wants to maintain his ridiculously exorbitant lifestyle in his ridiculously exorbitant penthouse with a ridiculously exorbitant mortgage, then he has to suck it up. He has to learn that some people have had to make sacrifices for the greater good; in this case, the greater good is his career.

When Jake fumbles over a lyric, his eyes flick up at you for a brief second, but you’re already ahead of it, pressing the button to cut the music.

“Run it again, Seresin.”

“Damn it!”

However, again, without another whine, Jake does as he is told. He doesn’t look happy doing it, but he does it anyway. He does it again and again and again until you decide you have the perfect take. Mark layers in instruments in between, pieces of a puzzle that would make the song more Jake.

“You know what, it’s not half bad,” Mark nods, clearly proud of himself. “I think we may have ourselves a new Christmas hit.”

A smile stretches across your face and you finally look up at Jake who is still looking at you with a very sour expression. “Good job, Seresin. Let’s wrap it up.”

“Finally!”

“Oh, boo hoo, you have to do your job,” you mock him with a roll of your eyes. “There are worse things you can do than sing a Christmas song.”

“In this very moment, I can actually think of none.”

—

When you really think about it, you really are going above and beyond for your boss. It’s the only reason why so many candidates have dropped out of being Jake’s potential manager, or even his second assistant. The man is incredibly high-maintenance.

You function professionally as a manager who organizes and controls his schedule, screens all fanmail for inappropriate paraphernalia, fields interview requests from late night hosts and magazines, and ensures that he gets to every single activity you’ve booked him for in a timely manner and with the appropriate clothes.

However, on top of all of that, you are also acting as a babysitter — making sure he eats enough, making sure he takes his daily vitamins, making sure he gets his IDs and passports renewed, making sure he doesn’t walk into incoming traffic when he’s too busy texting his old college friends. You are also the one who makes sure this man gets up on time, especially when he was out drinking his liver to death the previous night.

Sunlight bathes the room when you swish the curtains open, removing all traces of darkness, including the shadows cast upon Jake’s massive bed. He lets out a loud groan and burrows himself deeper into his pillows, shoving his head underneath one. “I fucking regret giving you your own key,” Jake mumbles against his Egyptian cotton.

“Who would find you when you finally drink yourself to death then? Your body would be cold and rotting by the time anyone thinks to check on you.”

“You’re mean.”

“That’s why you pay me,” you smile, dragging the blankets off him.

It’s a mistake. A huge one. Massive really. Because then you are subjected to the sight of Jake Seresin in nothing but his briefs. His biceps flex, muscles protruding, as he holds onto his pillow tight. When he rolls over, you see his abs in their full glory. All hard lines, chiseled planes, which all seem incredibly unfair given his abysmal consumption habits. Even the alcohol last night does nothing to hide how fucking fit he is. His legs stretch out long, thighs tensing where they curl up into his body.

Worst of all, you can see his morning wood straining against the cotton. Thick. Long. The outline leaves little to the imagination. You can practically see the tip peeking out.

You force yourself to look away, heat crawling up your neck at the state of him. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before; in fact, you probably have seen too much of him as someone who has never been his lover, long term or otherwise. 

“Jake, we have a couple of interviews to hit today. Come on.”

It is then he chooses to jerk up, eyes blown wide. The light catches in his eyes, reflecting more of the green flecks in his irises. His gaze is iridescent. “Wait, didn’t the song go up last night? How’s it been? Is it bad? Is my career officially over?”

“Okay, drama queen, why don’t you get your ass into the shower first? I’ll run you through the numbers and what to expect today.”

Jake presses his lips in defiance, but once again, does as he is told. A manchild as many would say. You’re just used to him being a brat around you. Jake is relatively self-reliant otherwise. You’ve seen him survive the weeks you were gone on vacation or when you went back home to visit your parents. He can manage by himself, he just chooses not to. Not when he has you.

It would be a lie to say it isn’t flattering to a certain extent. You like how much he relies on you, even if it sometimes drives you up the wall. It feels nice to be needed, especially by someone like him. Someone who is incredibly capable.

Well, you say this as you’re working to knot his tie, looping the fabric around.

“You really need to learn how to do your own tie.”

“Why would I when I have you?” Jake grins cheekily, popping a cheerio into his mouth. It’s become a habit for you to carry around a ziploc of cereal. It is how he chooses to start his day and he takes a handful while you help him pick out his outfit in the morning.

“What if I’m not around?” You sigh, tugging the knot up to his neck.

Jake frowns down at you. Genuine hurt flashing across his eyes. “Why wouldn’t you be around?”

You throw him a look, which he ignores. Like manager, like artist.

This routine is similar to when he had been booked and busy. When he wasn’t on tour, Jake was out there doing big press events, interviews from sunrise to sunset, and one-off performances for television segments. Since his last album didn’t do so hot, you didn’t have to filter through too many requests, picking and choosing the biggest opportunities.

But with this new Christmas song — well, let’s just say that you were working overtime last night the moment the song dropped. It’s a miracle that you’ve been able to keep the man off social media as long as you have given the ramp-up around the release.

“Darlin’, how does this look?”

You turn away from his floor-to-ceiling windows with the impeccable view of the city; this really is a ridiculously exorbitant apartment. However, when your eyes land on Jake, your breath is knocked straight out of your lungs. Jake cleans up nice. You’ve always known that, but it’s been a while since you’ve seen him like this.

With rockstars, they have a constant rotation of t-shirts, leather jackets, and silver jewelry that go on repeat. Their entire look is built on caring less about their appearance, more about their music. Jake has never been any different. Even with how princessy he acts — and god knows how much time he spends on his hair every morning, he’s not one to waste time choosing clothes and getting himself dolled up. 

Unlike today.

He is dressed in a suit. A very impeccable, custom-tailored suit. 

“Why am I wearing this again?” He frowns. “I feel like a fuckin’ penguin.”

He fiddles around uncomfortably with the necktie, glaring at it like it’s personally offended him. You swat his hand away and instead focus on adjusting the lapels of his jacket. “Because both of us are on thin ice after your last album. However, the big boss wants to see you after the song release last night.”

“Should I start scoping out whatever job-seeking platform you were on? Remember the one you were crying about like eight years ago.”

It’s your turn to throw him a dirty look. “Cute.” He flashes you that charming grin, your heart beats against your ribcage. You flatten your palms against his chest with a sigh once he looks ready to go. “Let’s hope not, so let’s not give him another reason to cut you loose, alright? I’ll run you through your schedule in the car.”

Jake’s hand reaches up and curls around yours. He lifts it like he’s inspecting it. “Didn’t you get that gold bracelet recently? You’re not wearing it.”

“It was a cheap find, I lost it somewhere. I need to find a better one anyway. Investment piece and whatnot.”

“Trying to get me to get you one?”

You laugh. “If you’re feeling ever so generous.”

His lips tilt into a softer smile. None of that cocky performance he puts up for everyone else. It’s a smile that’s always been reserved for just you. His oldest friend.

“Thanks, darlin’,” he murmurs.

And for a second, you’re freshly graduated from college again, sitting on Jake’s bedroom floor and weeping to him about yet another rejection email. He’s tangled around you, long arms winding around you and his chin propped up on your head as he tells you that everything will be okay. You can still feel the press of his lips against your temple as he whispers, “I’ll make sure everything will be okay.”

But then you’re back to the present and Jake is no longer that same kid you grew up with. No, this Jake is a successful rockstar who strictly dates supermodels and actresses, the kinds you wished you grew up to be — only because those are the ones he cares about. None of the people he has dated so far ever looked like you. Not even remotely. He has a type and he sticks to it.

“No need to thank me,” you clear your throat, shifting away to pick up your bag, “that’s what you pay me for.”

When you look at him again, you swear you see a flicker of hurt cross his eyes, but it’s gone in a blink. Then that charming, plastic smile is back in place. “Let’s get out of here.”

With only a week and a half left before actual Christmas, you have your work cut out for you. Between pre-booked interviews you managed to get him on and additional segments that were added to his schedule last minute, Jake has his work cut out for him. You’re in the back of the car, seated right next to him, rattling off times and names for the day. You tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear when the car jolts over a pothole, Joel up front apologizing.

“So that’s everything for the day. Any questions?”

Your hand drifts back down to your lap, to the file settled on top of your stocking-clad legs. Jake doesn’t say a word, his gaze glued on the document. Irritation prickles your skin. You have a feeling he didn’t hear a word you said.

“Jake, did you—”

“Is that a new dress?” He looks up at you then, bright eyes finding yours.

The question is unexpected, catching you off guard. “What?”

“Never seen this dress before on you,” he says, sounding almost thoughtful. “Or those heels.”

You look down at your outfit. You bought a new dress over Black Friday. And a new pair of heels from a thrift shop down the block from you. Jake usually does notice these things, so it’s nothing surprising. You’re just not sure why that’s relevant in this very moment.

“Yes,” you say slowly.

“Looks good,” he clears his throat then glances out the window. The tips of his ears are pink and you frown, wondering if he’s warm enough, so you reach over and press the back of your hand against his forehead. Jake jerks back, pressing himself up against the car door. “What’re you doing?”

“Are you sick? Why are you red?”

“I—” he stops himself, biting his tongue. “Nothing. I’m not sick.”

Your lips pinch together doubtfully. “Should we stop by the pharmacy? You know you catch colds like a baby and we have so much planned this next week. Not to mention Christmas is around the corner and you don’t want to be sick for that.”

“My family’s traveling anyway, don’t think Christmas will be an issue,” he mumbles.

The look on his face pricks your heart. Jake has always been close with family but, over the last few years, he’s been relatively estranged. Between his never-ending schedule and his parents’ full-time farm in Texas, it’s difficult to fly to one place or the other. His parents also don’t entirely agree with his lifestyle, which only pushed Jake further away, digging himself deeper into the hole out of spite.

What you don’t tell him is that his parents still check in with you from time to time, asking you how he’s doing. There’s a lot of pride on both sides and all you want is for Jake to speak to them properly again, just like the old days. No more quick texts. No more two-minute calls.

For now, you instead say to him, “Well, I did invite you to my Christmas potluck.”

“Out of pity,” he drawls out.

“Because you’re my friend, dumbass,” you shoot right back.

“Your friends hate me.” You’re about to argue against it but clamp your mouth shut. “Thought so.”

“They don’t hate you,” you say, struggling to find the words. “They just… think I work too hard, but that’s not on you and I’ve made that very clear multiple times.”

“You do work too hard,” Jake notes with a stern look. “Keep tellin’ you to take a sabbatical and you don’t listen.”

“Who’s going to wipe your ass in the morning if I do?”

Jake glowers at you. “I can survive, you know. I’m not just going to drop dead just because you give yourself a break.”

“I know,” you say, softer. “I like working with you. I like building this thing with you, that’s why I’m here.”

His face melts, hard lines smoothing over as he tugs you close, kissing the top of your head. “I know, darlin’. I appreciate you. More than you know.”

That’s when you look up at him. Maybe you shouldn’t have done that because Jake, from this angle, still looks unfairly attractive. The stubble speckling his jaw, his bright pearly whites, and those mesmerizing eyes — the ones that have you falling in love with him over and over.

Before Jake can hear the way your heart threatens to beat straight out of your chest, you extract yourself from him and cough. “Anyways, do you have any questions about your schedule for the day?”

His lips twitch. “I ain’t going to lie, sweetheart. I didn’t hear a word you said. I was busy admiring you in that dress.”

“Jake!”

When Joel pulls up in front of HQ, you shoot him a quick smile. “We hopefully won’t be too long. I’ve sent over all the addresses for the remainder of the day. It’s a pretty tight schedule but I think I’ve allocated enough time for travel, even with city traffic.”

Joel thanks you and bids the two of you good luck. You’re really going to need it.

Your palms started sweating five blocks ago and you hate to wipe it on your perfectly good new dress. Your heels clack on the pavement as you drag Jake sulking behind you. The elevator ride up is quiet, partially because you’re nervous and partially because— well, you don’t know why Jake’s quiet. He’s never quiet.

“Why are you being so quiet?” You finally snap as the elevator beeps to indicate yet another floor.

Jake only responds two beeps later. “What do you mean?”

“You’re never this quiet. It makes me nervous.”

The corner of his lips tug into a smile, his side leaning against the elevator wall as he looks at you. “I make you nervous?”

Your pulse skips. Damn you, Seresin. He knows what he’s doing. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

You sear him with a glare. “You’re being too quiet. You usually can’t keep your mouth shut and yet here you are. Quiet..”

“You’re cute when you say quiet, say it again,” he lilts teasingly. .

That’s when you turn, arms crossed over your chest as you look at him. Beep, beep, beep. It almost feels like your heartrate on a monitor. “Jake, can you please be on your best behavior?”

“Thought the world liked me bad.”

“I don’t like you bad.”

“Then what do you like? What do you want me to be?”

“Jake,” you sigh, exasperated. “We’re not doing whatever the fuck this is you’re doing.”

“What is it I’m doing?”

Your pulse spikes in annoyance again. “I’m not entertaining this. We’re almost there and Bradley wants to see you.”

This time, his brows pinch to meet in the middle. “Bradley? Since when are you on a first-name basis with him?” His name rolls off your tongue with vexation laced into the single syllable. He pushes up off the wall and towards you, frown still firmly in place. “I’m serious. You been meeting him without me?”

His proximity, the whiff of his cologne, is entirely distracting. So is his broad chest in front of your eyes. It doesn’t fucking help when he looks delicious enough to eat in that suit, you’re this close to ripping it off with your teeth.

Self-control, you tell yourself. You need more of it. Maybe it’s time to finally invest in meditation. Or a self-help class on how to not want to screw your boss.

“I’ve met him a few times without you, yes,” you confess. You don’t know why this feels like an interrogation. You’re just meeting your boss’ boss. Sometimes you and Bradley strategize what Jake’s next step should be. He runs the label so it’s unsurprising you would want his input.

“Why didn’t you bring me?”

You give him a deadpan look. “You hate meeting him. You have literally told me that you’d rather be spitroasted as a sacrifice than sit in a room with him again.”

“That’s because he’s boring,” Jake shoots back, “so why are you meeting him?”

“It’s for work. We talk about your next album. We talk about marketing. He was the one who supported my idea for the Christmas song, by the way. So play nice.”

“And it’s usually just you and him?”

You’re about to scold him again for being so immature when the elevator finally halts on the top floor. The room is busy when you arrive, everyone’s hustling and bustling for the last stretch before the holidays. Record labels aren’t a fun place to be during this time when the music gets made. While not many artists choose to release new content during this time, there are always a few big names looking to capitalize on the season.

Including your very own.

“Wait, so it’s just you—”

Your name echoing down the hall has you looking up. Bradley’s strolling towards you, looking as put together as ever. If you see him walking down the street, you would never think he owns one of the biggest labels based out of the East Coast. He’s dressed in a simple crisp shirt and trousers, handsome as always. But he’s young, incredibly young for a CEO running a multi-million dollar business.

“Look at you,” Bradley grins. He’s got a smile that could power a whole city, might even give Jake a run for his money on who could be more charming. “Stunning.”

You can hear Jake’s scowl next to you.

Bradley then turns to Jake. “My man, it’s been a while. How’ve you been? My superstar.”

That has Jake alert. “Uh, what’s going on?”

Then Bradley turns back to face you, eyebrows jumping. “You haven’t told him?” Jake’s expression grows increasingly irritated; he hates being left out of the loop. “You’re a star again! Skyrocketed to the top of the charts. Nobody thought a new rock Christmas hit would do well with all the new pop Christmas albums popping up, but your manager here has good instincts. Eight million streams overnight! You’re on track to take down some records, my friend.”

Jake whips around to face you, surprise glittering in his eyes. “You’re serious? That stupid Christmas song?”

You smirk. “Yes, that stupid Christmas song.”

Bradley’s arm winds around Jake as he guides him down the hall. “Now, let’s talk about promotions.”

The rest of the meeting goes by relatively uneventfully. Bradley spends most of that time gushing about how excited he is for this song, how he plans to revive it every Christmas season to beat out you-know-who. At some point, you do have to interrupt and tell him that Jake has other events lined up for the day.

More than that, Jake looks exhausted. Bradley’s not usually a yapper, but when he’s having a good day, you can’t get him to shut up.

“Of course!” Bradley beams, shaking Jake’s hand eagerly. “If this song does as well as I think it will this season, you can write whatever the hell you want for your next album.” That has him perking up as he mumbles his thanks. Then Bradley turns his attention to you, arms wrapping around you in a tight hug. “And you, you genius, I hope Jake gives you such a fat bonus this year, you can get yourself a whole new wardrobe. This dress is beautiful.” He takes your hand and brings it up to his lips. “Happy holidays, sweet girl. Hope to see you soon.”

Before you can grace him with a response, Jake takes your hand and is already leading you stumbling and tripping down the hall. His stupid long legs and your painful heels. Before Bradley disappears from sight, you see the ghost of a smirk on his lips.

“Jake, shit, slow down.”

He stops abruptly, causing you to lose your balance into him. He quickly steadies you, eyebrows still puckered. “Sorry, shit. I didn’t mean to rush.”

“We’ve got time, I just figured you needed to get out of there.”

Jake stares at you for a second. His expression blank but you can see something more in the margins, something softer. “Right. Well, better early, right? Like you said, early is on-time and on-time is late.”

It’s your turn to raise an eyebrow at him. “Since when do you care about being on time?”

The remainder of the day seems to fly by. With two interviews lined up, both with performances of the song, Jake is caught in the whirlwind of it. After all, he’s never done these songs live and he has to memorize the lyrics in the car.

Fortunately, he’s good at playing his usual charismatic self, wooing everyone in the audience and his interviewers. The first one is your more casual daytime show, but the fun happens during the late-night segments taped late in the afternoon. Jake is focused on the task at hand, which is trying not to blink when fruits are thrown at the transparent screen in front of him. The object explodes when it gets shot straight at the surface and Jake manages to keep his eyes open, his composure intact.

You even let a giggle or two slip from the sidelines. Jake’s eyes fly to you more than a handful of times, as if seeking your approval, and he smiles in satisfaction when he sees the proud grin on your face.

Jake is in the middle of his short interview segment before his performance when your phone buzzes in your pocket. Looking at the caller ID, you mutter a quick crap before excusing yourself backstage.

“Hi, Mrs. Seresin, how are you doing? How’s Italy?”

“Oh, honey. I keep telling you you can call me Patty at this point.” Her voice crackles on the other side, her southern drawl much more prominent than Jake’s. Jake has been away for a while, keeping just enough of that accent to be endearing to larger audiences.

In the background, you can hear the cawing of seagulls in the background, the sound of waves crashing against the shore. Oh, the dream. Instead, you’re stuck in a windowless studio. Regardless, a smile stretches across your lips. “Alright, Patty,” you say with full intention to revert back the next time, and she knows this too, “how’s Italy?”

“Italy’s wonderful. How’s Jake doin’? Has he been eatin’ enough? Is he gettin’ enough sleep? We heard his song here. It’s been playin’ everywhere.”

The two of you chat for a little bit, mostly you getting them up to speed on everything he’s been doing and everything he will be doing. They sound pleased to hear that he’s been doing well, and you can hear the bit of sadness staining their voices.

“You know,” you start hesitantly, “I think he would appreciate a call from you.”

Silence. You wince. Then Patty starts again, “Oh, I don’t think he would. We would just bother him. He looks real busy.”

“No, no, I promise, I think he would really appreciate the call. We have long car-rides in between and I think—” you’re not sure why but your throat feels like it’s closing in on you, “He misses you. A lot. I’m sorry I have him busy this Christmas, but I think he’d love to do a family vacation with all of you soon.”

“He paid for this trip,” Patty says quietly, “but he didn’t even book a ticket for himself.”

“He just doesn’t want to intrude. You know Jake, you have to invite him three times before he realizes that you mean it enough for him to agree. But he would absolutely love it.”

A sigh carries from the other end. “You’re right, honey. We’ll give him a call. Thank you for lettin’ us know. We’re grateful that he still has you, you know. You take such good care of him.”

“Part of my job.”

She snorts. “Sweetheart, I don’t know who you think you’re talkin’ to but you’re not foolin’ me.” Your heart jumps in your chest. “You’ve been in love with that boy for as long as I can remember.”

“Mrs. Seresin—”

“Think you should call me Patty permanently, honey. I have a feeling we’ll be seeing a heck of a lot more of you soon.”

“Why would you think that?”

Someone calls out to her in the background. “Oh, shoot. We have that dinner reservation, don’t we? Well, thank you for answering, honey, even when you’re so busy. Give Jake our love and we’ll be sure to call him very soon. Toodles!”

The line goes cold before you can get an answer to her very vague statement and you end up frowning at the black screen of your phone.

By the time you return towards the studio, filming has been completed and Jake is manhandling you out the exit. You’re still a little dazed from the call and it doesn’t help that Jake’s hand is firmly on your hip, arm around your back.

“Where’d you go?” He questions curiously.

“Oh, uhm, just had to… pick up a call,” you say, cursing yourself for sounding so stilted. Way to make it sound suspicious.

“From who?”

You scowl at him. “Why are you so nosy?”

His face morphs into one of amusement, a laugh slipping past his lips. “My parents again, huh.”

That has you losing your balance again, these heels will be the death of you. Jake once again keeps you upright. “How did you—”

“I’m not an idiot,” he gives you a look, which you reflect right back at him, “not all the time. You only get nervous when I ask you that when it’s my parents. Usually it’s a quick mind your own business, Seresin.”

Heat crawls up your neck. You didn’t think you were that obvious. “They’re just worried about you,” you mumble.

“I’m sure they are.”

“They are, Jake.”

“If they were worried, they’d call.”

When you make it to the exit, the lights are instantly blinding. Fucking paparazzi. It’s nothing new but it still irritates you each time. Luckily, Joel doubles up as a bodyguard and immediately blocks the two of you from the increasingly agitated crowd. Jake pauses to sign a few autographs and snap selfies with fans who have been waiting outside for probably some time.

“Y’all must be cold. Make sure to warm up after this. Can’t have you catching a cold right before Christmas.” He winks and they literally swoon.

Then Jake is back next to you, a protective arm secure around your waist as he helps you into the car.

At least that’s his last thing for the day. You turn to him to respond to his last comment. “They are worried. All of you are just too damn stubborn. None of you want to call because you think the other doesn’t want to hear from you. But you’re all always talking through me and I’m playing telephone between you and your parents. How about you give them a call? I’m sure they’d love to hear from you.”

“Doubt it.”

“Jake,” you sigh, “they miss you. I can hear it, you know. Every time they call, all they do is fuss about whether you’re eating or sleeping enough. They keep up with everything you’re on — interviews, performances. They’ve already heard your Christmas song and they loved it.”

A flush spreads pretty across his face, glowing red even in the dim car. “They have to say those things, they’re my parents.”

“Don’t be a pain in the ass, Seresin. It’s the holidays. Give them a call. Deep down, you know that all of you would love that.”

“Maybe,” he mumbles under his breath. A maybe is better than a no. It means he’s caving. Stubborn prick. A lovable stubborn prick.

You sigh then lean back against the door, staring at him. In the hours after a long day, Jake feels a little smaller. His ego is still there, it’s why he’s so damn pigheaded all the time, but he’s more relaxed. Like he has caved into the weight of the day. He has his elbow on the arm rest, chin on his palm as he gazes out the window to the city lights blurring before him.

“You’re going to see Javy tomorrow, that’ll be fun,” you try to lighten the mood.

“His movie premiere?” You hum in confirmation. Despite his demeanor, Jake is thrilled. You’ve learned the telltale signs over the years. His shoulders a little straighter, his lips twitching with the threat of a smile, and — of course — his beautiful eyes bigger and brighter. “Are you going?”

“Oh, I was planning to just drop you off. Figured you would enjoy the time without me nagging.”

“Come with me,” he says, voice surprisingly soft. “It’ll be fun.”

“I really don’t need to. Plus, I have nothing to wear.”

“Take my card. Buy something for yourself. Overnight it if you have to.”

You purse your lips at him. “You have a mortgage to pay, Jake. You shouldn’t really be spending lavishly on your staff.”

The corners of his eyes crinkle as his face tightens. “You’re not… just my staff. I want you there. If all you need is an outfit then that’s an easy problem for me to fix.”

“You sure? There will be an after party too so I can dip out after the premiere.”

“No, come. Javy would love to have you there too.”

Fighting Jake takes too much effort when he’s determined to get one and only one answer. “Alright fine.”

He beams, clearly pleased with himself.

You roll your eyes. “For tomorrow, I just have you for a radio show at noon then we’ll get you to hair and makeup for the premiere.”

He smiles weakly at you. “No rest for the wicked, huh?”

“Not if the wicked wants to get paid,” you grin.

The car stops first in front of Jake’s building. The street is emptier this time of night and it’s easier for him to sneak right in. Plus, security is tight so you’re not very concerned. Not to mention, Joel could take down anyone with his pinky alone.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. I won’t be here too early to nag you but I expect you to be ready to go at eleven.”

In lieu of responding, he instead reaches over to take your hand. “Come up with me,” he murmurs, eyes unreadable in the darkness of the vehicle.

Your brain short-circuits for a second. Your first instinct is to be skeptically optimistic. A yes would be too easy of an answer. A yes would be your preferred answer. Sometimes, Jake just need a little bit of company at the end of the day, and that’s nothing new.

But your heart knows it’s a terrible idea. Horrible, in fact. You can’t help the way your heart hopes — yearns — for something more. Something that he can’t give you. He has always been good to you. A good boss. A good friend, great even on some days. Unfortunately, your heart has other plans when it aspires for more. 

“Jake…”

“A glass of wine or something. Or I’ve also got that sugar cookie things you like, the one with that little fat man on the cover.”

Your lips quirk up. “Pillsbury ones? What shape?”

Jake rolls his eyes. “You only eat the snowman ones, god knows why. They all taste the same.”

“You don’t eat those. Why do you have them?”

“For you.”

His simple answer — quick and honest — has your heartbeat stuttering. A momentary lapse in the way it functions. You swallow thickly. “I don’t think I should.”

“Why not?” He presses.

“We have a busy day tomorrow.”

“We don’t start until noon—”

“Jake.”

He looks at you and you look at him, and whoever wins this stupidly petulant staring contest will come away unscathed. Or as unscathed as possible. Luckily for you, you grew up with Jake, you’ve done these a handful of times before, and you know exactly how long it takes before he needs to blink.

In three, two, one…

“Dammit,” Jake groans, shutting his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I hate that you’re so good at that.”

“Only need to last a second longer than the other guy,” you throw him a smug smile. “Now get out. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

–

Admittedly, there are perks to working in entertainment. Despite the grueling hours and the never-ending stream of fake pleasantries, you do get plenty of opportunities not many other jobs offer. This includes anything from backstage passes at the biggest concerts (you have met many a legends, ones that make you sign NDAs), front-row VIP tickets without the hours-long waiting game, and even advanced screenings of blockbusters earlier than some critics. You have many chances to get up close and personal with your favorite entertainers.

Of course, the side benefits of Jake’s fame and fortune come at the expense of your poor head, which is now sporting more than a few strands of grey hairs. It also cost you a large chunk of social life; try scheduling brunch plans when you’re living off a rockstar’s schedule.

No matter how many times you defend Jake, your friends aren’t particularly fond of him. It isn’t his fault that you are a self-appointed workaholic. However, part of the reason why they also aren’t happy with him is because they think he has been stringing you along all this time, practically playing the part of a doting girlfriend, but paid. You’re a glorified sugar baby who happens to also moonlight as his manager.

Once again, you have to remind them that it isn’t his fault that you have been in love with him for forever. It’s not his fault that you haven’t built up the courage to tell him how you feel, not when you are risking jeopardizing more than a decade of friendship and a professional relationship. Your career. While you know that Jake wouldn’t hang you out to dry for pining over him for the better part of the decade, you also don’t ever want to put him in that position.

This is what you remind yourself when Jake hands over his black Amex without batting an eye, telling you to knock yourself out. You’re not his girlfriend that he’s spoiling, not even when he shoots you a bemused frown and says, why are you asking me for fashion advice? You look good in literally everything. You’re definitely not his girlfriend when you send him a picture of you in the dress to check if it’s good and he responds with sweetheart, if that’s what you’re wearing, i’m going to have to ask javy to up security at the venue.

Curse you and your frail, starving heart.

As you’re dropping off Jake with his own glam team, he quirks an eyebrow at you. “Why aren’t you coming with?”

You open your mouth with the obvious answer, but then close it. “I’ll do my own makeup and hair at home.”

“Just come with me. I’m sure they have extra sets of hands.”

“Jake, nobody just has extra sets of hands in this business. That costs of money.”

“It’s a work expense, we’ll figure it out.”

Before you can argue further that some things you can’t just figure out, Jake is already dragging you out the car. “Joel, we’ll be a while. Can you drop off the clothes with the stylists inside? Then feel free to chill for a couple of hours. Have lunch on me.”

“You got it, boss.”

Then it’s chaos. The staff swirl around the two of you like tornadoes, bringing you into separate rooms to get ready. Although you have gotten prep done by a professional team, you’re never there for full glam. Quick touchups to make sure you look good as his manager in the background.

Key word: background. Not in the spotlight.

This one feels different; you’re supposed to be an additional head to keep Jake company for the premiere. You’re supposed to blur into the scenes behind him, certainly not standing front and center. However, the way they’re putting extra care into your makeup, the additional glimmer and sparkle, it’s almost as if you’re his—

“Jake said you’re his plus one! You’re already gorgeous but don’t worry, sugar, we’re going to take real good care of you.”

The hours pass quickly with you making conversation with these pros. The makeup artist has done this for people with twice your salary and twice your ego. The hair stylist tells you all about the divas that she has worked with, including more than a few household names.

“Beautiful,” the makeup artist smiles with a fake swipe of her tear. At least you know why she works in entertainment.

While you have always been relatively confident in your looks, you’ve never really seen yourself like this. Hair effortlessly chic. Makeup done to perfection. Soft, sexy, sultry. This transformation has left you in awe, so much so that you’re even gawking at yourself in the mirror.

“This is— wow, I mean, you’re both so— this is incredible.”

“We get that a lot,” the hair stylist smirks. “Alright, Jake is outside getting into his suit so let’s also get you into the dress so we can show off how stunning you look to him.”

You snort quietly, “He really doesn’t care how I look. I’m not going to be the one the paps are chasing down.”

The two look at each other and burst into giggles. “Okay, honey. We’ll see about that.”

Your dress spills over you like second skin. It cinches in in the right places and loosens to drape over the floor. The slit sits high mid-thigh, giving sexy without being too slutty. Your two artists are gushing behind you and all you can do is duck your head in embarrassment. You can certainly dish out a compliment, but you are miserable at taking it.

The doors open up and you’re practically shoved out there into Jake’s awaiting arms as you trip a little bit in your heels. His hands move fast to catch you. “Whoa there, you—” then he stops. You hear his breath hitch in this throat.

You right yourself and ease a loose strand of hair out of your face and behind your ear. “Shit, sorry. New shoes. I have to get used to them.”

For a moment, you don’t get a response so you look up and you find Jake drinking you in from head to toe. His throat moves, an almost impercetible movement that you only notice because he’s standing so close to you. You smell the faint traces of bergamot and vanilla in your favorite cologne of his.

However, as much as Jake is looking at you, you’re also looking at him. It doesn’t seem to matter how many times you see him dressed up, each time you’re left admiring how dashing he looks. His usually unruly dirty blonde hair is tamed down into a style that looks clean without being overly stiff. His beard has been trimmed down into a neat shadow across his jaw, maintaining that rough edge that screams successful, millionaire rockstar over classic Hollywood heartthrob. He looks so good you could eat him right up.

Not to mention, his dark blue suit that makes his cerulean eyes shine.

His dark blue suit that very much matches your navy dress.

You completely forgot that you had requested this specific suit from the stylist — and now it seems as if you intentionally matched with him. God forbid he thinks that, because that would be real humili—

“You’re stunnin’.”

The compliment slips out so easily from his lips that you almost miss it. Your head jerks up immediately, giving you a short sting of whiplash.

“I mean, you always are but… wow. You’re—” he pauses, like he’s struggling to find the right words to say. You swear you hear the glam team tittering behind you, but all of that fades into white noise when all you see is Jake.

“Thanks, you look great too,” you respond, sounding as awkward as you feel.

His face melts into something softer, fonder. A chuckle rises from his throat. “Could never take a compliment, darlin’.” That makes you scowl in defense. “You look… breathtaking. Perfect, really.”

“Okay, I’ll let you take a break after the Christmas promotions are done, you don’t need to keep kissing my ass.”

It’s a poor attempt to deflect, but you don’t know how to react when Jake is looking at you like that. Deep eyes, intense gaze. A look that says I see you. I want you. Because a look like that could be easily misinterpreted. It could even give you hope, which is futile when you’ve seen his track record.

Jake’s lips pinch together. He’s irritated. You bite back a wince. 

Before he can say anything else, the team is ushering the two of you out the door and back into the car. You’re looking through the logistics in the email to make sure you arrive at the right time at the right entrance, prattling off instructions to Joel and Jake. Your head is back on work mode to make sure everything goes off without a hitch.

As expected, Jake is already tuning you out. You see it when you look up at him and he looks vexingly distracted.

“Jake,” you sigh, annoyance staining your tone, “did you catch a word I said?”

His lips are pressed in a thin line, eyes somewhere on the car seat.

“Jake.”

“You really going to wear that out there?”

Frowning, you look down at your dress again. It’s not… bad. Sure, it’s nothing crazy glamorous, but you thought it would work fine. “Yes. Was it the wrong thing? I mean, I could skip—”

“No, I just—” His hand reaches up, like he’s about to run it through his hair, but halts when he remembers the wax streaked through it, and his face curdles. A nervous tic.

“I thought you said I look good.”

“You look—” He stops again, face pinking in a real struggle. “You do know how good you look right? Because if you don’t, it might drive me crazy. I can’t spend all night trying to convince you how incredible you look.”

You open your mouth but the words don’t come out. How are you supposed to respond to that? Your heart flares with a thrill, your confidence expanding to the size of Jupiter. It’s one thing to have Jake give you a compliment, it’s another to see him struggle doing so.

Because Jake is smooth lines when it comes to the ladies. Seeing him tongue-tied around you — someone he has known all his life — tugs at your heart strings.

“Thanks, Jake,” you murmur.

“That dress, fuck, I don’t know if I can handle you out there looking like that. Javy’s going to pull some stupid ass line on you and I’m going to get pissed.”

“Javy will not.”

“Javy most definitely will.” He sounds firm, irked.

“Well, I’ll take a compliment from Javy.”

Jake scowls. “Javy is a womanizer.”

“So are you.” You’re rewarded with another scowl, but he knows you’re right. A proud smirk settles on your face. “Javy will be Javy. Let’s focus on you tonight. This is a good place to get the word out on your song, talk about the process or whatever.”

“Darlin’, I’m going to be distracted all night with you next to me.”

Huffing, you shake your head. “I’ll be behind you as always, don’t worry.”

“You’re my date to this thing, you are gonna stand next to me.”

Date? You choke on the saliva in your mouth as your throat dries completely. Jake shoots you a funny look before his eyes dart behind you.

“Showtime.”

You don’t have another second to think before he’s out the door, rounding the car, and opening yours. With a hand out, you gingerly step onto the pavement. Jake has his dashing smile plastered on, seeming almost genuine as he places his hand on your lower back and eases you into the wolves. The flashes are immediate and blinding.

Winter hasn’t fully arrived yet, which means you can at least keep your coat off for the photos. The number of bodies spread across each side of the barrier of the red carpet also help. Every time you try to sneak away from him, Jake tightens his grip on your hip to keep you next to him.

“Jake, they want pictures of you alone.”

“Don’t really care what they want, darlin’. Now, smile so we can show my parents how well we’re getting on.”

You’re about to argue against him when a reporter calls him over. With one last smile and wave to the larger crowd, he tugs you over to the barricade where he then proceeds to answer multiple questions with ease. He’s trained after all; all these years of being in the spotlight, the hours of media training you put him through.

“And this is your lovely date for the night, very different from your usual type, Jake,” one interviewer — People magazine, you think — teases.

“I’m just his manager,” you clarify with a tight curl of your lips.

“She’s the one who keeps my life together, keeps me alive really. I wouldn’t be here without her,” Jake piles on, fingers once again digging into your side, as his eyes look affectionately at you. If your embarrassment didn’t warm you up, the weight of his gaze surely does. “Anyone would be lucky to have her next to them. I’m just the lucky bastard she chose.”

Then he is excusing himself to go to the next one. And the next one. And the one after that.

The wind is slowly becoming unforgiving, gusts skirting around your ankles and rising up your body until they pebble your skin with goosebumps. You’re hoping that you’ll be going indoors for the screening soon because you’re not sure if you can take much more of this city chill.

A warmth blankets over your shoulders and you find that Jake has shedded his jacket and placed it over your shoulders. He does it with such ease too, so casually that he doesn’t even stutter mid-answer to another journalist. The reporter, of course, flags this and eyes you curiously. Before they can ask another question, probably one that is too intrusive, Jake immediately moves you away.

“Aren’t you cold?” You peer up at him.

“I’m fine, darlin’. You okay? Should we move inside now?”

“No, you should keep going. This is good publicity. Plus, Javy hasn’t even arrived yet.”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “I can always come back out for Javy. I want to make sure you don’t get hypothermia.”

“Idiots can’t catch colds, remember?” You smirk.

“We both know you’re the furthest thing from one.”

The remainder of the premiere goes by without a hitch. You look at Jake proudly from the sidelines, still cozy covered in the suit that smells too much like him. When Javy arrives with the rest of the cast, Jake is the one who looks on proudly. They’ve been best friends since Jake had been hired to write an original song for Javy’s movie, since Jake threw a fit over how poorly the director was treating Javy who hadn’t been a main role at the time. They have been inseparable ever since.

“Good god, it’s been a while. You look fucking fantastic.” Javy slides over to you with that Hollywood-trained grin. He wraps you in a hug and notes Jake’s jacket in amusement. “Staking his claim huh?”

You look down at the jacket, heat crawling up your neck. “No, I was just cold.”

“Mhmm, I’m sure that’s why,” Javy says, shooting Jake a look, which is rewarded with a satisfying elbow to his best friend’s gut.

The after party is even better. It’s the first time you let loose in a while. The champagne does not stop flowing, mainly from the waiters into Javy’s hands before he forces them into yours with an encouragement to relax. “You’re off the clock,” he coaxes you, “try to enjoy some of the fun that comes with this job.”

This man is a bad influence.

Sure enough, by the end of the night, you do feel lighter. Much lighter. You’re not stressing whether Jake is doing well or keeping up apperances. You trust him. He knows how to handle himself.

Javy has you on the dance floor, spinning you around as you laugh. When you catch Jake’s eye across the room, you find him already watching you with a twinkle in his eye. The music is intoxicating, playing throwback after throwback that has the crowd piling onto the floor.

At some point, Javy gets dragged away by another friend and a warm hand settles on your hip. Your fight or flight instincts would usually kick in, if it weren’t for the fact that you recognized the touch.

“Finally decided to join the fun crowd?” You tease over your shoulder, eyes blinking up at him.

Jake hums, ducking his head to graze his lips against the shell of your ear as he stands behind you, hands on your hips. “You look like you’re having too much fun.”

“No such thing.”

“No? Letting Javy hold you like that?” His fingers tighten. It’s still a teasing touch, but there’s a possessive undertone to it that makes you shiver.

“Javy was merely being a gentleman and dancing with me. Unlike some broody rockstars who end up in a corner, sulking while nursing his room-temperature beer.”

Jake chuckles and the sound sends delicious ripples up your spine. “My girl,” you swear you hear him whisper. Perhaps you really have drunken too much.

By the end of the night, your body is buzzing off adrenaline and endorphins. The alcohol has mostly weaned off as you slip into the back of the SUV. Joel throws you an amused glance as Jake only shakes his head and slides in behind you. Thankfully, Jake doesn’t live very far, which means the ride back is relatively short.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t entirely disappointed that the day has come to an end. It’s been busy, busy, busy recently, all professional schedules that you haven’t really gotten the chance to spend time with your friend Jake.

“Joel, why don’t you head off for the night? I can take the car from here.”

Jake’s instruction has you whipping around to face him with a questioning look. Unsurprisingly, Joel quickly agrees and bids the two of you goodnight.

“You’re going to drive me home?”

“We are going for a drive.”

The two of you move to the front seat. You’ve still got enough energy thrumming in your veins that you wordlessly agree. Jake takes the highway downtown, city lights across the water smudging into streaks in the dead of night. Even in a city like this, the kind that never sleeps, there are many winding paths that end up deserted at this hour. Jake finds a pier to dock by, far from prying eyes but with a view that still steals the air from your lungs.

“You would always come here before recording your next big album,” you murmur thoughtfully, reminiscent of a time not too far out of reach.

“You introduced me to it,” he supplies, “it brings me a lot of peace. Same way you do.”

A soft snort leaves your lips. “Yeah, well, now you just come bulldozing through my apartment to work off those nerves.”

“Those cookies you make certainly are no help when I’m already running on a high.”

“I always make those to share but you clean them out.”

The two of you bicker for a while, a push and pull that feels all too familiar. It’s a shared language, one that raises questions about how well you really work professionally in the eyes of others, but one that you know is a comfort for the two of you. A normal routine that keeps both of you grounded.

“I am thankful, you know,” Jake says after a moment of silence, “for you.”

“I bet you are.”

His lips twitch as he tosses you an expression of feigned irritation. “I’m serious. I wouldn’t be here without you.”

“You give me too much credit. You have all the talent and the passion, I’m just really good at organizing calendars.”

Jake reaches up, a firm hand sliding around the back of your neck and tangling in the air at the base of your head. He watches you closely, watches the way your pupils dilate at the act, the way your throat moves as you swallow the bundle of nerves trapped.

“You—” he pauses, inhales sharply, “just— I don’t know how you do it. You’ve completely bewitched me. I’d do anything you told me to do, you know. Anything at all.”

Anything. That’s a big, bold word. Anything means everything. Anything feels like a challenge. A temptation. The air is thick with tension that compresses your chest, but you can only think of one thing.

“Kiss me.”

Jake is on you before you can finish the order, his mouth warm on yours. His lips are soft where they steal the breath from your lungs, swallows it up and claims it as his own. The groan that vibrates through his heart goes straight into yours, a sound you keep as yours. “Fuck,” he mumbles against your lips, “been waiting to do that all night.”

You don’t get a word in because Jake doesn’t once release you from his grasp. His fingers burrow deeper into the trenches of your hair, his mouth slants across yours hot with a swipe of his tongue along the seam of your lips. You open up readily to him, welcoming him to taste him on your own. The shift lever digs slightly into your stomach but you can’t care less, not when Jake tastes like every dream you’ve ever had. Every dream you’ve latched onto since you were young and foolish meeting for the first time.

“Need—” he chokes, “need more of you. Come to the backseat with me. Need to hold you.”

The two of you move quick, wasting only a second to scramble to the space you have occupied over the years. There has always been chasm between you, this invisible line drawn where the two of you work. Jake on the right and you on the left, always hovering but never touching. That line has been crossed, slashed, and eviscerated when Jake drags you onto his lap, your knees on the leather, and continues to mouth down your neck.

His touch is mind-numbing, the inebriating cocktail of firm and gentle. His hands slide up your back to draw you even closer as he eases the flimsy straps of your dress down your shoulders. His lips drag down your skin, teeth grazing and nipping to leave behind traces of him, ones that will remain after the magic of the night fizzes out.

“Jake, please,” you whimper. You don’t even know what you’re asking for but Jake seems to understand as he laps at your neck, his fingers peeling away your sticky bra to cast them aside. He rolls your pebbled nipple between his forefinger and thumb, pinching and pulling in a way that has you arching your back into his hands.

“So needy,” he whispers with the kind of hunger that signals his readiness to devour you. “So fucking soft. Always knew you’d be so soft.”

A breathless laugh escapes you. “What are you on about, Seresin?”

He leans back, dark eyes taking you in. They rake over your figure with the kind of intensity that makes you shift away from him. He doesn’t let you run, not when this is what he and you have been waiting for — have been building up to — all this time.

“You’re always so tough, tongue like a knife. But in bed, fuck, I knew you’d be soft. Rounded corners, no edges. You’d be sweet, would make noises that would stick to my brain for weeks. Months.”

Your lips part, a small squeak escaping.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to have you so pliant with me, like honey on my skin. Darlin’, I couldn’t stop picturing what you would look like coming apart in my hands.”

The words catch in your throat, twenty six letters out there and none of them could piece together into a single syllable. Your bad habits kick in, a defense mechanism. “Awfully confident of you to think I’d come apart in your hands.”

“Sweetheart, you know you will. You know you want this. As much as you’ll come apart in mine, I’ve been completely undone by yours.”

Before you can think of another retort to ruin the atmosphere, Jake captures your lips again, nipping on your bottom lip hungrily as his tongue delves back into your mouth. Your body seems to have a mind of its own. With your hands on his shoulders, you press down against him, against the bulge growing underneath his slacks.

Jake’s groan is guttural as he brings his lips to your neck again, teeth sinking in deeper this time. “Fuck, baby, I’m not going to last if you keep doing that.”

Come apart indeed. The only layers separating you are your flimsy panties — lace which means it’s practically nonexistent — and his pants. You wonder if he goes commando underneath, he’s mentioned many times that he hates wearing briefs. The thought makes you salivate like a dog, makes you want to unzip his pants with your teeth and take him between your lips.

Jake’s hands drag up the weight of your skirt to your hips, lifting it enough to see the baby blue underwear underneath. An expletive dirties his tongue as he takes you in. “I’m gonna keep these,” he murmurs, more so to himself. He watches as you grind on him, juices leaking through the thin layer and dampening the cotton of his pants.

His head lands back against the headrest with a thud as he lets you take your time, lets you enjoy yourself with the delicious friction. It’s a small flame inside of you, quickly festering into something bigger, warmer. The heat that licks your skin and threatens to burn — and you’ll gladly accept the sacrifice.

“I need to take this off,” Jake grunts, halting your hips just enough to slip the material down your legs. He catches them between his fingers and stares for a moment before he brings it up to his face, breathing in deep. The sight makes you clench between your legs. “Smells so sweet,” he whispers before tucking it into the front of his jacket, the pale string dangling from his pocket.

“I want your cock,” you say, honest and braver than you expected to be.

Jake’s eyes flare with surprise, but he’s ready and willing. He gently eases you up enough for him to tug his own length — no underwear, you pleasantly note — out of his trousers. His cock sits rock hard, bumping lightly against his stomach.

“Lay back on the seats, Seresin,” you urge him, fruitlessly attempting to push him back.

Not a lick of amusement in his eyes. He grips your hair again, tongue darting out to wet his lips. The slight sting has you squeezing around air again. “When you’re wet like this on top of me, when your pussy’s dripping all over me, you call me Jake. You call me by my name, sweetheart.”

Shit. Your legs tighten, clamping together around his thighs, and he notices. Of course, he does.

“Come on, say it,” he coaxes. Once again, gentle and firm.

“Jake.”

“That’s my girl,” he groans and finally settles back into the seats. He pushes a lever to shift the seats further back, allowing him to still get a good perspective on you as you begin to roll your hips on top of him.

No barriers. Skin on skin. He watches in the darkness as your folds swallow his length, sliding wet and slick over his cock. It burrows deeper between your legs, but never sticks all the way in. His tip nudges against your clit every time you do so and you find yourself sinking deeper against him, palms flat against his chest as you rub yourself on him. Jake assists you with his hands on your hips, moving you on top of him like he’s using you for friction. Like a toy simply there for his pleasure.

“Feels so good, darlin’. So wet for me. Look at your pussy drooling all over my cock.”

“Jake, fuck,” you curse. His filthy words do nothing to ease your growing need, that wanton need spreading through every nerve in your body. “S-so good, you’re so hard. So thick.”

The filthy sound of your cunt sliding along his cock is heady, a soundtrack that you can hear on loop inside your mind. A reminder of this night. 

“I know, baby. Feels so good. Shit, you’re fucking unbelievable. Cunt’s so slick.”

“I want you inside. Want you to fill me up.”

Jake licks his teeth, jaw clenching. “Got no condom on me, honey. I wasn’t exactly planning on this.”

You could cry. Your stomach is wrung tight with need. A desire to be filled. Your pussy is pulsing to demand more, more, more. 

“Cum on my cock like this, I’ll get you off. I promise.”

Unfortunately, now that you have planted the seedling of him sliding his thick cock into you, you can’t imagine finishing in any other way. You can’t imagine anything better in that moment. You’ve been consistent with your birth control, and you know Jake’s latest check-up came out clean. 

“We’re good. I’m good to go, we can fuck. I’m on the pill and we’re both clean,” you babble, lifting yourself up to position his cock at your entrance.

Jake’s fingers dig into your hips to stop you, one of his hands wrapping around his cock to squeeze at the base. A vein in his neck strains as he struggles to keep it together. His voice is breathless when he says, “Darlin’, we can just— we can stop here, head back if you want to fuck. I want to be safe with you.”

You know. You know you can. Your head knows that, but your heart and the second heartbeat between your legs refuses it. 

“I want you,” you emphasize. “I want you right now.” 

Jake looks at you, slight worry in the murkiness of his eyes. “Are you sure? I can still get you to cum like this. You know your pussyjob’s still going to get me cumming all over this pretty dress.”

Jesus, where does he get the confident to say those words so easily? The words that light every fibre of your being on fire.

“I’m sure. I want you inside.”

“You’re going to kill me,” Jake moans. It’s almost cute seeing him like this, so obedient. So sweet on you. This big, tough rockstar undone by your hands, by the sweet little hole between your legs.

You raise yourself up and positions his cock at your entrance before slowly inching down on him. Jake’s hands tightening on your hips stop you.

“What?” You snap with annoyance tinging your voice.

“So fuckin’ tight, baby,” he practically whimpers. “Go easy on me. I’ve been hard all week. Been thinking about this for far too long. Not even my imagination could do this justice.”

You nearly cum on the spot from that pitiful sound. You didn’t think it would be your thing to have Jake so cute and needy underneath you, but you could get used to this.

“You’re so wet, Christ. Your greedy little pussy’s taking me in so well, darlin’. Look at her swallowing me right up. You’re so tight but it slides in so, so easy. Splitting you open like this.”

And he’s not wrong. The burn is prominent between your legs, his cock stretching out your folds and your insides, molding you to the shape of his shaft. You have to ease yourself on it even with the natural lubrication, sinking an inch down before rising and then coming back down. Each time, you drive him a little deeper into you. Each time, Jake slams his head harder against the seat.

When he is buried to the hilt, you ready yourself to ride him properly but Jake stops you again. Irritation prickles your skin. “What now?”

“i don’t—” he chokes and coughs, “feels so good, honey. I need you to go slow on me.”

“So demanding, S—” It’s your turn to pause, “Jake. You’re not in charge anymore, you know. Not like this. Not when your cock is so hard, your balls so full, when you’ve been waiting for me.”

Jake spits out another profanity. “I don’t even want to know where you learned to talk like that. To take cock like this. I might kill any man I find who’s been with you. Don’t want to picture you like this with anyone else.”

Your lips curve into a slow smirk. “So damn possessive.”

“Damn straight,” he grunts, “you’re mine.”

That claim is all you need to get you going. You sink yourself over and over again on him, agonizingly slow just like he wants. Regret simmers in those irises when he realizes the painstaking pace you’re making him endure may be worse. It’s a torturous feeling, the heat between your legs growing until it blazes into a heat that curls your toes, has you gasping for oxygen.

Jake continues to narrate, mouthing off filthy phrases to encourage the burn where the two of you are joined, the tight coil of pleasure in your stomach.

“Sweet, greedy cunt taking my entire cock so well.”

“Stretching my girl out around my dick, going to shape you to me.”

“I’m going to cum so deep inside you, sweetheart, you’ll feel it dripping for days.”

The words do as much for him as they do for you. You lean back, hands on his knees as you continue riding him. The new angle has him gasping, hips rutting up to meet yours unconsciously. You take him in deeper, tilts his cock in a way that makes him whine pathethically underneath you. Your tits bounce as you pick up the pace, as you ride him harder and faster. It’s like you have the sun between your legs with the way your entire body burns.

“Fuck, darlin’, I’m going to cum too fast like this. L-let me fuck you instead.”

“No, I like you like this. Big tough rockstar squirming underneath me like a virgin.”

Jake’s head smacks against the back. “The mouth on you.”

“You haven’t even had my mouth on you.”

“I don’t think I’ll survive that,” he offers you a wry smile, which quickly evaporates into a gasp and a groan when you roll your hips just right on top of him. “I don’t think I’ll survive this. Christ, your cunt is fucking perfect.”

Your mouth twitches into a proud grin as Jake begins to match your pace. He’s no longer being passive, His thumb zeroes in on your clit as he leans forward to catch your nipple between his teeth. His hands roam everywhere, mapping every inch of your curves like he’s commiting them to memory. It’s all too much. You can feel him in you, on you. Everywhere.

That cologne you love so much infiltrates your senses along with the unquestionable smell of sex. Combined with the sound of slapping skin, your ass meeting his thighs, his cock slickly slipping inside you, you feel your legs squeezing around him.

“Jake, I’m gonna— please—”

“I know, honey, me too. Me too. Fuck. Cum for me. Want you to cum all over me.”

And you deliver the final blow. “I want you to cum inside me.”

His hips stutter as you feel warmth paint your insides, triggering your own release as your orgasm wracks through your body. For a moment, you swear you see stars on the ceiling of the car, hot-white flashes of satisfying lust pulsing through you as he continues to spill into you. You’re full — cock still buried deep inside you, his cum warm and leaking from where you’re joined.

Jake’s chest rises, his pants completely ruined with a mix of your juices and his cum dripping. “Fuck,” he mutters, “that was—” You only manage a nod. “You’re fuckin’ perfect.”

You let out a little breathless giggle as he swipes your hair away from your sweat-lined face. “I knew that.”

But then Jake is soft again, the hardness in his gaze chips away into something molten. He cups your jaw, delicate this time, and draws you in to kiss you one more time. Gone is the desperation, only velvet desire left in its wake.

“Let’s go home. I need to take care of you again, need to make sure you know I can make you cum.”

“Once wasn’t enough?”

“Once will never be enough with you.” 

–

You’re slow to stir to consciousness. The sunrise washes the room in shifting glows of oranges and pinks. The pale silk sheets underneath your fingertips absorb every inch of color, gliding along your naked, aching limbs like the sun is carressing you awake. With a cat-like stretch, you let your eyes flutter open to the sight of a familiar room. A familiar room that isn’t yours.

Fuck.

Muffling a groan into the extremely comfortable pillow (one you had purchased for him as a gift after he complained about the crick in his neck), you begin to question what your life has come to. You’ve officially, royally, single-handedly risked your entire livelihood on what could potentially be a one-night stand with your boss.

Your boss who fucks anything walking and breathing. Your boss who fucks everyone, but no one that looks like you.

Your boss who fucked you last night like he didn’t want anyone else. 

Despite it being what you’ve always wanted — and more, you can’t help but stew on the promises he made last night. Promises to satisfy you more than once because once will never be enough with you, and the fact that he over-delivered on it, evidenced by the twinge between your legs.

The sheets next to you are cool to touch which means Jake’s been gone for a bit. Is this his way of subtly kicking you out? You’ve had to remove many women from his previous apartment in the early stages of his career. You know his tactics. This could be one of them.

The slam of the front door has you jolting, scrambling to find something — anything — to wear. Because if Jake Seresin is about to give you the boot, you would rather walk out of here with your head held high, preferably fully dressed. Your fingers catch onto the fabric of a t-shirt, one of his. Better this than nothing.

His footsteps crescendo as they approach his bedroom and you quickly, instinctively drag your fingers through your hair to hopefully tame whatever nest sits on top of it.

Jake walks in looking absolutely… delicious. Fuck. He’s got running shorts on and a dry-fit shirt that clings to his every muscle. Sweat rolls down his face, cheeks flushed from the cold and the run he must’ve been on. A smile stretches across his lips when he sees you still sitting in his rumpled sheets, gaze flicking to the graphic on the shirt you’re wearing. His smile tips up just a tad higher. 

“Morning, darlin’.”

“Morning,” you clear your throat, nervously picking at the duvet. It’s too high quality to have any loose threads for you to focus on.

He hands you a warm cup and a small box. The smell of an English breakfast wafts into the air, soothing your exhausted soul. You flip the lid open on the box, finding your favorite strawberry danish from your favorite bakery, Luca’s, which is twenty blocks away from here. 

“Figured you could use a pick me up. Some sugar to get you going in the morning.”

The gesture leaves you dumbstruck. “Right. Thank you. This is… nice.”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t add any sugar into your tea though. I know you like it black and freshly brewed. I tried the new café around the block, reviews say their tea is very good.”

You feel like a parrot when you say, “Right. Thank you.” You glance at the digital clock on his nightstand then at the pastry longingly. “I should get going though. I need to get ready for work.”

“Stay. I have some clothes here for you, all business appropriate, I promise.”

Once again, you are left without words. “What? Why would you have clothes for me here?”

Jake wets his lips, looking almost nervous for the first time in a very long time since you’ve known him. You don’t think you’ve seen this look since the first time he met Paul McCartney; now they’re on a first-name, texting basis. His hand reaches up, running through the wet strands of his hair. “In case you ever slept over. I wanted to have it ready.”

“Oh.”

“Not just for— you know,” he blushes, “just if you ever need it. I asked my stylist to pick out some things she thinks you’d wear so they should be the right size and style. If it’s not then I can always drive you back to your place.”

Sure enough, when you pad over to his closet, you find a rack all dedicated to you. Blouses, shirts, skirts and pants, dresses. A variety of things you would certainly wear for work.

Jake sidles up behind you, his palm circling your waist to press against your stomach. Press you back against him. “Now that that problem’s solved, how about we test out my shower pressure? I heard the new fixture is divine.”

“I ordered you that new fixture,” you swallow.

He leans down, tucks his nose into your neck and smiles. “I know.”

“We don’t have time—”

“I’ll be fast. I promise.”

You’re quickly learning that Jake always keeps his promises.

—

Since you’re already at Jake’s, you do spend a little bit of time getting yourself ready. Jake’s bathroom is stunning and you rarely ever get to use it, despite his insistence for you to move in with him. It’s something he has pushed for for a while. “We practically see each other twenty-four-seven. It saves you rent and time.”

However, given the current predicament of your years-long feelings and your need for some separation to hopefully shrink said feelings, you never said yes — and it hurt you to turn down that gorgeous second bedroom he has.

Jake stays out of your way for the most part, which means you slather yourself in the very expensive, very nice floral soap he has for you. It means you’re primping yourself properly with the makeup he had gotten ready for you too, a complete duplicate set of your own (you have no idea how he knows). You’ve got one of his recent podcast episodes playing in the background, mainly for you to have some calming white noise to ease your jitters, and partially for you to vet the interviewers and Jake’s answers. Jake is always professional, always charming, so you’re less concerned about him. It’s the podcast hosts you’re usually worried about.

As you’re dabbing on your concealer, you listen closely to the words.

“So, Jake, you’re usually never out without a girl on your arm, at least for the better part of your career. It’s been a while since the press have spotted you with one. Anyone special you’re hiding?”

His chuckle crackles through the speakers. “No, nobody like that.”

“Oh, come on, what’s your longest relationship to date? Two days?”

Your lips twist in annoyance as you glare at your phone. What a stupid ass question. You make a mental note to write off this podcast for any future conversations.

“Probably fifteen years.” His answer has your hand stopping, face frowning. Fifteen?

“Fifteen?” The host echoes your unsaid question.

“Well, relationship in the loosest sense of the word. My manager’s been with me from the start. She’s the only one who can really keep me on my toes. Only one I would want around for that long.” Your heart flutters traitorously with his words. It’s platonic, of course it is. This episode was recorded months ago.

The host lets out a low whistle. “Oh, wow, is this what I think it means?”

“No, it’s—”

His words are cut off and you look away from the mirror to find Jake standing there, his finger on your phone to pause the podcast. A red tint sprawls across his neck and face. Did he take another hot shower? Sit in his in-house sauna? 

“Why are you listening to that?”

“Because I haven’t listened to it?”

“You hate podcasts. You never listen to the ones I do,” Jake argues.

Your brows pinch. “Yes, but I need to start fielding which interviewers you should still go to. With your next album, I want to be prepared. What if I feed you to the dogs again? Remember Arnie from that one annoying radio station?”

“Yes, nightmare. Never again.”

“Exactly.

Jake coughs, “This one was fine. It’s not worth listening to.”

You pause, eyeliner in hand as you look at him. His shifty behavior. His eyes looking at anything and everything but you. “Are you high? Are you on drugs again? Because if I need to hold an intervention again—”

“I’m not! Don’t we have interviews to get to? Hurry it up, let’s go.”

Joel doesn’t say a word when he sees you walk out with Jake, but you note the flicker of surprise. You swallow a wince because this is part of why you were so hesitant about staying. Joel usually picks you up first and then Jake. You had sent him a text earlier today to go straight to Jake’s. Lo and behold, you are the one to come strutting out first.

The day should have been easy breezy. It’s a couple of interviews. One minor one with a small influencer, some event in which he is forced to give away a prize (neither of you were informed of this ahead of time) so Jake had to whip out a pen in his pocket and offer it up. It looks bad. You wince, he notices, so he immediately throws in a dinner on him at the most exclusive restaurant in town.

The second one is for yet another late night show, but it’s got a bigger audience so you’re hoping Jake is on his best behavior. Even if the host can be a bit challenging, oftentimes going off script, he has too large of an audience for Jake to be making snarky comments. You’re already biting your nail on the way there and Jake has to drag your hand away, keeping it in his and giving it a squeeze.

“Trust me, will you?”

“I do. It’s him I don’t trust.”

The lines on his face levels out slightly. “I’ll be fine. Promise.”

You breathe a little easier. Jake brings your hand to his lips, brushing them against the back. You may have swooned a little, heart dancing against your ribcage. However, when you look up and catch Joel’s eyes in the rearview mirror, you immediately pull your hand away, pretending to pick at a piece of lint on your dress.

Jake frowns at that, a questioning look on his face as he reaches out again, but you shake your head, gaze flicking towards the front again where Joel has now refocused on the road ahead.

All in all, you were doing just fine until you step backstage and see none other than Bradley. Oh god. Why would he be here? This is a small thing. Nothing you haven’t handled before. Did you mess up scheduling? Was he here to deliver bad news?

It is only when Bradley turns to the two of you with a lazy, pleased grin that you let out an exhale. Bradley gives Jake a firm shake and surprisingly wrangles you into a hug. You blink at him when he pulls away. “You’re a fuckin’ genius. I have to give you my flowers. If Jake doesn’t give you that bonus this year, please allow me to.”

“She’ll get her bonus,” Jake snaps, resentment clouding his tone.

Bradley disregards his snap before you can chide Jake to behave. “They want you on set to test the mic and also do any makeup touchups. I’ll keep your lovely manager company in the meantime.”

Jake looks far from pleased with the idea, glance flying to you in a desperate last attempt. Like a plea for you to come with him. You smile tight, shaking your head. Professional. On set. You’re not some puppy dog non-girlfriend following him around. “Go ahead. I’ll catch up with you and I’ll be watching your taping.”

With his lips thinned into a stubborn line, Jake does stalk off, guided by one of the stage managers. Bradley spends most of the time letting you know that he’s ready to green light whatever project Jake does next.

“Whatever his heart desires,” he says. Christmas came early this year.

Jake’s performance goes off without a hitch, and then he moves into the interview portion. You’re able to sneak into a corner by the stage right next to Bradley; apparently being the CEO of a major label means he can do whatever he wants.

Jake looks good. Too good. Good enough to eat. The studio lights give his hair that golden glow, his skin looks clean, face refreshed. Then your mind flashes to the scenes from last night. Jake above you, hands pinning down your wrists. His front flush against your back, his cock sliding deep inside you as his palm covers your mouth. Then it’s this morning when he’s on his knees, mouth on your cunt, your leg thrown over his shoulder, and your hands tangled in his wet hair.

Embarrassment sneaks up on you and you can feel your face warm. You press your hands against your cheeks, hoping to cool yourself down. Bradley cocks an eyebrow at you, as if to question if you’re okay. You look even more sheepish as you nod.

What are you doing? Get it together. You’re at work.

When you look up again at Jake, his eyes are trained on you. There’s an unhappy twitch to the way his lips sit that makes you tilt your head in question. However, the interview begins before he can respond.

They start with small chatter about his new song, Jake joking about how he’s a huge Christmas nerd, mostly because he gets to splurge on his nieces and nephews. It plays well with the audience that coos at the most recent picture of Jake with his family back home. You wonder if his mom has called yet. Christmas is so close after all.

Then the interviewer pivots into additional questions, which isn’t out of the ordinary, but still makes you stiffen. “So, this Christmas, you’re known for joining and throwing the wildest parties. Anything exciting planned for this year?”

“No, nothing too out of the ordinary. I’ll probably end up drunk at Paul’s again or something. Don’t let his age fool you, he throws the most insane socials.”

“So no one special you’re spending it with then? No one to cozy up with you by the fireplace? No romantic dinners?”

Your heart skips. His eye twitches. “Christmas is a time for people with someone they love in their lives.”

“And that’s not you?”

He pauses, you hold your breath. “That’s not me. Not right now. So, nobody special for now. Same as always.”

“Well, that’s a damn shame. I know there are many ladies across America who would love to keep you company. Isn’t that right?”

The crowd cheers in response but you can’t hear it past the roaring in your ears.

It shouldn’t be surprising. Just because you’re not aware of anyone Jake has slept with recently doesn’t mean that it isn’t happening. You’re not together all the time. You’re not his type. You’re not… special. Last night was meant to stay a memory. This morning was a fluke.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself to tape together the crack in your heart. Slap a bandaid on for now. You were a fool to even hold onto that minute chance that your feelings would be reciprocated.

But you’re a big girl. You can pick up the pieces and move on. You just can’t make the same mistake twice.

After the segment is done, you’re waiting for Jake backstage with Bradley. You ask him about his holiday plans and, in all honesty, you’re barely listening to his answers. Something about the Bahamas and visiting his godfather. Your eyes are searching the hallway for Jake, impatiently wondering what he’s doing that’s taking him so long.

So then you excuse yourself to find him.

It seems your pattern the past couple of days is to find ways to split your heart in two. When you find Jake, he’s talking to one of the PAs in a corner. He’s laughing — and you know that laugh, it’s a genuine one. She’s looking up at him in awe, a simpering smile on her face. She looks just like his type, like all the girls he has been with before.

This is it, isn’t it? You’re being replaced. 

Then again, you were never his to begin with.

Be his manager. That’s who he wants. Who he needs. The one that has been with him for fifteen years. The only one he wants around for a long time.

In the car leaving the studio, Jake seems to be in a much better mood. He’s chipper, almost buzzing with energy as he slides closer to you. His hand settles on your thigh covered by only a flimsy pair of stockings. He leans close, lips grazing your ear. “Come over. Our schedule’s done for the day. We can relax at home.”

Home. His. Not yours.

“Can’t wait to have you again, I’ll bend you over the kitchen counter, maybe press you up against my windows,” he murmurs. His words send heat straight between your legs.

You and your stupid hormones. They go into a frenzy around him. But your heart shatters with the confirmation; all he wants is a body to warm his bed. His apartment. Whatever fucking surface is available. You’re there, you’re convenient.

It’s not his fault. He doesn’t know how you feel. He doesn’t know that his proposition only tears open the gaping wound inside your chest.

Your hand peels his off your thigh and he stares at you, partially astonished. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Jake.”

“Oh,” he says, quiet. “We can also just watch a movie. Or if you wanted to go out for dinner, I can get us a reservation at that restaurant you like. The one with the spicy curry. Then we can go home after. I’ll make sure to take care of you again. I’ll make you feel good, darlin’.”

The nickname used to be cute, used to have butterflies floating inside your stomach. Now, you feel uneasy. Like an itch you can’t quite scratch.

It’s a tempting offer, of course, but you need to get a better hold of your self-restraint. “No, I’m pretty tired. I’m going to head home.”

“Right, what—”

“Listen,” you interrupt, breath trembling in your throat, “you’re performing at the ball drop for new year’s this year. I’ve cleared your schedule up until then. Give your parents a call, maybe you can head home to Texas for a bit and see them. They should be back from Italy.”

Jake licks his lips, worried eyes searching your face for something, you’re not sure what. “You could come with me, I think they’d like to see you too.”

“You should go alone. It’s time to be with your loved ones right? Enjoy your time off while you can. I’ll catch you for new year’s, yeah?”

The car pulls up right in front of your apartment building. Your hand grasps the handle but Jake catches you before you can slip out. You turn to face him again. “Hey, what about your Christmas thing with your friends? It’s in a couple of days right?”

Your face feels tight when you smile at him. He notices this, of course he does. “You don’t have to worry about it. I know it’s not your thing, so you don’t have to come if you don’t want to. You’re free to obviously but I figured you’d prefer to go home and see your family while you can.”

Before he can stop you again, you swing the door open and step out. You offer him one last smile.

“Goodnight, Jake. I’ll see you soon.”

—

The preparation for your Christmas dinner with your friends keeps you busy. It keeps your mind off Jake and that look on his face right before you leave him. It helps you stop yourself from constantly thinking about the way Jake felt between your legs, buried deep in your thighs, especially when he does that thing with his tongue—

“Jesus, you’re burning that shit,” Natasha mutters.

You look down and, sure enough, there lies your brussels sprouts. Rest in peace. “Crap. I don’t know if I have more.”

“A couple of people are bringing vegetables, you’ll be fine. You already prepared more than enough.” She’s not wrong. You have prime rib roasting in the oven with your potatoes and greens. There is already a gorgeous charcuterie board sitting on your table with a wide array of cheeses and meets. In the fridge, you’ve got your own concoction of a Christmas jungle juice (heavily spiked given your state of mind when mixing it). Then there is the roast lamb legs, mashed potatotes, and green bean casserole sitting on your table.

People start trickling in shortly and you find yourself caught up playing host, which works well to keep your head and hands busy.

Another knock on the door has you wiping your hands on your apron, now filthy with all sorts of stains from the various sauces you’ve cooked up. When you swing your door open, you’re more than surprised to find Jake standing there.

“Jake! What— I thought you went back to Texas.”

He squirms a little, nose red from the cold, a few massive boxes in his hands, all labeled Luca’s. “I’m leaving in a couple of days, staying for a few days before I fly back for the new year.”

“Oh, well, uhm, come in,” you gesture him inside, opening the door much wider to help him take a couple of the boxes. “You brought a lot.”

“I wasn’t sure what people liked or the allergies, so I got a wide variety.”

A wide variety indeed. He has pies and cakes and tarts and even some gluten free and vegan options. To say your friends are surprised by his thoughtful gesture is an understatement. They openly gawk at the dessert selection. It warms your heart to see your worlds colliding and for people to see Jake in this light you’ve always perceived him in.

While you fuss around with keeping cups filled, plates full, and people entertained, Jake seems to find his own footing in conversations with your friends. They’re impressed by how down-to-earth he is, some going as far as letting you know that you should bring him around more often. A small smile stays on your lips the entire evening. 

Even when you’re not with him, he’s constantly within your line of sight. And you in his. When you look over at him, his eyes immediately shift to you. A question in them, asking if you need something. Anything.

You only shake your head with a smile.

The night goes on for much longer than you expect. Everyone’s tipsy, stumbling around your home with giggles and singing Christmas carols all in different keys. It is only in the wee hours of the morning that the last of them finally spill out into their respective cabs. Despite many of them insisting they could help you clean, you tell them not to worry their pretty little heads and go on home.

Only one doesn’t listen.

“Jake, I’ll be fine. I’m just going to stick everything in the dishwasher.”

“You have so much trash here. Let me at least do that. You hate taking out the trash.”

You do, but you’re also stubborn and you’re a good host and he’s a guest. “It’s fine. I’ll do it. Can you please just—”

But Jake is already drifting around the room, collecting empty and half-filled paper plates and cups to toss into a huge trash bag. He piles up two of them before taking them outside. In the meantime, you cave into his persistence and focus on rinsing off your dishes and stacking them in your dishwasher. The ones you cannot wash, you shove up the sleeves of your sweater and get to work.

The two of you are a well-oiled machine, chipping away at the mess bit by bit until you’re left standing side by side by the sink, rinsing what’s left of your dishes.

“Thanks for staying and helping me clean. You really didn’t have to.”

The end of his lips tug up into a wry smile. “I wanted to. Only way I could get you to talk to me, right?”

You flinch before you can stop it. So maybe you have been avoiding him the last couple of days. It was part intentional (yes, you couldn’t bring yourself to properly talk to him aside from a few emails about work that were urgent for him to screen through) and part accidental (grocery shopping really takes out your energy).

“Sorry,” you mumble, “it’s been hectic with everything going on here.”

“Is that really it? That why you ran away from me that night?”

You can’t bring yourself to look at him, instead focusing on how the suds slide off your hands and down into the sink. It’s now or never. You want to keep working with him. You can’t constantly have this tension looming over your shoulder, chasing you down like a ghost that will never disappear. So you swallow your pride, close off the tap, and turn to him.

“Look, I just wanted to say no hard feelings. We fucked, we can be adults about it. I’m not going to hold you to anything. We can forget about it.”

“Forget about it? What?”

“I know you probably haven’t been with anyone in a while and I was just convenient—”

“Convenient?”

“All I’m trying to say is that I can’t do this. I’m not a one-night stand kind of person.”

“Well, neither am I—” he stops, bites his tongue, “Not anymore. Not for a while now.”

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. The fight or flight instincts kick in again and all you want to do is escape. It’s a loathesome feeling — love. Fear. You’ve never been one to cower in the face of a challenge but this is a long-winded battle you’re tired of fighting. Perhaps the only solution is to wave that white flag.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Jake.”

“Tell me what I have to do here. I-I don’t know what’s gonna make you look at me properly. I’m trying— I’ve been trying. I cut out all the bad. I wanted to leave all the good — be good — for you. I’ve been clean, I promise. Just tell me what I need to do to get you to fall in love with me.”

Your breath hitches in your throat. Your heart seizes in your chest, almost as if it’s stopped working entirely. Your lungs seem to have malfunctioned, refusing to let you breathe, Let you think. Your brain is going on haywire, each nerve shooting off signals in every direction. Purposeless, frantic.

“What?” You squeak, “Why would you want me to be in love with you?”

An exhausted sigh slides past his lips. “Because you are the fucking love of my life. And to be honest, despite everything, we have had a wonderful life, don’t you think? I want to do better with you. I want you to be proud to have me on your arm. You’re so fuckin’ beautiful and smart and devastatingly perfect. I know I have some ways to go but tell me what I need to do and I’ll do it.”

Your brain is still struggling to catch up. The words are there. The meaning is there. It’s clear as day. But that part of your mind that’s listened to you and your greedy desires for so long, all those daydreams about a happily ever after, asks you to doubt. It asks you to question whether you’re really understanding this correctly.

“You’re in love with me?” Your voice is quiet, timid. Like you’re asking a question to the wind that will never answer. Because if it doesn’t answer, you’re still allowed to hope.

Jake shoves his fingers into his hair again, eyes looking at you desperately. Blue melting into green. An emerald lake rippling with a quake. “Darlin’, I was on the phone with my mom earlier today. Talked about you. How good you are to me. She’s known all this time. She told me to get my head out of my goddamn ass and just tell you. That’s fuckin’ terrifying, because I’ve always had you. Even when I had nothing, I had you. And I can’t lose you.”

“But this doesn’t make any sense,” you choke out. “You— you don’t like me?”

“Of course, I fucking like you. I just told you I’m in love with you.”

“No, I mean, you don’t like people who look like me.”

“What are you on about? I don’t think I could’ve been more obvious than last night when I couldn’t even get my dick down when you were scrolling through emails in the middle of the night after we fucked. Was it not obvious?”

“No! You literally do not date nor do you fuck anyone who looks like me. You were even flirting with that girl after your taping!”

“What? What girl?”

“The PA,” you spit out. 

“The PA—” it clicks then and he softens, just a little bit. “Darlin’.” The scowl remains on your face. Stubborn. 

Then he pulls something out of his pocket. A gift-wrapped box. It’s nothing big. The package is light when he hands it to you.

“Merry early Christmas,” he smiles. 

You almost want to snap at him for inappropriate timing. As you begin to delicately unwrap the box, you ready yourself to give him a piece of your mind about time and place. But then you see the name of the designer on the box and your brain stops whirring for a moment. Your trembling fingers flip open the lid. 

“I saw that bracelet on that PA. Thought it would be cute, something you’d like. You mentioned wanting an investment piece and she told me people like this one.” Jake picks it up from the box, the delicate chain dangling from his fingers as he wraps it around your wrist. The clasp clicks into place, the gold shining underneath your kitchen lights. “I was just asking her about it. That’s all.”

“You—” You can’t even have it in you to be upset anymore. “You need to work on your timing,” you say weakly. “Also, it still doesn’t explain why you’ve never been with anyone that looks like me. Everyone you date is a complete opposite.”

“Because I’d rather have you or nothing at all. I haven’t— shit, I haven’t been with anyone in years. All those rumors, those pictures of me leaving with those girls — they’re all fake. I left with them but I never went home with any of them. I did it to stay in the public eye, so I could stay successful. So you’d stay with me; god knows you’d be better off with a fucking teenager making stupid pop hits by now. But I’m selfish, I’m so fuckin’ selfish when it comes to you, sweetheart.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Dead. So tell me, darlin’. Tell me what I have to do because you’ve got my heart at your mercy.”

When the words leave your mouth, they are small — almost private — but they speak volumes. The syllables thunderous given the moment.

“I’ve been in love with you.”

It’s Jake’s turn to freeze. You can practically see the gears turning and shortcircuiting in his mind, crumbling into nothing more than disparate pieces of a failed system. “What? Since when?”

“Forever.”

Jake squeezes his eyes shut. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It didn’t seem like I was your type!”

He grits his teeth, revealing his bright blue eyes again. They’re sharp now. Predatory. Fury, desire, adoration all mixed into one. “You’re my type. You. Not anyone who looks like you or acts like you. Only you. All of you.”

“Shit,” you groan.

Jake doesn’t waste a second before he’s on you, hands capturing your face as his lips take yours. His kiss is ravenous, delightful, but most of all affectionate. You can feel the warmth in his touch now. It’s not just physical attraction. But you are two magnets drawn to each other, never meant to separate. He clings to you like syrup, saccahrine sweet on your tongue.

“We’ve been idiots,” he mumbles against you, tugging you towards your bedroom. “Fuck. I’m not wasting any more time. Move in with me.”

“Jake—”

“Darlin’,” he grunts, “tell me what I gotta do to convince you. You just told me you’ve been in love with me for years. Years. We wasted all that time. I’m not letting you out of my sight for another second.”

“You’re insane.”

He flashes you a devious grin. “Insanely in love with you.” You roll your eyes at his cheesiness. Some rockstar he is. He’s all mush. “Now say it.”

You quirk an eyebrow.

“You know what.”

A soft laugh. “I love you, Jake Seresin.”

—

“No, it’s— She’s important to me. She always has been. Through it all, she has been by my side. She stuck by me through everything, all the highs and the lowest of lows.” Jake pauses, takes a deep breath. “I can’t ask her for any more than that. I think I’ve always asked for too much from her.”

“That’s surprisingly sweet of you,” the female co-host adds with awe.

Jake chuckles. “I love that woman more than anything. When the time comes, when I’m finally brave enough to take the leap, maybe I’ll let her know.”

“You don’t think she’ll be listening?”

“Knowing her, she’ll only listen to this when she has time — and she never has time.”

“Speaking of time, when will that time be? When you let her know.”

“Who knows? The holidays have a bit of magic to them, haven’t they? So maybe it won’t be too far away.”

jake is kissing (taglist): @bckyslover @writergirl28 @hookslove1592 @avengersfan25 @averyhotchner @hailmary-yramliah @catclaw1 @pinksplace @it-is-rebel-owl-ma-dudes @blxckwidxxw @khouse712 @sergeantsebastian @natskisses + @lunexiax @toxicrelief @fancypeacepersona @shrekzwifey @kelbrave

Bells will be ringin’ the sad, sad news. Oh, what a Christmas to have the blues…

The Eagles drifted from the jukebox as the hot chocolate sitting on the bar turned lukewarm. The Hard Deck was dead, of course, as most people were home celebrating Christmas Eve with their families. Except you.

The rest of the squad had flown out early enough that they’d missed the chaos, but you, you had put things off and this is where it got you—a canceled flight, a sad song from the 70s, and a Christmas Eve spent alone.

The winter storm currently drowning California was uncharacteristic, but a good representation of your mood: dreary, cold, bleak.

“Well, would you look at that? I guess Santa got my list after all.”

You didn’t have to turn around to know who the cocky voice behind you belonged to.

Jake Seresin. Charming, flirtatious, extremely attractive. The man you kept on speed dial any time you felt a bit lonely.

“I was actually just leaving,” you said, chugging your drink.

Jake’s lips quirked up. “I’m just here to grab a drink before Penny closes up shop. My flight was canceled so I’ve got nowhere to be.”

You turned to him. “Yours too? Guess we’re the last ones left, then.”

He smirked. “Lucky me.”

“Lucky you,” you echoed, fishing a few bills out of your bag and leaving them on the counter.

Jake slid up to the bar beside you, bringing his warmth with him and collecting his to-go cup. “You alright?”

“Oh, yeah,” you said, tossing your bag over your shoulder and turning to face him. “No flight, no family. Just me and my empty apartment. Totally great.”

He studied you, chewing on the inside of his bottom lip, and he took one step closer. “You know, you don’t have to be alone.”

You’d had a feeling that was coming. Your relationship (if that’s what you wanted to call it) with Jake had always been casual. More about validation and getting off than it was about a true connection. There was a ritual—come over, have sex, leave. There was no cuddling, no movie watching, no breakfast dates. It was all 2 am texts, bare skin, and “walks of shame”, even if either of you happened to drag your feet on your way out.

Being a part of the same squad meant a friendship developed whether you wanted it to or not. Working in close proximity with a multitude of extroverts (and Bob) resulted in weekly team hangs: pool at the bar, burgers at the diner after late nights in the air, easy banter. Given the nature of the squad, it soon became more of a challenge to not be friends with Jake. He loved to rile people up, annoy them until they were red in the face, but even then, he was loyal to the people he cared about.

He’d been there for you in ways you never expected, like when a botched landing left you with deep purple bruises across your hips and Jake was the first person to bustle into your hospital room after you had been examined, insisting on driving you home that night. Then weeks later, when the bruises had turned yellow around the edges, fading just like your resolve, he whispered how much you’d scared him that day against your hipbones, peppering soft kisses on your skin. He never mentioned it again, but you pretended not to notice how careful he was any time he touched you.

You paused, your eyes sliding over his face. You were waiting for a smirk, a smile, but instead he just watched you. “What did you have in mind?”

“Have you eaten?”

You shook your head, stuffing your hands into your jacket pockets.

“Tell you what,” Jake said, adjusting his stance. “I’ll go grab some Chinese and meet you back at your place in thirty. Deal?”

He raised an eyebrow, an expression you’d seen on him a million times, and shoved his hand towards you for a shake.

You weren’t sure why you hesitated, but something in his eyes felt different. Warm, cozy, genuine, not playful or flirty. The feeling broke through the wall of ice this unexpected storm had built around you. Nodding, you took his hand, wrapping your chilled fingers around it.

“Deal.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .✦

Almost half an hour later, your apartment was quiet in a way that made your chest ache. The only light came from the Christmas tree in the corner, its soft glow washing over the walls as you rummaged through a box of old cookie cutters. Cranberry-scented candles flickered from the coffee table, making the whole place smell like your childhood. The storm rolled on outside, pelting your windows with heavy raindrops.

You’d stress-made the dough earlier—your great-grandmother’s recipe, the one written in loopy handwriting that hypnotized you as a little girl. You weren’t going home anymore, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t honor your family’s traditions. Something about the smell of cinnamon and nutmeg brought you right back.

You glanced at your phone on the counter. Your parents had been texting you all day, trying to plan another time for you to visit home. But you hadn’t heard from Jake since he’d left the bar.

You shouldn’t have cared about the second one.

You found the old gingerbread man cutter at the bottom of the tin just as a sharp knock rattled your door.

The sound went straight through you.

He said thirty minutes.

He actually meant it.

You pushed the cookie cutters and rolling pin aside, padding across your apartment. Your heart was doing something stupid in your chest.

Something hopeful.

You hadn’t stopped thinking about the way he’d looked at you in the bar. You couldn’t deny that Jake knew you better than anyone, no matter how hard you’d tried to keep things casual.

You pulled the door open and there he was, a plastic bag hanging on his wrist and a twelve pack of your favorite soda tucked under his arm. His collar was damp under his jacket, water droplets staining the gray fabric. As he crossed the threshold, you noticed a square box peeking out of his back pocket, the red and green striped wrapping paper wrinkled.

“You made it,” you said, locking the door behind him.

He unloaded his things onto the kitchen counter. “Did you doubt me?”

You shook your head, immediately helping yourself to a soda. “Nope.”

Jake smirked. “Good answer.”

The dinner spread covered the entirety of one counter; you were almost certain he’d bought one of everything you’d ever casually mentioned you liked.

“Wait, Jaaake—“ you dragged out his name with a whine. “Where are the—“

“Crab rangoons?” He held up a greasy bag. “Right here, babe.”

Babe.

You narrowed your eyes, taking the bag from him without a word and stealing a dumpling. He smiled, taking a stack of containers and moving to sit down.

This was weird.

The easy friendship that usually only happened in public was bleeding into your secret space, the one only he had access to, the one that made things feel real.

He’d called you babe before, sometimes even baby, usually in the heat of the moment when his hands were gripping your hair and your lips were wrapped around him. Never on a Wednesday night over Chinese food at your dining room table.

But Christmas had a way of changing things—soft lights flickering against rose-colored glasses, making everyday things look magical.

“Why are you so quiet?” Jake asked, his chopsticks paused over a container of beef and broccoli.

“No reason.” Your eyes flicked to the TV where A Christmas Story played, the volume low. “Just…thinking, I guess.”

Jake set his utensils down, his attention fully on you. “Yeah? Care to share?”

You cocked your head, taking a sip of your soda. “Kinda crazy that out of everyone whose flights got canceled, it was ours.”

Jake grinned, pushing back from your small table. “Maybe it’s fate. Or a Christmas miracle.”

He made his way to the kitchen, rummaging through your fridge like he owned the place, but he paused when he saw the tin of cookie cutters sitting open on the counter. “Were you making cookies?”

“It was next on my list,” you replied, closing the remaining food containers to put them away. “My family and I make gingerbread men every year.”

“Wow.” Jake pulled the bowl of already-chilled dough from the top shelf. “God, this smells amazing. You did all this?”

You nodded, joining him in the kitchen and storing the leftover Chinese food in the fridge. “I’ve been making this recipe forever. I could do it with my eyes closed.”

Jake laughed, grabbing the rolling pin and setting the bowl on the counter. “Can we bake them?”

“Have you ever actually made cookies from scratch, Jake?” You asked, pushing the fridge door closed with your hip and leaning against it.

“Uh, well—“ He hesitated, setting the rolling pin back on the counter. “My mom has. And I always liked to watch. I love Toll House, though!”

“Here,” you said with a laugh, stepping toward the counter and dusting it with flour. You motioned toward the bowl and Jake carefully peeled off the Saran Wrap.

He hovered behind you, watching as you gently worked the dough out of the bowl, until it landed on the counter with a soft thud.

“Solid,” Jake said. “Can I try?” He pointed to the rolling pin and you held it out to him, stepping back from the counter. You reached around him and sprinkled a bit of flour onto the dough before urging him to go on.

“I might need some help though.” He looked over at you, his eyebrows raised suggestively. You rolled your eyes and took your place behind him, your hands coming up to guide his forearms, breasts brushing against his muscular back.

He pushed the rolling pin against the dough, his arms flexing as he rolled it out.

“Just be careful,” you warned, standing on your tiptoes, chin brushing his shoulder as you just barely peered over it. “Don’t make it too thin.”

Jake paused. Then in one swift motion, he switched places and moved behind you, arms caging you in, still slowly rolling the dough.

“Better?” He asked softly, his breath hot on your neck.

You shuddered, placing your hands over his but letting him keep the control. “Better.”

His chest pressed against you as he went through the motions, slow and deliberate. The air between you had changed—heavier, quieter.

“Is this good?” He murmured.

“Mm-hmm,” you breathed. “Actually this is perfect. We can start cutting out the shapes…”

The rolling pin slowed. He stepped forward and you felt him against your backside, unmistakably hard, straining against his jeans. His breath hitched as you pushed back against him instinctively, your hips moving in a small circle. His hand dropped from the rolling pin and shot to your hip, pulling you back.

Neither of you said a word; instead, you reached for the cookie cutter, pressing the shapes into the dough with shaking hands as he breathed heavily against the back of your neck. Your heart was pounding against your chest, blood thrumming through your veins.

“The oven…what temperature?” Jake broke through the silence, clearing his throat as he stepped away from you. You missed his warmth immediately, turning toward him to grab a cookie sheet.

“I think we should let them chill for a bit again before we bake them,” you explained swiftly, setting down the tray and arranging the cookies onto parchment paper. You repeated the motions with the remaining dough, rolling it out quickly. “We can bake them in an hour or so? If you’re sticking around?”

You weren’t sure where the quiver in your voice had come from. You’d been alone with Jake multiple times, fully exposed, pressed together in moments of ecstasy. But this felt different—vulnerable, charged in a way you’d never felt before.

“I wasn’t planning on leaving.”

You carefully placed the trays of cookies back into the fridge, letting the door slam. “Good.”

You crossed the kitchen, cupped his jaw, and pressed your mouth to his.

His hands found your hips immediately, slipping over your curves and into your back pockets.

His tongue slipped between your lips, a dance you’d memorized together. The way your bodies fit against each other, the sounds you made in harmony, all were things that you had learned through stolen moments.

“I promise—“ he muttered against your mouth. “This wasn’t the only reason I came here tonight.”

You nodded, nipping at his bottom lip. “I know.”

“I really just didn’t want you to be alone. I wanted—“ he groaned as you pressed your body against him. “I wanted to be with you.”

This was the part you usually avoided—the moment where things could change, where pretending it was casual stopped working. You could pull away. You could laugh it off. But you didn’t. You stayed right where you were, letting yourself want him in a way that felt unnervingly real.

“I know,” you breathed, tossing your head back as his lips trailed down the column of your throat. He sank his teeth into your neck and you cried out, digging your nails into his biceps.

He kissed you again, walking you backwards from the kitchen, down the hall, to your bedroom—a path all too familiar for the two of you. The back of your knees hit the bed, forcing you into a seated position, looking up at Jake. His hair was disheveled, his shirt rumpled, but you’d never wanted him more than you did in this moment.

He lifted your chin with his right hand, using his left to toss that present from his pocket onto your nightstand—almost like he hadn’t wanted you to notice.

“Baby,” he said softly, dropping to his knees in front of you. “What do you need?”

Your fingers brushed against the cropped hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him toward you. “All of you.”

You kissed him, slower this time with less desperation, your heart slowing to a steady beat that sounded like stability. His hands slid from your knees to your waist, holding you in a way that felt grounding.

“C’mere,” you whispered, lying back on your bed and pulling him up with you. He hovered over you, forearms sinking into the plush bedding. You wrapped your legs around his waist, grinding against his erection, bringing him flush against you.

Jake squeezed his eyes shut as his fingers tangled in your hair. “I don’t want to move too fast,” he admitted. “I want every inch of you in my hands, in my mouth. God, I need you. Let me take my time.”

His fingers curled in your sweater, pushing it up your stomach inch by inch as he peppered kisses across your skin. He pulled your sweater over your head and tossed it aside, then wasted no time sliding his hand under your arched back and undoing your bra with one hand.

“Tho-thought you were taking your time,” you said, squirming as your bare nipples peaked against the air.

“Once I saw these gorgeous tits, I couldn’t help myself,” Jake said, wrapping his lips around you. “Now I’ll take my time.”

He worked at you with his tongue and fingers—licking and pinching and sucking and pulling. And then he switched, giving each breast an ample amount of attention, leaving hickeys in his wake. He pressed his face into them, rolling each nipple between his thumb and forefinger before teasing you with his teeth—making your writhe and whimper.

“Fuckin’ love having your tits in my mouth, baby. These cute nipples get so hard when I have my mouth on them. You like that?” He pulled his mouth off of your chest with a pop and pushed himself up until he was eye level with you. “Tell me, baby.”

He leaned down and kissed a trail from behind your ear to your collar bone.

“I love it,” you choked out, trying to guide his hands to your jeans. “More, please. Please.”

He chuckled, cheeks pink, and started his descent, pressing wet kisses down your body until he reached your waistband.

Slowly, he popped open the button, dragged the zipper down, and peeled your jeans down your legs. He raised an eyebrow when your panties, a soft cotton with a Christmas light design, came into view. “Festive.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning up onto your elbows. “Clearly I wasn’t expecting you.”

Jake pulled your jeans off and discarded them alongside your sweater. “No seriously, these panties and your fuzzy Christmas socks? I’ve never been more turned on in my life.”

Without hesitation, you chucked a pillow towards him, but missed. He looked at you appreciatively. “Good effort,” he said, pulling off one of your socks with a smirk. “But not quite.”

The other sock followed and Jake lightly traced the arch of your foot with the tip of his finger, making your breath hitch. His eyes trailed from your toes all the way up to your eyes.

“So beautiful,” he breathed, pressing a kiss to the side of your foot without breaking eye contact. He kissed each of your toes lightly, tickling them with his tongue, before switching to the other foot. He palmed himself over his jeans while his mouth worked at your feet, the vibrations from his moans reverberating through you.

You gasped, your toes curling with each featherlight touch that left you wanting more.

He kissed along your leg, from ankle to knee to thigh, savoring the warmth of your skin. Just before he reached your center, he lowered himself to the other ankle and you groaned. He really was taking his time tonight and as impatient as you felt, you knew in your heart that it meant something.

Jake pressed a kiss to your clothed center, inhaling deeply. “So wet for me.”

He slid a finger under the cotton, dipping it into your wet folds. He pumped it a few times before added a second finger, pressing his thumb to your clit. The pressure made you shiver and buck your hips, meeting his every movement.

“God, Jake, you’re killing me,” you moaned. “Also, why am I the only one naked? That doesn’t seem fair.”

“Hmm,” Jake hummed. “What can we do about that?”

You sat up, reaching for the hem of his soft gray shirt, feeling the ridges of his ab muscles as you pushed it up. The fabric curled around your finger tips as you skimmed them over his warm skin, brushing them through the smattering of hair beneath his belly button.

His head tipped back, a low groan escaping his lips as he raised up to his knees and gripped the back of his collar, pulling his shirt off with ease. You reached over your head to grab it and as you tossed his shirt into the pile with your own, he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you closer.

“Better?” he asked, his forehead pressed to yours.

“Almost,” you replied, your hand snaking between your stomachs to the waistband of his jeans. You slipped your hand beneath them, gripping his thick length. It throbbed, the blood pulsing beneath the silken skin in deep waves.

“Fuckin’ hell…” Jake muttered under his breath, practically ripping his jeans open and pushing them down his hips until his cock sprang free. “Keep going.”

You slid off the bed onto your knees. “Sit back.”

He did as he was told and you leaned over him, taking him in your mouth—slowly, deliberately, until he was brushing the back of your throat.

“Mm, baby…” Jake whined, his fingers tangling in your hair. “You’re so good. Sooo good.”

You took him over and over, keeping your pace steady as his stomach clenched. He was close and you knew it, the whimpers he was eliciting coursing through you and making you squeeze your thighs shut.

“Okay…baby, baby, okay.” Jake pulled at your hair, making you moan around his cock. “Please, not yet.”

You pulled your mouth off of him and stood, your legs wobbly. He watched your every move, eyes dragging over your body, finally landing on your mouth as you pushed your panties down to your ankles. You straddled him, smirking as he gritted his teeth.

“Need to fuck you,” he murmured, taking your face in his hands.

“You always say that,” you said softly, leaning into him.

“And I always mean it,” he replied, pressing his lips to yours in a hot, open-mouthed kiss. He reached between your bodies, guiding his cock to your entrance and sliding it.

He groaned into your mouth, settling into you, the same satisfying stretch overtaking you. Jake always made you feel full and warm and…safe. He put you first and always had, even in those first few awkward hookups in the early days. He aimed to please.

“Oh, Jake…fuck!” You exclaimed, bracing yourself on his chest as he thrust up into you. He kept his pace quick and snappy, his hips meeting your every movement. His fingers dug into the soft flesh at your hips, digging in so hard you were sure there would be marks later.

“I know you love that, baby. Taking me bare, feeling so full. God, your pussy is so perfect, fuck.” Jake’s head fell back against the pillows as you bounced on him, heat building low in your belly with every pull of his thick cock.

Your thighs began to shake and he smirked, sliding his palms down and squeezing. “Please come for me like this,” he begged. “Let me feel it.”

He sat up then, his lips wrapping around your nipple as he pounded into you. Your body felt taut, like a firework ready to explode; the pleasure he was giving you was unlike anything you’d ever experienced with him before. The intentions, the care, the patience—all examples that proved your theory.

Things had changed between you and Jake Seresin. And you didn’t mind one bit.

You threaded your fingers through his hair, pulling hard as your orgasm washed over you, your body shaking as he wrapped his arms around you to keep you steady.

“Yes, baby girl, oh my God…” he whispered against your neck. “Can I have more?”

You nodded, unable to find your voice as your heart pounded out of your chest, and Jake gently lowered you onto the bed.

“Can you lay on your stomach?”

You nodded again, your eyes half-closed, cock-drunk and satiated. Jake groped at your ass, pulling you back to him by your hips. He slid inside again, your slick pussy taking him with ease.

You lay your head down on crossed arms, fingers gripping the sheets, arching your back as Jake found his rhythm. This angle was his favorite: he loved watching your ass bounce as he fucked you and always made sure you knew it.

“Mm, gonna come like this,” he murmured, pressing himself as deep as possible and holding still, his thighs shaking. “Love takin’ you like this. Love being with you. So beautiful.”

“I-fuck, I love it too,” you stammered as another wave of pleasure coursed through you. “I’m glad you’re here, Jake.”

He stilled again, his fingertips ghosting over your skin. “Come here. Please.”

He helped you turn back over until his body was flush against yours, his arms on either side of your head. “I just—I needed to see you.”

His blue-green eyes sparkled against the fairy lights that decorated your headboard, his brow furrowed. You took your face in his hands, softly stroking his jaw.

“Come for me, please. I want you.” You said, your mouth meeting his as he pushed into you.

He kept a steady beat, each meeting of your hips bringing you closer and closer to your climax. You wrapped your arms around Jake’s neck, keeping him close, his forehead pressed to yours. He’d gone silent, his eyes squeezed shut.

“So close,” you whispered, tracing the lines of his shoulders, the muscles underneath his warm skin rigid.

“I’m—“ His thrusts stuttered as he drove himself deeper, his cock pulsing, eyes rolling back. He sank his teeth into your neck and you cried out, your pussy clenching around him as he spilled himself inside of you.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Jake stayed curled over you, his breath warm against your collarbone as it slowly evened out. His hand slid through your hair, down your cheek, until his fingers found yours and intertwined.

You realized that this was usually the part where he pulled away. Where one of you reached for clothes.

He didn’t.

“I should probably—“ You interrupted the silence, gesturing to your bathroom.

“Oh, right,” Jake said, turning onto his side so you could get up.

You walked slowly, pausing in the doorway, one hand on your towel. “Do you want some water or anything?”

“I’m okay, thank you though.” Jake settled onto your pillows, pulling the blanket up to his chest.

You nodded, shutting the bathroom door and running warm water to clean up. He was staying.

And you wanted him to.

Once you’d cleaned yourself up, you opened the door and leaned on the frame, crossing your arms.

“What?” Jake asked, a small smile playing on his lips, his arm thrown over his forehead.

“You looked wrecked,” you said with a laugh, walking over to the bed and lifting the blanket.

He chuckled, turning to face you. “I am. Literally, figuratively, emotionally, spiritually, festively. You did that.”

You settled into the bed with a smirk, shuffling in close. He mirrored your actions, one arm sliding underneath the pillow, the other coming to your waist.

You didn’t speak, just watched as he worried his bottom lip, his eyes trained on the wall behind you.

“Hey,” you murmured, bringing your hand to his cheek. “Are you okay?”

His eyes caught yours finally. “I’m fine. There’s just—I got you something.”

You pushed up onto one elbow. “A present? For me?”

You smiled, attempting to break the tension, but he seemed nervous. He reached for the small package on the nightstand, pinching at the edge of the paper with his fingers. He handed it to you and you slid a finger beneath the folds, gingerly ripping the festive wrapping.

“I just remember you saying how much you loved hockey growing up,” he explained as you pulled the box open to reveal two tickets, the metallic print reflecting the glow of the lights. You pulled them out, squinting to read them.

“The Gulls are playing your hometown team next month. I thought we could go…together.”

Your eyes flicked to him, a flash of something hopeful playing on his face. “Like a date?”

Jake swallowed. “It doesn’t have to be,” he said quickly. “If you don’t want it to be.” You’d never seen Jake like this. Hangman was always calm, cool, and collected. But now he was…unsure.

You set the tickets aside, then turned back to Jake. You slid closer to him, resting your head on his shoulder and wrapping your arms around his waist. He relaxed into your touch, his arm curling around your shoulders, fingers twisting in the ends of your hair.

“It’s a date, Jake Seresin.”