#in a short summary: I went out of the country for the first time in three years and saw harry | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

norrizzandpia · 29 days

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So American (OB38)

Summary: To the song So American by Olivia Rodrigo. In which a Brit and an American fall so deeply in love with each other.

Warnings: suggestive scenes, language, so much fluff omg, reader is from America (specifically California), reader wants to be a writer and loves Jane Austen, reader loves London, idk if you can tell yet but this is HEAVILY indulgent, reader goes to University of San Francisco (that part is not self indulgent lol)

Note: I couldn’t help myself ive had this idea for too long, my debut Ollie Bearman fic! I hope you like it because i do 🤭

Eighteen and baby-faced, Y/n thought her trip to London with her best friends would be fun and outrageous. She expected when they touched down in Heathrow that the trip would bring countless amounts of unique memories. It was part of their celebration of completion in their first year in college, a week-long trip to one of their favorite places to welcome the desperately needed summer.

None of them expected for Y/n to slam into a tall body when they were running to a musical before the doors closed and none of them expected that tall body to be that of another eighteen year old who found the short, American girl too cute to tear his eyes away from.

Ollie hadn’t been expecting much when he decided to take a day trip into London, wanting to spend the day wandering around one of his favorite cities. Though, when his eyes graced him the vision of y/h/c hair and a flushed girl frazzled in front of him, he knew it would be one to remember.

She was short, almost too short as his neck craned down to meet her eyes and the two murmured out apologies as he knelt down to pick up her bag that had dropped when they both rounded the same corner too fast.

Her ID slipped out, California’s name in bold letters right at the top and made Ollie laugh.

”American?” He smiled as Y/n’s friends glanced at each other from the side.

Y/n grinned, “Yep, American.”

Part of him knew getting into business with someone who lived on another continent couldn’t be smart, but he couldn’t bear to think of not seeing her again. Her beauty struck him and there were no thoughts in his mind when he asked for her number when she mumbled something about having to leave.

Y/n’s wide eyes turned around to meet his once more, “My number?”

Ollie nodded, his hand in his pocket and clutching his phone, “Your number.”

Her friends behind her giggled before shoving her toward the British boy who they had no idea was not your average or normal eighteen year old. Y/n took his phone lightly and pressed the correct digits. When she returned it, her name staring back at him, he blushed, “Y/n. That’s cute.”

Her cheeks warmed just like his as her friends began tugging on her hand and yelling about making the showtime, “What’s your name?!” She yelled as they dragged her away.

He waved with a beam, “Ollie!”

Ollie. That’s cute.

—

That summer, Y/n never went back to California. The moment she began talking with Ollie and he began taking her out on dates before she was supposed to leave, she knew there would be no way she could leave him. She canceled her flight back after Ollie had begged her to stay, and told her friends they needed to go back without her, that there was something more she needed to explore in London.

The girls had anticipated it, honestly. When they had seen the dazed grin on their friend’s face every time she came back from seeing the boy, they knew there was not enough willpower to hold her back from changing plans.

She would come back for the next school year, but it was clear if things went well, which they seemed they would be, she would stay for the summer.

And that she did.

Ollie forced her around all of England, showing her his favorite nooks and crannies of the country he grew up in. They would spend hours in his car as he drove her around, to the end of the country and back, just so she could experience his favorite view too. Their moments spent together forced the two to get to know each other wholly. Y/n found out about his racing career, gaped at him when he mentioned his Formula 1 race, and Ollie found out about her mundane life as a student at University of San Francisco. Honestly, he loved how regular she was. He craved her stories of college parties and nights spent up until three AM trying to turn in a paper. He loved her life stories. She loved his. They made for a good duo.

When the end of the two months drew near, tears were shed and words of distance were stressed. As they stood at the entrance to Heathrow, Ollie held Y/n in his arms and promised to find another time for her to come visit him, or one where he would come visit her. He was insistent and while they wouldn’t say it then, they were already in love.

That proved true a few months later, after calls and texts back and forth, when Y/n turned up at Heathrow once more. She was on Christmas break, one that granted her time to see her boyfriend, and while her family had been supportive of her skipping the holiday to go see someone that clearly made her so happy, she still felt a bit guilty to cancel. Though, that feeling diminished when she descended down the escalator and found Ollie holding a large sign with her name on it in pinks and greens, a large smile on his face as she yelped out and sprinted toward him.

“OLLIE!” Her bags dropped and she flew into his arms as he yelled her name back, the sign he had worked so hard on thrown to the floor the moment she got close.

He kissed her cheek and the two were looked upon adoringly by bystanders in the airport as he gently set her down on the ground, kissing her softly and whispering how much he had missed her.

When he led her out of the doors, all her belongings in his hands, they smiled brightly at each other as if to confirm how much they would make this month worth their while.

—

Drivin’ on the right-side road, he says I’m pretty wearin’ his clothes. And he's got hands that make hell seem cold. Feet on the dashboard, he’s like a poem I wish I wrote. I wish I wrote.

Ollie clutched Y/n’s thigh as he drove to their favorite spot, one he had shown her during the summer. Her head lulled to the side, staring at him lightly and lovingly right when he glanced at her, his eyes roaming over her body.

Her eyebrows pulled together, “What?”

He smirked, “You look pretty wearing my clothes.” His fingers traced up her stomach to tug on his sweatshirt that adorned her upper body. The way it draped largely over her made his heart warm and how she had the hood pulled up over her messy hair made him want to pull the car over and kiss her silly.

She looked cozy. Cozy enough that his hand traveled under the material to rest around her waist. His warm hands made her feel more sleepy, the clock in the car reading a time too early, as she cuddled further into herself. Ollie noticed the yawn that drew from her and smiled to himself, his eyes averting back to the lonely road they were on.

“Can I put my feet on the dash?” She murmured, eyes closing and head tucking further into his sweatshirt.

Ollie patted her leg, “Sure, baby. I’ll wake you up when we’re there.”

He turned the music down enough for her to find sleep again and when her phone pinged beside him, he glanced down randomly. His head had snapped back up before he could genuinely realize the notification he had seen. When it dawned on him what he might’ve seen, his eyes drifted down once more and tapped the screen to see it again.

A notification from In-n-Out stayed put on her screen and he stifled a laugh before whispering, “Oh, she’s so American.”

—

And he laughs at all my jokes and he says I’m so American. Oh God, it’s just not fair of him to make me feel this much. I’ll go anywhere he goes and he says I’m so American. Oh God, I’m gonna marry him if he keeps this shit up. I might just be in lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-love.

Ollie howled from laughter as Y/n giggled, her joke going over better than she expected. She knew it was funny, but she didn’t think the red in his face from not breathing was necessary. Still, she admired the way he admired her and went along with his hysterics. When his breathing regulated and his hunched over position came back to a seated one on the cold bench in Hyde Park, her stares were finally noticed by him.

”What?” He asked, arm wrapping around her shoulder as he shoved a piece of croissant in his mouth. He offered the last piece to Y/n and she took it, murmuring before putting it in her mouth, “Nothing. You just think I’m funny.”

Ollie’s eyebrows rose and he blew out a breath, “I think you’re hilarious.”

”I wonder how much you’ll laugh with me when you’re wasted.” Y/n’s head cocked to the side as she lost herself to thoughts.

Ollie giggled, “Probably an annoying amount when I’m pissed.”

Y/n’s jaw dropped in horror, “Not when you’re pissed! Don’t pee yourself!”

The couple turned to each other in confusion, Ollie fully taken aback, “Who said anything about peeing themselves?!”

Y/n jabbed a finger into his chest, “You did!”

Ollie pushed her softly, his hand on her waist drawing her back to him, “No, I didn’t!”

Her head fell into his chest in a fit of laughter, “Yes! I was talking about getting drunk and then you just brought up pissing yourself!”

In a moment of realization, Ollie found himself howling with laughter again. His hands clutched her frozen ones in the midst of winter before he got out, “It means the same thing! Wasted and pissed! Drunk!”

Her mouth fell open as she began to understand. Then, she pulled a face, “Why would you British people say pissed? That’s weird.”

Ollie gasped with a smile, “Hey! Don’t be rude.”

She crossed her arms, “You’re the one that insinuated peeing yourself.”

Ollie groaned and scrambled from the seat, running away from her with loud laughter, “Get away from me, American!”

She got up, rushing after him, with strangers giving them questionable looks as they began running through the bushes and trees of Hyde Park,

As she followed after him, his smile getting caught in her mind, she realized she had never felt this way about anyone. Sure, she had had guys in the past, but none of them compared to Ollie. The time they spent together, whether over the phone or in the actual presence of the other, always left her with a fuzzy feeling. A fuzzy feeling she always wanted to feel. The idea of forever was premature, but she was beginning to believe she was in love with the boy running away from her and jokingly berating her for being American. If she was in love, why not entertain the idea of marriage in her daydreams?

When she reached him, falling into his arms roughly with continued giggles, he leaned in and kissed her softly. The look in Ollie’s eyes when he pulled back made her think he might just be in love with her too.

Maybe they could entertain the idea of marriage in their daydreams together.

—

God, I’m so boring and I’m so rude. Can’t have a conversation if it’s not all about you; the way you dress and the books you read. I really love my bed, but, man, it's hard to sleep when he’s with me, when he’s with me.

Y/n brushed her teeth in the white of Ollie’s bathroom, his parents having generously let her stay in their home during her stay for Christmas. Her best friend, Charlotte, stared back at her from the phone. Their FaceTime had just started and Y/n hadn’t waited to say any greetings before jumping into rambling about Ollie.

”Charlotte, I’m so obsessed with him. I think it’s unhealthy.” She laughed, Charlotte laughing with her. Ollie eavesdropped on the other side of the door. “He’s so sweet and attentive. He remembers all the little things and even suggests things he thinks I’ll love. Which I always do. The other day, we were walking around Sussex and he saw this small book in a window and forced me into the shop. Turns out he had found a Jane Austen Pride and Prejudice First Edition. He told me he remembered how much I loved that movie and that storyline. He even referenced exact sentences that I had said in the midst of my rant about how much I love Jane Austen books. I looked at the price tag, holy shit, Char, it was so expensive. I made him leave the store immediately because the look on his face told me he needed no convincing in buying it for me. I thought I was in the clear, but apparently he’s friends with the owner of that store, so he went in early the morning after, while I was still asleep, and bought it for me. He surprised me with it along with breakfast in bed. I almost cried, Char. He’s even started reading it with me because he knows how much I love it.”

Charlotte’s eyes twinkled at the look on her friend’s face. Charlotte loved Ollie for the way he treated Y/n. “That is fucking insane. This man is in love with you, Y/n.”

Ollie’s heart exploded in his chest from the other side of the door. He had been caught.

Y/n’s whispering was loud enough for him to hear, “I think I’m in love with him too. I can’t get over his smile and his favorite pair of shoes that he most definitely needs to repurchase. I love his humor and how much he wants to make me happy. I love how he makes me feel so wanted and important. I love everything about him from his ratty Ferrari sweatshirt to the moles on his cheek.”

Ollie almost started giggling, jumping up and down like a schoolgirl, at her confession. He was ecstatic. This feeling was better than when he scored points in his first Formula 1 race. Yet, he didn’t want to let her know he knew yet. He wanted to plan something, something big that would show how serious he was about her.

The two friends hung up the phone after Y/n realized what time it was and rattled off to Charlotte about Ollie waiting for her in bed. Charlotte tried not to point out the suggestive nature of her statement, but she failed. “Use protection!” She yelped just as the phone hung up. Y/n stood in the threshold to Ollie’s bedroom, him staring back at her as the two took in Charlotte’s warning.

Ollie flopped down into the sheets, Y/n falling right into his arms. He kissed her neck and whispered, “She doesn’t need to worry. We will.”

They wouldn’t end up falling asleep until far into the night.

—

I apologize if it’s a little too much, just a little too soon, but if the conversation ever were to come up I don’t want to assume this stuff. But, ain’t it love? I think I’m in love.

Ollie couldn’t wait to tell her. Let her know that he felt the same way. And Y/n couldn’t wait to tell him about her most favorite idea, one she had come up in the wake of telling her best friend how much she loved her boyfriend. Neither of them knew the other had something so serious to discuss as they drove down the quiet street. Ollie had shoved her in the car, telling her he was taking her to a picnic under the stars. He threw his coat over her, taking his other for himself, and drove the few minutes before arriving at the open grass area near his house. He helped her out of the car, leading her to the trunk to get the box of food his mother had helped him make in preparation for this, and found a perfect spot with the clearest view of the sky.

The cold, winter air made them curl into each other, creating the perfect amount of warmth to stay. Y/n didn’t know how to breach her topic as they popped spoonfuls of soup into their mouths. Ollie beat her to it.

“Can I tell you something?” He whispered, finding her soft eyes.

She nodded, “Of course, baby.”

He sighed, putting his soup off to the side and trying to rid his body of unnecessary nerves. He knew she felt the same. Still, his hands shook slightly, not from the cold, “You have completely wrecked my life. You were so unexpected and not something I was ever anticipating, but I am so happy you fell into my life, Y/n. I will always look back on that moment at that random corner in London with so much love because…” He took a deep breath, “I love you and that was the start of you and me.”

Y/n’s face beamed and she set her soup down, throwing herself into Ollie. He fell backward, the two falling into a heap of limbs on the blanket below them. She kissed his face all over with sloppy, lovesick kisses, “Ollie! I love you too!”

He would never get over how her voice sounded whenever she said his name. Sure, she had said it in annoyed manners before when he had ticked her off, but, even then, he loved the way her accent sounded around the syllables. Never did he think he would be putting American accents first before British ones on his list of most beloved accents. Though, he was beginning to find that her smiling face was getting him to do a lot of crazy things lately. Like, buying a book worth thousands of dollars and reading it along with her. Chilling.

She tapped the back of his palms before tugging lightly on his fingers, “I have something to run past you.”

He nodded, pulling her between his legs and stroking her back. She let her legs wrap around his waist as they continued to sit on the blanket, “You know how much I want to be a writer? The reason why I’m studying English and everything?”

Ollie continued nodding, tilting his head as to tell her he had no clue where this was going.

She cleared it up quickly, however, when she nervously rambled, “What if I transferred to a UK university?”

Ollie’s heart almost flew from his chest, “Like, move here?”

She gave a small smile, “Yeah. I mean, I’ve always wanted to move here and study here. I love it here. But, now,” She kissed his lips, “I have more of a reason to. Would that be something you’d be okay with?”

He scoffed, “Would that be something I’d be okay with?! Fuck, yeah! Oh my God, Y/n, please move here. Holy shit, move here.” He begged with the cheekiest grin on his face.

She laughed, “Okay, okay. I still have to be accepted, but I have good chances with my grades and everything.”

Ollie shook her body lightly, “No, you’ll be accepted. If I start a manifestation journal specifically for this, would you judge me?”

Y/n cackled, “No, go right ahead. Tap into that spiritual force, Bearman.”

He kissed her hard, happy it seemed to work out for them. God, he wanted it to work out for them so bad.

—

ONE YEAR LATER

Y/n walked down the street to her dorm, a quizzical look etched into her face as she rounded the corner and ran into a hard body. Her eyes found his familiar ones from her position below him and his smile welcomed her home after a long day.

Ollie laughed, “We have got to stop meeting like this.”

She tucked herself under his arm as they began walking, “You just need to stop walking so fast.”

He laughed at her comment before leaning down and kissing her cheek, “How was your day?”

She groaned, “So long. English in a UK university is much more in depth than I was expecting. It puts American colleges to shame. Plus, for lunch, the waiter screwed up my order.”

Ollie frowned, “Oh, no. What’d they mess up?”

Y/n gave him a sad smile, “I asked for chips with my sandwich and they gave me French fries.”

There was silence before Ollie shook his head with a soft smile, “Baby, French fries are chips here.”

She stopped dead in her tracks, “What do you mean?”

He playfully rolled his eyes, “No one says French fries here. If you want that, it’s chips.”

She stood in front of him in a stance that suggested this was an outrage. He chuckled at her, “Then, what do I say if I want chips?!”

He pushed her hair away from her face lovingly, “Crisps, love.”

She huffed and turned away, walking down the sidewalk before he quickly caught up with her. She grumbled from under his arm, “You need to teach me these crazy discrepancies.”

Ollie nodded and kissed her hair, “It’s not my fault you’re so American, but sure, I will. We can start now.”

Apparently, that sufficed for her as she let out an agreeing noise, “Yeah, so where are we going for this date.”

He put his finger to his lips and shushed her, “No, it’s a surprise.”

Her mind loved the fact that he was so obsessed with planning their outings by himself. She loved how much he initiated everything. She had never felt so taken care of. She always envied the girls loved wholly by their boyfriends and now she had that for herself. There would be no day that would come that she took advantage of the boy she fell in love with two summers ago.

She shrugged, “You better be happy I trust you so much, I’d follow you into a dark cave without any questions.”

Ollie squeezed her, “I mean, I follow you anywhere you go, so if you’re not going into that cave, I’m not either.”

He pulled her down the stairs to the Tube as he slipped her backpack off her body and onto his. She kissed him in appreciation, “So, it’s settled. No dark caves.”

Ollie shook his head and led her to the place they needed to be. He held her hand tightly as they weaved through the crowds, his head flicking behind him to check on her frequently before just pushing her in front of him, his hands around her waist as he steered her.

When they got to their platform, he added his last thought to their conversation, “We need to get married first before wandering into dangerous caves.”

He said it so nonchalantly, it made her fall in love with him more. And when he met her eyes after he was met with silence, he found overwhelming joy within them.

He kissed her in the midst of the chaos underground, his hands cradling her face and hers loosely around his waist. They were a sight for sore eyes, but no one saw them in the midst of their special moment.

It was just for themselves and would be referred back to in the coming years as the moment where their forever really started.

Bloody hell, they were so in love.

#f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #ollie bearman #ollie bearman x reader #ollie bearman x you #ollie bearman x y/n #ollie bearman x female reader #ollie bearman fluff #Spotify

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godslino · 3 months

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MIGRATION | bang chan first date series. strangers to lovers.

pairing: bang chan x fem!reader word count: 5.5k genre: fluff, romance, falling in love at first sight summary: you've never been lucky when it comes to dating, but a blind date with chan just might turn that around

author’s note: hello and welcome to my first date series!! i seriously had so much fun writing this and i’m so excited to continue with the other members. i hope you all enjoy! if you liked it, please remember that any and all feedback is appreciated!! happy reading <3

“So…I know a guy.”

You groan, throwing your head back against the cushion of the booth you’re currently shoved into. Changbin drops his fork to gesture at you with his hand, a look of exasperation on his face.

“Come on, I haven’t even said anything yet!”

“The problem is that you’ve said anything at all.” You say, glaring at him as you reach for your drink.

Changbin, as much as you love him, is notorious for being the worst wing man in the history of wing men. His most recent pick, Jooyoung, was a friend of his from high school. A freelance writer, the owner of a snazzy apartment in one of the more sophisticated districts of Seoul, and conveniently single. They’d recently reconnected after a mutual friend threw a party that they both went to, and he was ecstatic to try and set the two of you up.

You’d been reluctant, rightfully so, but Changbin is anything but a quitter and you also just so happen to be the world’s biggest pushover (his pout is just too good, okay?), so you’d agreed on the off chance that it just might work out.

Long story short, it didn’t.

Jooyoung was probably the biggest asshole you’d ever been on a date with. Not that you were surprised, though. Changbin’s circle of friends when he was younger mainly consisted of grade-A douchebags who were born with a golden spoon in their mouths. Perks of being born into a wealthy family and attending one of the most elite private schools in the country, apparently. Changbin had attended a university on the outskirts of Seoul for a reason. Lesser known, laid back—to study music of all things—and the sole reason for his father’s headache, as he’d put it. That’s where he met you.

“Okay, but I think this guy might be the one.” He makes air quotes around the two words, and you scoff as you cross your arms.

“And what would you know about that?”

“Um, a lot? You’re my best friend, I know exactly what you’re looking for.”

This is the part where things go south—or so you assume. Changbin puts on the puppy eyes, jutting his bottom lip out to hell as he stares at you from across the table. You glare at him dead on, unwavering. He won’t get you this time. Not over your dead body.

“At least let me tell you about him?”

“No.”

“I met him at the company. He makes music just like me, only slightly better. And you know how I am, I don’t just say that stuff. That means he’s really good.”

Choosing to ignore him, you go back to poking at your noodles.

“He’s from Australia. Born here, moved there when he was young, then moved back to pursue music. Kinda ballsy if you ask me. But he speaks English, so at least communication won’t be as much of an issue as other guys.”

A small crack in your composure. The idea of this guy growing up somewhere other than Korea is…pretty intriguing.

Despite moving here three years ago for school, it’s still kind of hard to communicate when your Korean could be more polished than it is. You’d basically kept to yourself for the first year until you met Changbin. He’d easily integrated you into his group of other music majors, even though you stuck out like a sore thumb as both a foreigner and a stem major. But if it weren’t for him, you think that you might’ve hauled ass back home a long time ago due to the isolation. So to be introduced to someone who can speak english, under the prospect of possibly dating them, sparks a bit more interest.

Changbin notices the slight twitch of your brow and smirks, one side of his mouth pulling downwards. Bastard.

“Hmm, what else? Oh! Dude’s got a killer set of dimples. You’re into that, aren’t you? You used to go on and on about that younger guy in your physics class during senior year. What was his name—Jeongsuk? Jeong—Jinyoung? Jeongin! It was Jeongin.” Changbin snaps his fingers like he’s impressed with his own memory, pointing at you as you fix him with a blank stare. “He has dimplessss.” He sing-songs for emphasis.

And, really, this should not be the breaking point. You’re better than this. You’re not so shallow that you would throw away your pride for a man you’ve never met—let alone never seen before—all because he has dimples.

But, once again, you’re a pushover. A big one. So yeah, fuck it.

“What’s his name?”

Changbin blinks like he wasn’t expecting you to fall for it. “Seriously? That’s what got you?”

“You have five seconds to tell me his name before I change my mind.”

He scoffs, mouth agape. “I went as far as disregarding my own talents to play up this guy and his music making abilities—”

“Five.”

“—tried to give you a little bit of a backstory, too—”

“Four.”

“—and the dimples are the final nail in the coffin?”

“Three.”

“Chan! His name is Chan. God. Just—stop counting. It freaks me out.”

Chan. You throw the name around in your brain for a bit, pointedly ignoring the way Changbin is whining about how you sound like his mother when you do the whole number thing. It’s kind of…cute. Not enough to conjure up an idea of what he might look like, but putting a name to a faceless stranger with dimples in your head is gonna have to do for now.

“You swear this guy is normal?”

Changbin rolls his eyes. “Define normal.”

“Okay, let me rephrase myself,” you push your plate forward, laying your forearms on the table as an indicator that you’re serious, “Is he an asshole?”

“No.”

“Hm. Okay. So that’s a maybe.”

“What the fuck? I just said no.”

“Yeah? You also set me up with Jooyoung, remember? The guy who literally started flirting with the waitress right in front of me five minutes into our date? And then proceeded to yell at her when his fries weren’t salted?”

“How was I supposed to know…” Changbin mumbles, looking off to the side guiltily.

“Nevermind. Just—if this goes bad, I’m blaming you. And then I’m never going on a blind date with one of your friends again. Matter of fact, I’m never going on a date again, period. Deal?”

Changbin grins, the apples of his cheeks shiny under the restaurant lighting. He holds his hand out for you to shake, and you take it hesitantly, grimacing when he uses his strength to jostle your arm like a ragdoll.

“Deal.”

🎥🍿

Any hope you had for the date going smoothly starts to dwindle once Chan texts you the day of.

You’d gotten his number from Changbin, who had so kindly already given Chan your number before he’d even broached the subject with you. The resulting lecture about privacy and consent may or may not have extended the rest of your time at the restaurant, a sheepish Changbin rubbing at the back of his neck while you berated him for his lack of common sense.

When your phone buzzes on your bathroom counter, Chan’s name flashing across the screen, you mistakenly think that he might be messaging because he’s early. Which, given the fact that you were standing in nothing but a towel, hair still wet from your shower and face covered in moisturizer you hadn’t rubbed into your skin yet, would be less than ideal.

Chan [12:32p.m.]

Hey! I’m really sorry to have to do this, but can we push the date back an hour?

Something came up at the studio

I tried to get out of it but I have a deadline to meet, client probably won’t be too happy of their track isn’t done on time

Great. Already off to a rough start.

In his defense though, you appreciate the fact that he’s messaged a whopping two hours in advance. Most people probably wouldn’t be bothered to allow that much of a grace period.

You [2:33p.m.]

no worries!!!

you didn’t buy the tickets yet, did you?

Chan [2:34p.m.]

Nope! So we should be fine

I’ll purchase them for 6 and then be there to scoop you up around 5:30 if that’s cool?

You [2:36p.m.]

sounds perfect

hope stuff goes well at the studio!!

Chan [2:40p.m.]

You’re sweet

Thank you, I’ll see you soon :)

You’re sweet. You stare at the words on the screen, your brain buffering for a moment. A big fat loading circle floating above your head.

Suddenly it’s way too hot in the bathroom. You blame the fact that you shower with the water cranked all the way up to boiling, because really there’s no other explanation for the warmth spreading throughout your cheeks.

To be fair, it’s been almost a year now since you’ve had any sort of positive interaction with another male. On one hand, your last relationship ended in a ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ ordeal that most definitely gave the impression that it was you. On the other hand, most of the dates you’ve been on have ruined themselves within the first five minutes, never really giving you the chance to feel any sort of connection. Cocky attitudes, overly pushy encounters, and even someone who walked into the cafe you were seated at, took one look at you, and walked right back out. That one still hurts.

It’s a little sad that Chan is the only guy out of the mix whose elicited any sort of reaction out of you. Especially since you haven’t even met him yet.

The extra hour that you have to compensate for flies by a lot quicker than you expect, and before you know it Chan is messaging that he’s five minutes away.

You take one last glance in the mirror: a pair of light wash jeans that sit right above your hips, black halter top bodysuit, and a thin cream colored cardigan to tie it all together. Simple and cute. A movie date doesn’t really call for all the dramatics, and you’d hate to overdress for a first impression.

You’re in the middle of reapplying your chapstick when the doorbell rings.

Take it easy, you say to yourself, inhaling deeply as you reach for the door handle. You let the air out with one final huff, swinging the door open only to be met by a bouquet of daisies directly in front of your face.

You blink in surprise. Well that’s a first. Before you get a chance to speak, the bouquet is being lowered, and the moment Chan’s face comes into view causes a small gasp to fall from your lips.

He’s…cute. Beautiful, even. A bright smile, dimples that tuck themselves into his laugh lines as his eyes disappear into crescents much like the moon, and lips that make your head spin when his tongue darts out to wet them nervously. His hair falls messily across his forehead in a faded hue of purple with hints of brown, definitely unconventional and an obvious result of one too many washes, but he makes it work. He makes it work well.

He clears his throat, brings a fist up to his mouth to emphasize it, and then grins. “Hi there.”

It takes a second for your brain to catch up. Even his voice is attractive. He’s using english, which leads you to assume that Changbin has already told him that you’re not from here. His accent is there, not too noticeable but also strong enough to be picked up on.

“Hey.” You smile, rubbing a hand up and down your arm.

“These are for you. I, uh, as an apology for being late. Is it too much?”

You shake your head quickly. “No! No, these are—they’re beautiful. I love them. Thank you…Chan.” His name rolls off your tongue hesitantly, but it all disappears as soon as he flashes that smile again.

“Good, I’m glad,” his voice catches the breathy end of the laugh he lets out, “This is weird, isn’t it? I’m sorry, I don’t really do well with this kind of stuff. But you look really nice, and I’m excited. My car is parked just out front if you’re ready to go.”

Honest. Awkward. A laugh that makes you want to hear it over and over again. You were sold the minute his eyes met yours. Chan offers his elbow for you to take like you’re in some cheesy romance movie from your childhood.

Yeah. This one is definitely gonna go well.

🎥🍿

Chan might not show it, but he’s just as nervous as you are.

You wouldn’t be able to tell at first glance that he spent an entire forty-five minutes deciding on an outfit, only to settle with some jeans and a white shirt, a jacket thrown on top for some color.

When Changbin first proposed the idea of going on a date with you, he was adamant that he wasn’t looking for anything right now. But as soon as you opened the door, eyes wide and looking like the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, he’s glad he said yes.

“So what movie are we seeing?” you ask, frowning when Chan laughs. “What? What’s funny?”

“It’s a surprise.” He smiles, rushing forward to hold the door of the car open for you. When he puts his hand against the top part to block your head, you have to suppress the smattering of butterfly wings that start to clamor against your ribcage.

Chan is sweet. He double checks that you’re buckled in before driving off, he asks if there’s any specific music you want to listen to before foregoing it all entirely to ask about you instead, he listens with an attentiveness that has you feeling seen and heard, and he smiles with such genuinity and warmth that you feel cold once it disappears. You stare at him in awe, like he’s a figment of your imagination.

Chan’s been staring back, too. He spares glances in your direction when you’re not looking, feels the steady thump of his heart gradually increase whenever you lean a little too far to the left when he makes you laugh, and he thinks your voice is prettier than anything that’s ever played on the radio.

You learn more about him as he drives. He moved back from Australia when he was seventeen, he’s got two younger siblings and an adorable puppy named Berry back home (and pictures on his dashboard to prove it), he prefers Australia’s summers over Seoul’s winters but he finds more inspiration here in the city than anywhere else. You resonate with the fact that he doesn’t really have anyone here besides a small circle of friends. No family, no one to fall back on when things get tough.

Chan talks like he’s an old friend, like he’s re-telling a story you’ve heard a thousand times. He makes it easy to fall into step with him as if you’ve been here all along.

By the time the two of you get to the movie theater, the initial awkwardness that had hung in the air is gone, replaced by comfort and ease. Chan throws the car in park and all but books it out of his seat to open your door for you, and you giggle when he makes a dramatic bow as you exit.

The theater is kind of busy for a Thursday night. There are families with their kids lined up to get tickets and groups of teenagers at the concessions, all of which make for a crowded lobby. Chan glances down when you place a hand on his arm, mostly because you want to stay close, but also because it’s hard to ignore the feeling of being magnetized towards him. He smiles, bending at the elbow to allow your arm to slip into his.

There are cardboard cutouts along the sides of the lobby, all of which serve to promote the newest animated release about a family of ducks. You squint at the showtimes once the two of you make it to the front of the counter, letting your eyes scan the movie titles until you finally land on—

“Two tickets for Migration, under Bang Chan.”

The girl behind the counter looks up, her eyes bored. She can’t be any older than sixteen, most likely resentful about the fact that she’s stuck here on a school night. “The kids movie?” She asks, unimpressed.

Chan braves a glance in your direction and—ah, there goes that grin again. Cue the butterflies. You’d agree to a three hour long showing of static and white noise if it meant he’d never stop doing that.

“Yup, that’s the one.”

Tickets in hand, a smiling Chan right next to you, and a massive line for popcorn that honestly might have the two of you late for the previews. “We’re seeing a kids movie?” You ask, moving up a spot in the line.

“Mmhm. I spent so long looking at all the options. The romcoms seemed boring, Bin mentioned that the newest superhero movie was bad, and I figured a scary one was too cliché,” he eyes you sidelong, “Unless you’re into that.”

You huff out a laugh, not really expecting him to be so straightforward, “I definitely am not.”

“Hm, so the old yawn to put my arm around you trick won’t work?” His eyes are playful, but something about the idea of being in even more contact with him has your stomach doing flips.

“Nope. Sorry. Seen that one before.” You say, making him laugh, his earring dangling when he drops his chin towards his chest.

“I guess I’ll have to figure out something else then.”

Another thing you learn about Chan is that he enjoys interesting food combinations.

“You like peanut m&ms?” he asks, throwing a bag of them onto the counter when you nod your head. After he pays, he pockets his wallet and turns to you with a bucket of popcorn tucked under his arm and a large drink with two straws in his hand. “Could you grab the candy?”

First door, theater one. There are a bunch of parents and their kids entering ahead of you, all of them buzzing with excitement. It’s a little funny, the fact that two grown adults—no kid in tow—are walking into the showing of a kids movie.

Chan leads you to the very back row. “For the kids, just in case they can’t see over us.” He quickly clarifies after noticing the way your eyebrows shoot up in silent question, but even in the dim lighting you can still see the tips of his ears turning pink.

“Taking me to a kids movie and then propositioning me in the presence of five year olds? You’ve got some nerve.” You say, timing it perfectly as Chan is leaning forward to take a sip of the drink that’s placed in the cupholder between the two of you. He sputters around the straw in surprise, coughing into his fist.

“That’s not—” You laugh, cutting him off as he stares at you with red eyes from his coughing fit. The mood shifts after that, and Chan visibly relaxes into his seat as he starts throwing jokes out a lot easier than before.

“Learned this from my dad,” he says, opening the bag of m&ms, “It’s my favorite thing to do at the movies. Haven’t been in a while because—well, I don’t really have anyone to go with.”

You watch as he dumps the candy into the popcorn bucket, shaking it to mix everything together. He reaches in to grab a piece of popcorn and an m&m at the same time, popping it into his mouth.

“Oh my god,” he sighs, slumping into his seat, “Forgot how good that is.”

When you don’t respond, he looks over. “You okay?”

Are you? You’re not sure. Every bone in your body is screaming bloody murder because Chan is making it really hard to not want to lean over and kiss the concerned frown off of his stupidly pretty face.

The thing about it is that you don’t do blind dates. And you most especially don’t enjoy them. But Chan is different. Chan holds doors open for you and makes corny jokes. Chan laughs at everything like it’s his last day on earth and he’s making up for lost time. Chan listens when you talk and responds with genuine interest. Chan compliments the little girl in the theater lobby who’s wearing a princess dress to watch the new superhero movie. Chan shares something as special as his dad’s favorite movie snack with you. Chan is just…Chan. And you like him. A lot.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay, I’m just—thank you. For sharing that with me.” You say, the corners of your mouth lifting.

“Stop doing that.” He mumbles, eyes trained ahead.

“Doing what?”

“Smiling. It makes my head spin.”

Your heart slams against your chest. You’ve spent the entire date trying to make sense of the way Chan makes you feel, trying to put it all into words. Yet here he is, right in front of you, saying his thoughts as they come and absolutely ruining your resolve in the process. Like it’s easy for him.

There’s no time to answer when the lights go down, the screen up front widening to signal the start of the movie.

Just like any other kids movie, it’s easy to get caught up in all the surface level jokes while also understanding the themes. You and Chan laugh outwardly at some parts, hold your breath at the suspenseful ones. It’s almost like you’re a kid again, enjoying yourself fully for the first time in a really, really long while.

Chan was right, the popcorn and m&m combination is good. You reach back into the bucket for more, freezing when Chan does the same and his knuckles brush yours in the slightest of touches, sending a jolt of electricity up your arm. It happens a few more times, each one leaving his hand lingering for far longer than the last, until eventually he makes a show of digging really hard for an m&m and hooks his pinky with yours in between the popcorn. It’s cheesy and cliché but god does it make your stomach do somersaults.

About three-quarters of the way through the movie, when it’s clear that neither one of you are willing to take it the next step further, you lean into his ear.

“You okay? You look kind of tired.”

Chan turns, confused. He’s certain that he wasn’t dozing off. He did have a late night last night. He was up working on the track that still somehow managed to hold him back today, hoping to have everything polished so that he didn’t run into any obstacles before your date. But that didn’t really work out in the end.

“Huh? No, I’m fine. Honest.”

“You sure?” you ask, a slight lift to your voice, “I don’t know, you looked like you were about to yawn.”

The light from the movie hits the left side of his face, illuminating all of his features in a way that makes your breath hitch. He’s pretty. So, so pretty.

Chan blinks, slow, and then his confusion slowly turns to one of understanding. Cue the grin.

“You know, now that I’m thinking about it…I am kind of tired.” He makes a show of fake yawning, stretches his arms above his head (and not blocking any children since you’re in the back row, thankfully), before bringing his right arm down and around your shoulders.

You spend the rest of the movie like that, tucked into Chan’s side while his fingers move gently against your shoulder. He’s unbelievably warm, and eventually you find your head resting in the spot just between his shoulder and his neck, his cheek pushed up against the side of your head. The position makes it easier to reach up and pat his eyes dry at the end, a single tear slipping out as he sniffled and mumbles a ‘M’not crying’ that has you giggling and doting all over him.

He doesn’t move his arm for the entire walk back to the car, and you momentarily mourn the loss when he opens the door for you (again!) so you can climb in. When he finally gets in on the other side, he says nothing, just reaches over to intertwine his fingers with yours and places your joined hands on the center console like it’s something you’ve done a thousand times.

“Ready to go home?” He asks, looking over at you.

You glance down at your hands, then back up at him. “Is it weird if I say no?”

“Not at all,” Chan grins, throwing the car into drive, “I was hoping you would say that.”

🎥🍿

“For you.”

Chan plops down on the bench, a hand outstretched with a steaming hot chocolate ready for you to take.

“Thanks,” you smile, cradling the cup between your hands.

After some deliberation, you and Chan had decided to come to the Han River. It’s quiet, the bridge lights reflecting off the water as the sounds of the city fade into the background. The temperature is slightly on the colder side, the tail end of winter just barely there. When he notices the slight shiver of your shoulders after a particularly strong gust of wind, Chan shucks his jacket off in a heartbeat to drape over you.

“Oh, you don’t—”

“You’re cold,” he scolds, pulling at the collar of the jacket to tighten it around you. His hand lingers near the base of your neck, fingers itching to reach out and touch. He doesn’t though, just smiles and settles back into the bench. “Plus I think Changbin might actually kill me if something were to happen to you.”

“Oh please,” you roll your eyes, “Ignore him. I’m not a baby.”

Chan takes a sip of his own hot chocolate, licks his lips to catch the excess. Not that you’re staring. “I’m serious. I mean, I get it. He told me that you’re here alone and stuff.”

You hum in understanding, turning your head to stare out at the water. “So are you.”

It’s Chan’s turn to look at you now, his elbows resting against his knees, and you watch out of the corner of your eye as his face turns unreadable.

The silence stretches thin, nothing but the sound of cars passing and a dog barking nearby. It’s kind of comforting in a way. Being on your own in a new place has been one of the hardest transitions you’ve ever had to deal with. There were times where it felt like a mistake, where you wished that you’d never even gotten on the plane. But then there were times where you felt lucky to be experiencing the things you are; to be able to try new things and pursue a life for yourself that you never thought possible.

“How’d you do it?” you ask quietly, turning to meet Chan’s gaze. “I mean, you were young. Seventeen is basically still a kid. Being alone in a place like this is scary as an adult, I can’t even imagine what that was like.”

Chan smiles, but it’s sad. His eyes twinkle with something like resentment, the lights from the bridge making it look like he’s glowing. A flame that’ll never burn out. “Would you believe me if I said I’m still figuring it out?” The end of it comes out as a laugh, but you can tell he means it.

“I don’t know, being a big shot music producer with deadlines and clients seems pretty figured out to me.”

Chan nods and stares at the cup in his hands. “My parents hated it. Still do, I think.” You don’t say anything. Chan is grateful for that; grateful for the space you’re giving him to explain. “They wanted more for me I guess. But I’m not sure that more would’ve necessarily been what I wanted, you know? I’m content with where I am now. I’m doing something I love, even if it took a while to get here. They don’t see it.” He chews his lip nervously, fingers playing with the soggy material of the paper cup’s rim.

Chan doesn’t know why he’s saying any of this. He’s not the type to completely bare himself out to anyone, to scoop away at his insides until there’s nothing left besides the hollowness he feels whenever he thinks about how he traded his life back home for a life of music. But you’re different somehow. Chan knew since the moment he saw you, felt it in the way your eyes lit up whenever he spoke and in the ease of how well the two of you got along. He was doomed from the start.

“I see it.” you say, your eyes still fixed on the water. “I might’ve only just met you today, but I see it. And I get it, too. Maybe not to the same extent, but the feeling of wanting to do something for yourself even if it meant losing something else. There’s purpose in that, in you. It’s okay to be selfish if it means you’re prioritizing your happiness.” You let the words settle for a bit, hoping that you don’t sound too shallow. When you turn to look at him, he’s already looking back.

“You don’t know me enough to say that.”

“I don’t have to know you to believe in you, Chan.”

A beat of silence, and then he’s laughing, short and punctuated as he lets his head fall forward with a small shake.

“You’re…”

“What? Corny?” you supply, smiling over at him.

“No,” he says, meeting your gaze. “Perfect.”

You huff out an incredulous laugh, looking away to hide the blush that’s spreading across your cheeks. “You can’t just—god, now who’s corny? Huh?”

“I never said I wasn’t corny.” Chan argues, sitting up to face you fully.

“Yeah but you can’t just say stuff like that.”

“Why not? I think you like it.”

Your mouth opens and closes quickly, lost for words. Chan’s closer now, a lot closer than he was before. One arm thrown across the back of the bench, loosely framing you in, he bends it at the elbow to bring a hand up and tuck your hair behind your ear.

“I never said that.” you mumble, your gaze flicking down to his lips and then back up again.

“You want me to stop then?” he asks, voice just above a whisper. You know what he’s implying the minute his fingers trace the shell of your ear, moving down slowly until they start playing with the collar of his jacket.

“Is it bad if I say no?”

Chan’s hand is warm to the touch, ice to fire. You lean into it. A moth to a flame, one that’ll never go out.

“Not at all,” he repeats, just like earlier, “I was hoping you would say that.”

A dog barking in the distance. Cars beeping as they pass by. A plane flying overhead. A group of friends laughing as they ride past on their bikes. The minute Chan’s lips connect with yours, everything fades, the sounds warbling together like static. Unintelligible; nothing besides the feeling of Chan kissing you matters.

It’s slow, nothing more than a press, but you feel it in every fiber of your being. Kissing Chan feels like the poles of the earth are colliding, meeting in the middle and sending its molten core spreading throughout your entire body. Warm, warm, warm. Chan is warm. He’s soft and gentle and his lashes tickle your cheeks when his eyes flutter closed halfway through because he was too busy etching your features into his memory.

You’re the first to pull away, admiring the way Chan’s eyes slowly peel open, lips swollen and pink. Unable to resist, you lean in and peck them once more, giggling when he blinks at you in shock.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been as compelled to kiss someone as I was just now.” You smile.

“Me too,” he sighs, resting his forehead against yours. “I don’t normally kiss on the first date.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t normally do dates anyways. At least not ones that don’t immediately go up in flames.”

“What about now?” Chan asks, raising an eyebrow. “Have I changed your mind?”

“Hmm, I don’t know. I kind of told Changbin that if this was a disaster I was never gonna go on a date again.”

Chan laughs and pulls you into his side, tucked right under his arm like the shape of him was molded in a way to make sure that you fit perfectly in his embrace.

“Is it bad if I say I like that idea?” He asks, glancing down at where your head is resting against his chest.

“Nope,” you say before leaning up to kiss him once more. He smiles into it when he feels your fingers playing with the curls at the nape of his neck, humming softly against your lips.

“Worst date ever, then?” he mumbles against your mouth.

“Yeah,” you sigh, pulling back to stare into his eyes, big and brown and brighter than the stars, “Worst date ever.”

[tags: @palindrome969 @summergirlsmj @n1staytiny ]

#bang chan x reader #bang chan fluff #bang chan angst #bang chan fic #bang chan fanfic #bang chan fanfiction #skz x reader #skz fanfic #skz fic #skz fanfiction #skz smut #skz fluff #skz angst #bang chan #stray kids #skz #first date series

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jareaul0ver · 6 days

Text

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowgirl

Summary: A night out with the girls leads to an even better night at home with your girlfriend.

wc: 1.3k warnings: SMUTTY, touchy!nika, dom!nika, reader riding nika's abs, breast touching, slight fingering (?? i wouldnt even call it that, but i cant think of a better word), nika speaking in croatian because its hot as fuck pairings: nika muhl x fem!reader

UConn had just beaten Southern California, and they wanted to celebrate. They were moving onto the final four and they couldn't be more ecstatic. They wanted -- needed -- to celebrate.

Paige had told everyone about a bar that isn't too far from campus, and the team decided to go. You weren't on the team but as Nika's girlfriend you obviously were invited. All the girls loved you, and you loved them.

You sat on the couch of your dorm, waiting for Nika to finish getting ready. The theme of the bar that night was wild west. You were surprised when Nika said she had the perfect outfit, you never expected her to own anything country.

She finally left the bathroom and looked at you with a smile. "You ready?"

You looked up at her and raised your eyebrows. She looked good. She had a white cropped button up on, a pair of light wash jeans, a pair of cowboy boots, and a tan cowboy hat. A sliver of her stomach was showing, revealing her toned abs and belly button piercing.

You stood up and walked over to her, placing your hands on her waist. "God, you look.." You just laughed and shook your head. She blushed a little and took your face in her hands.

"You don't look that bad yourself." You were wearing an orange cropped tank top, a very short pair of jean shorts, and a pair of sneakers. You didn't own anything country.

She pulled your face close to hers and pressed a soft kiss on your lips. She pulled back and let go of you. "We don't want to be late."

A low groan was heard from behind her as she turned around to leave. She looked back and shot you a small glare. "Sorry." You mumbled before the two of you left.

The entire night, you couldn't keep your hands off each other. If Nika needed another drink, you went with her. If someone called you over to talk to you, she went with you. The sexual tension was thick, you were practically walking through a cloud of smoke when you were next to each other.

A guy dressed in full cowboy attire went onto the small stage and spoke into the microphone. "Alright, y'all, we're bringin' out the bull!" The entire bar cheered as another guy rolled out a mechanical bull.

Paige came in between you and Nika and put her arms around your guys' shoulders. "If one of you can stay on it for 45 seconds, I'll give ya twenty bucks."

Nika immediately shook her head no, but you shot Paige a daring glance. "Bet." You said, the alcohol you ingested had given you the confidence.

You waited in line for your turn on the bull. Once you finally got up there, you straddled the machine. It started slow at first, but quickly picked up speed.

At one point you glanced over at Nika, and the look she was giving you sent chills down your spine. You knew you were in for it later.

To everyone's surprise except nika's you lasted more than a minute on the thing. Once you finally fell off, Paige came over to you with a 20 dollar bill in her hand, reluctantly placing it in yours. You pocketed it and gave her a smirk.

You went to turn around, but felt a pair of hands on your waist. Nika leaned into your ear and whispered. "You're gonna pretend to be sick and dizzy after that, and we're going back to the dorm." The tone in her voice was easy to determine, and your body shuddered.

"Okay," you said breathlessly. You did as she said, both of you playing off your departure as your sickness.

The two of you walked into your dorm, and you shut the door behind you. Nika wasted no time in pressing her front against your ass, pinning your front against the door. You gasped and your eyes fluttered shut when you felt her placing hot kisses on your neck.

Her hands came around to your front, one slinking up the bottom of your shirt to massage one of your tits, the other moving to unbutton and unzip your shorts. "Nika." You breathed hastily.

"Hm?" She hummed against your neck, her breath making goosebumps rise.

"Where's-" She slipped her hand down past your underwear and ran a finger through your already soaked cunt. You groaned, leaning your forehead against the door. "Where's this coming from?" You made out between breaths.

"You looked so good riding that bull, baby. I can't help myself." She husked. She gathered up some of your slick and rubbed small circles against your sensitive clit.

A low whine escaped your lips at her touch. She pulled her hands away from you, but before you could protest, she was already carrying you over to your bed. She set you down and laid down on her back next to you.

She pulled you onto your lap and hooked her fingers in two of the belt loops on your shorts. "Off." She tapped your hip and you quickly obliged, slipping the shorts off and tossing them onto the floor.

She brought her hands up and lifted your top over your head, discarding it somewhere. This left you in only a pair of white, lacy panties.

Your chest heaved as you stared at her, watching her deep brown eyes flickering from every part of your body. She bit her lip and put her hands on your hips, pulling you up to rest on her stomach.

"So wet for me, I can feel it through your panties." She was right. You were soaked. It was almost funny how quickly she could turn you on. There wasn't much time to process her words, however, as she used the grip on your hips to start grinding you back and forth.

She took the hat off her head and placed it on top of yours, in true "save a horse, ride a cowboy" fashion.

"Fuck-" You groaned. You felt her toned abs underneath you. You started moving your hips on your own accord, creating a rhythm that felt perfect against your core.

You ground yourself against her, the same way you had to while riding the bull. "Been thinking about this since the second you got on that machine." She said lowly, keeping one hand on your waist, and bringing another up to knead the skin of your breast.

You threw your head back, and the hat slipped off. "Yeah?" You somehow managed through your pants. You rolled your hips further, and hit a spot just right. Her belly button ring had brushed against your clit. Her name spilled out of your lips in an ungodly sense.

Nika caught onto what you were doing, and dropped her hand back down to your waist, speeding up your motions. Your juices soaked your panties and covered her stomach. She didn't care how messy you were, she was loving this.

"That feel good?" She licked her lips as she watched you. You nodded your head frantically, but couldn't manage any words. "Speak, baby."

"Fuck.. yes, Nika-" she thrusted her body upwards, making your back arch. "Shit- I'm close, baby." You whimpered.

She helped you speed up your pace. She felt your movements become more sporadic as you neared your orgasm. Sweat coated your body and you felt the knot tighten in your stomach. Nika could tell you were about to cum. "Cum for me, ljubavi."

Her speaking in her native tongue was enough for you to finally break. A string of curses, followed by her name left your mouth. Nika slowed the movement of your hips, letting you ride out your high, but trying not to overstimulate you.

You climbed off her lap and laid down next to her. She quickly got undressed, went to the bathroom and cleaned herself off, and laid back down, turning on her side to face you. You were laying on your back, your chest heaving. She gently cleaned you, trying to be careful around your sensitive area.

"Holy shit." You breathed out.

"Holy shit." She chuckled, wrapping her arm over your stomach and pulling you into her. You turned onto your side, tucking your head against her neck.

#nika muhl #nika muhl x reader #nika muhl smut #nika muhl x reader smut #uconn #uconn wbb #wnba #i love this woman with everything in me someone save me #wlw #lgbtq

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mercurygguk · 8 months

Text

head over skates · jjk ; part i.

··· SUMMARY; jeon jungkook is the captain of the hockey team and one of the biggest fuckboys on campus. you happen to have known him for as long as you can remember but he is not who he used to be and you simply can't stand it.

so what happens when you're suddenly stuck doing a project with him for three weeks?

SERIES MASTERLIST · # TAG · MOOD BOARDS · PLAYLIST

PAIRING; hockey player!jungkook x f. reader

GENRE; fwb au, childhood friends to enemies to lovers au, college au

WORDCOUNT; 1,514

RATING; 18+

WARNINGS; swearing

a/n; HEAD OVER SKATES SERIES IS HERE!!!! it’s a drabble series now so these chapters will be short but that’s better than nothing amirite :)) i hope you like this first part! enjoyyy <3 also, please lmk what you think!

“The project will be done in pairs of two–”

Jihyo copies your smirk from across the room as you lock eyes with her. You were thinking the same thing – you and her will pair up and do this project together. As best friends and classmates since freshman year, you’ve learned that you work the best alongside each other. However, both of your smirks crumble into tiny pieces as Professor Kim finishes her sentence.

“–which have already been decided beforehand.”

You let out a quiet, frustrated groan as you slump in your seat. Jihyo pouts and shoots a glare at Professor Kim without her noticing. You watch with a bored expression as she pulls up a document showing the pairs for the project. You skim the document until your eyes land on your name, written in Times New Roman right next to–

Oh, hell no.

The universe has a sick sense of humor, is the first thought your brain is able to process as you stare at the name written next to yours. It’s the name of the one person you haven’t spoken to since senior year of high school. It’s the name of the one person you still hold a grudge against. It’s the name of your childhood best friend and high school crush – Jeon Jungkook.

When you first met Jungkook, he was just 5 years old and nothing like the man he is today.

Back then he had just moved in across the street and it didn’t take long for you to realize he was the cutest, most shy little boy – you can ask anyone who knew him back then. He was careful with everything from animals to dead objects to other people and yet he was just a pinch of wild and reckless enough to allow himself to do some of the crazy stuff kids do when growing up. He was smaller than the other boys at his age; short and skinny, a round head, framed by his thick strands of black hair. He also had big, star-filled doe eyes that could convince any adult to let him have everything his way. And having his way was something Jungkook got used to as he grew older – sometimes a bit too much perhaps.

As his best friend during all the years going from elementary school through middle school and the first years of high school, you witnessed it first hand – teachers and his friends alike were all willing to go out of their way to make sure Jungkook was satisfied. No one really knows how that came to be – perhaps it had nothing to do with Jungkook at all but everything to do with the fact that his father was the board director at one of the biggest enterprises in the country.

Jungkook has always been very oblivious, hence why he didn’t put much thought into the special treatment he received from everyone as soon as people found out just how rich his parents were.

While in middle school, he had yet to realize how girls were starting to look at him, how they would giggle whenever he would flash his boyish smile in their direction, how they would almost trip over each other to get his attention and call his name during lunch breaks only to blush and say ‘nevermind’ when he would finally react. Jungkook had yet to realize that he was becoming hotter and less shy. He was oblivious as ever but still cute nonetheless.

And while all this went down, you watched from the sideline, wondering when he would realize – wondering when your friendship would end. Because it would. You knew that from the moment Jungkook flirtatiously smirked and winked at your friend one day without realizing. Or maybe he did. Either way, you realized it on his behalf – he was slowly becoming a big flirt.

It’s now five years later and you were right. And as much as you like to be right, you’ve never hated it more.

Your friendship did end.

It started fading out almost as soon as Jungkook realized what he was able to achieve with his good looks and flirty nature. Now you and Jungkook attend the same college but in two different worlds most of the time. The chances of you and him ever going back to being friends like you were when you were pre-teens are minimal. And it’s not like you’re trying to befriend him again.

Cocky jocks who think they’re the shit aren’t exactly your first choice when making friends.

And somehow during your high school junior year, Jungkook became one of them. He picked up on the term ‘working out’ and found out he had muscles and how to grow them. He also found out how to use those exact muscles to make the girls swoon, making them feed his ego way more than what is considered healthy. And as if that wasn't enough, Jungkook began practicing hockey.

And guess what? He was damn good at it.

Ego overfed.

As time went by, you and Jungkook talked less. He was busy with his new friends, playing hockey, and hanging out with girls that were way more interesting than his best friend, also known as you. Eventually you found yourself spending time with other people instead of him, finding it tiring and painful to be the second choice whenever his other friends didn’t have time or when his parents would mention you and he would 'suddenly' remember you existed.

The sight of different girls from school entering and leaving his house without his parents knowing wasn’t that fun either if you’re being honest.

Although, you never actually told him that – but you didn’t have to because the two of you were gliding apart by each day you spent doing your own thing. It hurt but your silly crush eventually turned into anger which later turned into despisal and borderline hatred towards your former best friend. Because Jeon Jungkook was nothing more than just another jock with an overfed ego and way too many fangirls trailing behind him everywhere he goes.

Your point is deemed proven the moment Jungkook gets up from his seat in the back and makes his way to you – said fangirls all turn their scowling gazes to you the second they realize what is happening. You feel his presence before he opens his mouth to greet you, something about it making your stomach churn as he plops down in the seat next to you.

“Hey, partner,” he grins when you slowly turn to face him. “What are the odds, huh?”

You don’t spare him a glance nor a reply as you get up from your seat, leaving him behind and trying your very best to ignore the way his eyes follow your every move. Your professor seems less than excited to see you standing next to her desk as she looks up at you.

“Mrs. Kim,” you offer her your best polite smile, “is there any chance it’s possible to change partners for this project? It seems-”

Professor Kim glances back to your spot where Jungkook is sitting in the next chair, arms crossed over his chest as he leans back, hints of a smirk on his lips as he watches you and Mrs. Kim. “Miss ____, the pairs have been decided beforehand for a reason. I was hoping to save time and energy by doing this and will not be spending said saved energy on splitting up pairs just because you’re unhappy with yours.”

You feel a frustrated whine push at the back of your throat as the words leave her red-tinted lips. “But-”

“____, I know you prefer to work with Jihyo in every class you share,” she pointedly and calmly says. “But as the professor, it is my job to challenge the students and push them out of their comfort zone. If there aren’t any actual issues with having Mr. Jeon as your partner, I suggest you take on the challenge and get the best out of it.”

The fake smile she shoots at you has you frowning as you turn on your heel, defeat hanging over you in a gray cloud as you make your way back to your seat. Jungkook’s smirk has widened and he seems more than satisfied by the fact that your request got rejected by the professor. You slump in your seat once again, stealing a glance at Jihyo who got paired up with none other than Kim Namjoon – the top student of this class and her crush.

What a lucky bitch.

“Cheer up, ____,” Jungkook’s voice intrudes your thoughts, pulling you back. He’s smiling smugly when you turn to face him for the first time since he sat down. “I promise I’ll behave.”

You huff out an unimpressed scoff and turn your attention to your notes, the grip on your pen so tight your knuckles turn white. You miss the way Jungkook’s smile falters a little as you look away.

This is going to be the longest three weeks of your life – you’re sure of it.

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lc-holy · 3 months

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Conférence Masterclass 808 (Translation)

I've taken the liberty of translating the conference that took place last year with the writing director of Miraculous (Sébastien Thibaudeau). It was only made public when someone posted a video of the conference a short while ago.

In this conference, Sébastien Thibaudeau will talk about the creation of Miraculous and his work on the series. He is joined by Chloé Paye, a new scriptwriter working on Miraculous season 6.

Sébastien talks a lot and repeats himself a bit, so the summary can be a bit confusing.

I strongly advise you to go and listen to the video if you understand French. There are a lot of details I'm going to leave out, and Sébastien is very funny.

Photo belongs to mlbfanfr on twitter.

Please be respectful in comments or tags. If you want to debate on things related to this conference, please make your own post. I apologize if there are any mistakes, I'm French and I'm not fluent in English.

-12 years ago, Sébastien arrived at Zagtoon, a studio that was just starting out and had yet to produce and broadcast any series. The producer (Jérémy Zag) and Sébastien hit it off and decided to start working together. Zag decides to give Sébastien total freedom over his projects. Sébastien then decides to put the spotlight on scriptwriters, because in this profession they are unfortunately poorly paid and never stay on the same projects.

So they produced a cartoon called Kobushi. A little-known series that did rather well, even if it didn't stay on the "Gulli" channel for long. The scriptwriters and producer were happy with the end result, as it was produced in a very short time.

Jeremy Zag then proposed another project, which he thought was quite good, but which he was unable to sell to broadcasters. At the time, the project was called "Ladybug". No one was interested, as the project was aimed more at an adult audience than a children's audience. Sébastien had to make sure that the project could be broadcast on Disney and TF1.

There was only a "trailer" also called "Ladybug" (but you'll find the video under the title Ladybug PV) animated by Toei animation. At the time, Sébastien had not yet been hired by Zagtoon. It was Jérémy Zag who convinced Toei animation to work with them (no mean feat, since Toei animation doesn't work with anyone).

So Sébastien started working with Thomas Astruc (the man who wrote and created the "Ladybug" project). At first, he didn't want to work on this project because he found it complicated. Thomas wanted to make a series for adults, but at the time, it was very complicated to make a cartoon for adults. What's more, they didn't have enough money to take on such a project. Sébastien finally agreed, but there were some changes to be made, which Thomas accepted.

-What Sébastien appreciated most in this project was the romantic comedy, the love square between the two main characters.

To meet the requirements of the cartoon industry, "Ladybug" had to be set in a neutral universe, in other words, in an imaginary country or the USA, but Zag, who loves Paris, declared that the cartoon had to be set in Paris.

In the end, Thomas Astruc's entire project was discarded, leaving only the love story between the two heroes and the city of Paris, where the story was to take place.

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

-Sébastien explains how he writes Marinette's first dialogues: He says he talks a lot in real life, so he writes Marinette like him. She says out loud whatever she's thinking.

For Chat noir, he makes him tell his father's jokes. Something TF1 doesn't accept. The TV channel went so far as to refuse to validate the Bible (a collection of information on the series and episodes) until it had removed the sentence: “Chat noir makes jokes”. Sebastien has therefore removed the sentence, but will continue to make Chat noir tell jokes.

-The writing director's job is to get the producer, creator and broadcaster to agree. The series broadcast on TF1 and Disney are very different. TF1 wants series whose story can be told in a single episode, unlike Disney, which wants series whose story spans several episodes.

Sébastien and TF1 agree that Miraculous will be a series with one story per episode, a "Formula Show".

He cites the example of Dora the Explorer episodes, where every episode is the same: Dora goes on an adventure from point A to point B, she has to find 3 clues, then she meets Swiper, she sings a song to make Swiper go away, she uses the talking map to get from one place to another, then Dora manages to get to point B and the episode ends.

This episode format is used for children, to give them a reassuring framework, as they build themselves up through repetition. That's why series like Dora work so well with young children.

So Sebastien sold the Miraculous series to broadcasters as a formula show. A person gets angry, is akumatized, then marinette transforms into Ladybug then frees the person from the akumatization and… The End.

It's also for this reason that Marinette tries to confess her love for Adrien in every episode, but is unable to do so.

But he tried to go against what he had planned with TF1, by slipping little extra stories into certain episodes. Audiences were receptive to these slightly hidden stories. The TV channel even asked Sébastien if there really were hidden things in the series, but he denied everything. Thanks to the positive reception from the public, TF1 agreed to develop the characters of Marinette and Adrien and flesh out the universe a little more.

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

-Once the bible is written, they have to write a script. But first Sébastien, as writing director, needs to know the mood of the series, and to do this he calls on Thomas Astruc, the series creator. Thomas is a great fan of classical painting. A single painting can tell a complex scene with lots of detail. He wants the episodes of miraculous to be like these paintings, there will be very few shots, but in a single shot a lot will happen.

-Sébastien explains that one of the things Thomas wanted to convey in the series was emotion. They didn't want to do what a lot of children's cartoons do, which is to beat the bad guys and win at the end of the episode. They wanted to tell kids that it's normal to have negative emotions. We can also become better people, learn from our mistakes and so on. It also reassures TV channels by setting up scenes that are repeated in every episode: people get angry, people akumatize then people deakumatize, end of episode...

Once the TV channels had been reassured, they set about writing a script.

-Sébastien asks Thomas to write the ending, as they're not sure the series will work. They also wondered what the aim of the series was, and what they wanted to say to the children. The two of them sat down in an office and wrote the ending, which turned out to be just the end of an arc. He even adds that now that they've written a lot more, it's important for them to write in advance so that everything is clear to them.

-The first season was written by 19 authors, from home. He found it interesting that the series was written by several different authors, even if some of them didn't quite understand the premise of the series. One episode that Sébastien particularly appreciated was written by two “autrices” (I think it's weird to say “two female authors”, so I'll use the French word): the refletkta episode, with the story of Juleka who couldn't get into the photos. (Note that all the episodes were proofread by Sébastien and Thomas).

After that, they kept a few people on to work together on the scripts for subsequent seasons.

Sébastien explains that he keeps a close eye on the production of the episodes, to make sure that everything that goes into the picture is as faithful as possible to what they've written in the script.

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-The kwamis exist thanks to Toei, who wanted funny little animals to sell plush toys. So the scriptwriters had to find a way to integrate kwamis into the story.

-(Again, Sébastien advises people to check out the Kobushi series if they can still watch it somewhere, or ask the leaker who leaked the whole of season 5 to give them the episodes (that's a joke, of course)).

-Sébastien talks about the Ikari gozen episode, which could have been a total failure because the storyboarder didn't fully understand the scenario. Sébastien asks Zag to redo the storyboard, which will add 10 weeks to the episode's deadline. The storyboarder admits that he's always done storyboards mechanically, without worrying whether the episode is good or not, whether the jokes are funny or not. Eventually, the episode was redone by the same storyboarder, resulting in the episode we all know today.

- They still have a lot to tell with Miraculous, to the point where they're wondering if they'll have enough seasons to tell everything they want to tell. Sebastien says there will be a season 6 and 7, and probably a season 8 and 9.

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

- Chloé Paye met Sébastien when she was looking for an internship. She had never worked in animation, and knew nothing about Miraculous. She tells us how the scriptwriting team works. Each time, all the scriptwriters in the room have to be convinced of the script. They can sometimes spend hours on details to get everyone to agree.

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

- The driving force behind the series is that there must always be a secret between Marinette and Adrien. The lovesquare can never be broken, otherwise there's no series. Sébastien knows that some people are worried about this. Will they continue the lovesquare for another 4 seasons or more? How will they evolve? Sébastien says not to worry, they know where they want to go.

-It takes them 14 to 16 months to produce an episode, but it's often much longer due to unforeseen circumstances. And they don't work on one episode at a time, but on several at the same time. One episode takes a long time because of the 3D animation.

One of the things that's complicated with Miraculous 3d animation is that they can only display 3 characters at a time on screen, whereas the series requires them to display many more characters. It's also very difficult to correct animation errors, as this takes a lot of time.

-The TV networks were very surprised by the success of miraculous. They didn't think adults and children alike would watch the series. The TV channels were a little confused because they usually make series for a specific age group, but since miraculous had people of all ages watching, they weren't sure what to do.

- Sébastien says he's very happy that miraculous inspires a lot of people to create things, like writing fanfiction, however he's not interested in it because he doesn't want to be influenced by certain fans who would love to see certain things in the series.

- Writing direction also means paying attention to how the characters speak. They all have their own way of speaking. For example, Adrien will never say "j’te parle", but rather "Je te parle".

- During the writing process, the writers sometimes act out scenes to make the dialogue more natural. This is what happened with the episode "Gang of secrets". They felt that, with the success of the show and the pressure it was generating, they needed to write something to relieve their stress. So they wrote about Marinette and the enormous pressure she was under to keep all her secrets. The final scene, in which Marinette tells Alya that she's Ladybug, came naturally when they performed it together.

#miraculous ladybug #ml writing team #Conférence Masterclass 808

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buckets-and-trees · 9 months

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Desperate [Bucky x Reader]

Fandom: MCU Title: Desperate Characters/Pairings: Bucky Barnes x female!Reader Word Count: 3k

Summary: Enemies? Rivals? It's always been reluctant teamwork between you and the Winter Soldier, but when put in a situation where personal feelings have to be put aside, maybe actual personal feelings are uncovered.

Content Warnings: kidnapping, sex pollen ergo DUBIOUS CONSENT, sexual situations (named acts, non-explicit depictions of vaginal sex), medical elements (needles, IVs, experience of medical distress)

Thank You Notes: BIGGEST SHOUT OUTS to @sgt-seabass who beta loved this into what it is and @vonalyn who helped supply me with some of the vital energy I needed. This was SUPPOSED to be an answer to this little sleepover ask @povlvr had graced me with... but then it became this! Logistical Notes: Filling my eleventh square for Bucky Barnes Bingo @buckybarnesbingo - Y2 "Reluctant Teamwork" and @buckybarnesevents Hot Bucky Summer Week 9 which is technically a "FREE WEEK" but had sex pollen listed as one of the suggested things to play with, so... that's why we're here now.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You were an old SHIELD contact that Steve knew before Project Insight. He didn't know you well then, but you had crossed paths a few times. You were an analyst sometimes assigned to Steve's missions. You went to work for the CIA after the Triskellion takedown, where you stayed for a couple of years, before eventually moving into the private sector.

When Steve, Nat, Sam, and Wanda were outlaws on the run, they bumped into you again, and you became an ally and valuable contact in your new area of the country - and ultimately a friend. And trusted enough that you knew about Bucky - and Bucky heard about you.

Bucky didn't love that you were an element in Steve's life. He hadn't met you, hadn't been able to get his own read on you.

He'd been wary initially about Nat, Sam, and Wanda, but he'd been able to meet them and build his own trust - and they'd all ultimately put their lives and reputations on the line for him.

It wasn't that he was distrustful of everyone anymore and needed people to put their lives on the line to prove themselves. Those who had sided with Steve over Tony in the Zemo affair aside, he'd also learned to trust others again in Wakanda with so many of the royal family and the royal guard building relationships with him.

But with you he didn’t know you, and so he didn't like it.

What Bucky loathed even more?

You didn't blip out. For five years, you were there for Steve when he couldn't be. You were apparently there so much that when Steve left, he fucking said to watch out for you. The punk.

Bucky didn’t know Steve dropped in on you, too, and asked you to keep an eye out for Bucky the day he gave Sam the shield. You promised you would.

You reached out. Not immediately, but in the weeks after.

Bucky was... less than kind.

Frankly, he was surly, ungrateful, short, and rude.

Pieces were moving and with Bucky's reappearance in the United States, the question of his future was an immediate concern. Public and government representatives were demanding trials, pardons, and all the rest.

You told him you had found an excellent contact for a lawyer.

"No, thanks, I can find my own," the words were polite, but the tone was clipped, flat, low - almost a growl.

Being so abruptly shut down, you decided to cut the phone call first and on your terms, so you wished him luck - managing to be more polite than him, making it sound genuine - and hung up.

You called Matt Murdock yourself, and told him about Bucky's case.

You did it only because of your promise to Steve.

And a little bit because you knew you were fucking right and that Bucky needed your lawyer contact.

Matt chuckled, told you he knew about stubbornness, and that he'd go about approaching the Winter Soldier diplomatically and professionally.

Matt pulled off the best possible pardon deal, even if not everything about it was ideal.

When Pepper decided to get back into some of the Avenger support again - after the Flag Smashers business - so she could provide some more trustworthy resources for Sam and Bucky and the old crowd, you were one of the people she ended up scouting and recruiting to come work on the direct home support team with research and tactical support. Sometimes you went into the field with the team, but usually you stayed at home base and relayed with the agents over comms.

This was not because you weren't outstanding, but because it was clear the less time you and Bucky spent in proximity to each other, the less awkward it was for everyone else on the team. You were both professional enough to keep the animosity out of things during a mission over comms, and that was about it.

Otherwise, it was silent treatment and resentment.

Neither of you extended the woes of your dislike for each other actively to anyone else on the team, keeping your mouths shut about your feelings, and engaging in only occasional and minimal eye-rolling when either of you was mentioned. Bucky made a point of giving you electrolyte-enhanced waters first whenever you did go into the field on a mission with them, as if you were a toddler who couldn’t take care of yourself.

Sitting by you at a holiday dinner at Sam’s you almost thought there was a moment of thaw between you and the Winter Soldier, but you didn’t push the almost comfortable silence between you to anything more - knowing it had been long-established he only tolerated you. It was clearly only a temporary pause, meaning very little as Bucky continued to push for you not being put into the field with them. You didn’t need to be around his close scrutiny. He made getting over any initial crush you might have had on him very easy.

Things were fine like that for a little over a year.

And then you were abducted on your way back from a mission outside of Paris where you had been part of the local ground team, taken and smuggled out of the airport. It was not HYDRA this time, just leftover cretins who blipped away but now were back, stirring up their own operation which hoped to double down on being even more nefarious. They were interested in testing some of their new methods and resources while also trying to extract some sensitive information.

Why not kill two birds with one stone by snatching up a well-connected and informed analyst at the heart of the neo-Avengers operation?

They recovered files from debunked HYDRA facilities (hard drives were wiped, but motivated hackers knew how to dig beneath what had been wiped to recover remnants - in hindsight, SHIELD should have taken the tech to a secure location) and developed an even more concentrated and powerful form of sex pollen. They were interested in how it would be absorbed in both the aerosol and liquid forms they had developed. Why not try out both forms on you?

The aerosol was potent enough, but not in a way that would break you for their line of inquiries.

So, they injected it right into your veins.

Compounding with what had already been ingested into your system, everything intensified, and you - much more quickly than they anticipated - moved past what may have been a state where they could've coaxed the information they wanted out of you.

Quickly you progressed to the point where you were consumed by this toxin, your body raging and desperate for the physical activity that will get you to a sexual release and flush the toxin from your system. You were keening and moaning and crying, covered in sweat, straining painfully against your bonds, unable to focus on anything anyone said to you.

You were incoherent and not far from feral.

Having gone beyond the point you could be giving them intelligence, you were still useful to provide information as the test subject, and they kept you on it through an IV drip to see the limits of what an average female body could take before it was completely broken.

You had absolutely no sense of how long this went on, only that you were not even crying tears anymore, just dry sobbing and wailing, because everything in your throat, and in your veins, and in your chest, and in your vagina burned.

It was an agony you'd never experienced in your life.

You vaguely registered a cacophony of sound around you, but it was like it was coming to you through a long dark tunnel, distorted and distant, and you couldn’t open your eyes to see what is going on, not that you could even think to or were capable of caring about anything other than the desperate purgatory you were enduring until you finally passed out.

Bucky and Sam were nearly back to base ops in New York from the Paris mission when the news of your abduction came through, and they turned around immediately. Teams working at home and in Paris - and Bucky in the air while Sam piloted - narrowed your likely whereabouts down to two locations: somewhere near Versailles (because of course evil operations are drawn to the ideas of opulence) or a compound outside of Brussels.

Time already against them, Sam and Bucky made the tough decision that they needed to split up so they could investigate both options as quickly as humanly possible. Sam dropped Bucky at the well-equipped safe house less than an hour away from the suspected Versailles compound and then headed to Brussels.

After arming himself to the teeth as quickly as he could, Bucky fired up the Ducati in the garage of the safehouse that had been equipped with a noise dampener by your tech engineers, punched in his navigational coordinates, and pushed to top speeds to get to there, stashing the bike half a kilometer away so he could make the rest of the approach in complete stealth.

The operation was much smaller than he anticipated, but because of its size it was almost immediately apparent to Bucky that this was where they had you, and he was also confident he would be able to drop this operation and get to you without as much trouble as he expected.

But in no way could he have predicted the state he would find you in.

He heard your agonizing cries and keening within moments of entering the facility, and he'd already dropped four agents at that point, but the excruciating pain he heard from you was its own form of torture in itself.

He picked up the pace, tearing ruthlessly through everyone else that came between him and you.

He got the full view of the condition you were in only moments before you passed out. He quickly undid all the bindings and removed everything they had attached to monitor your vitals. He unhooked the IV drip but had the presence of mind to take the bag for testing later. It was inelegant, but he hefted you over his shoulder, and everyone else still conscious who got in his way of getting you out was incapacitated with a single kill shot.

It was close to midnight when he reached the safe house and carefully tucked you into one of the beds. He pulled a secure laptop and some of the base medical testing equipment into the bedroom and kept watch over your catatonic form while he started running tests on the substance you’d been hooked up to and sent the base data for his samples to the bioengineering team back at HQ.

Over the next hour your body experienced a few fits of violent shaking, but you didn’t rouse until almost 2am. When you did, it was with great heaving gasps, and your arms flailed, your hands grasping at the sheets, at your clothes, and then at Bucky when he appeared almost immediately at your side trying to soothe you. He had a theory he hoped wasn’t true – that he knew what was running through your veins – but it was confirmed when you clutched and pawed desperately at him. Then your eyes met his, there was a recognition but coupled with devastating desperation, and you started babbling his name and pleading, “Bucky, please, Bucky. Need. Bucky, help. Bucky, Bucky, Bucky.”

He’d been in distress over you since he first heard your tortured cries hours before, and he knew you needed him.

He wouldn’t deny you.

He knew the anguish of being a slave within one’s own mind.

He worked both of you out of your clothes quickly, and then laid you back on the bed and crawled above you. “I gothcu, shh, I know what you need.” You cried, but with a glimmer of relief, when he sunk into your desperately wet cunt. He thrust diligently into you while you clung to his shoulders and wrapped your legs around his waist.

The first orgasm was quick, and provided a glorious wave of relief that helped, but it was not enough.

Not even close.

For nearly two hours he let you use him, pulling him into you, riding him, kneeling under him on all fours while he wrapped an arm around your waist and took you from behind.

It was relentless fucking until you hit the point of being utterly depleted – mercifully coinciding with when the chemicals seemed to have finally been flushed from your system with enough of the endorphins released into your bloodstream from the numberless orgasms.

If anyone but a super soldier had found you, Bucky genuinely worried they may not have been enough to help. Seeing you at the utter extreme of limits, in dangerous territory, had shaken something inside him he wasn’t prepared to discover. There had been no question in his mind that he had to get you through it.

He smoothed your hair off your face and let your body gently sink back into the mattress, then got up and went to the bathroom, returning with a warm washcloth. He wiped your brow first, and you sighed in relief, eyes already closed in bone-tired weariness. Bucky gently wiped the sweat from your neck, continued moving down your body, and then with a second warm cloth he’d also brought, he gently wiped away the mess of slick that had seeped down your thighs. He carefully redressed your exhausted form, sliding you back into your discarded underwear and his t-shirt that was close enough to scoop up from the floor, and tucked you into the covers. You were asleep before he had finished taking care of you.

As you rested, he continued his vigilant watch from before. You stirred an hour or so later. It was still dark, but with almost a hint that sunrise would be creeping to the edges of the windows soon. He moved to your side again, this time with water, which he pressed to your lips, helping you to set up so you could drink. You began to gulp it down, but slowed when he tried to soothe you and urged you to slow your intake.

When you were nearly done downing the glass, your eyes opened briefly, but catching Bucky’s wary gaze on you, you shut them again. Not before Bucky saw the flash of anguish, however. You scooted away and turned your back, pulling your knees up and burying your head in your arms.

Bucky wanted to reach out and touch you, but settled for softly uttering your name, trying to coax you to look at him.

You refused, consumed with shame and horror.

Your throat was thick with a different kind of agony.

That episode of pain and innate need had ended, but this?

This was a new hell you would have to endure.

“Bucky, I’m sorry, and I know I owe you my life and probably all of my sanity, but please, please go. Please leave me be and don’t put me through the humiliation right now of being here only because you were resigned to helping me despite hating me. I’ll have to bear that forever, but please, just… please at least leave me to myself until we get out of here.”

He was silent for a moment.

“Fuck, I don’t hate you – I never truly hated you,” he said. It was quiet, but perfectly audible in the silence of the pre-dawn.

You raised your head tentatively.

He took a deep breath and continued. “I only kept it up to save face since I drove you to despise me and was too proud to turn it around.”

You were truly overwhelmed. You wanted to say something but had no idea how to respond to that admission, especially when you were already wrung out to the very edges of your emotional state.

“I’ve respected you for a long time now.” Bucky broke the silence.

“You have?”

“Probably more than respected you, if I’m being honest.”

You were still exhausted despite having slept for the past few hours, but you pushed your mind to think… you started to reconsider the thaw from hostility to civility, that he argued with you in group settings less, how everything had become less grudging. But you knew you’d put up your own protective walls to shield you from his scrutiny because it had hurt too much to have been spurned by him when you’d reached out to try and forge that relationship with him after Steve left initially.

And so much of tonight had been a feverish haze, but you had small pieces that were stained into your memory, some of which were him and things you couldn’t categorize as the actions of anything less than someone who cared.

“How do you feel about me?” you ventured.

The two of you looked into each other’s eyes for a few long moments.

“I don’t know that I can explain it all yet – I don’t think I know the words for it, but… let me show you? No chemicals, just us, see what’s really here?” He reached out a tentative hand to cover one of yours.

You nodded.

You let him move in.

You let him kiss you.

You let him lay you down beneath him again, and this time you sunk into each other.

You cried again, but this time from the immense emotion. You could feel it rolling off of him and pouring into you, a balm starting to fill in the anguished pieces of your soul. Your spent bodies pushed through any tiredness and desperately moved together again, relentlessly motivated this time to slake the emotional hunger growing between you. Touches that explored, that carved into memory, that expressed.

This time when you were both only finished by exhaustion, you curled into each other and slept, feeling the beginnings of solace and true peace, a turning of the tide, and maybe the acknowledgement that emotions that had run so deeply between you two were only felt so strongly because you truly valued the other even from the beginning.

READ THE FOLLOW UP DRABBLE: UNCERTAIN AND SURE

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x you #tw: dubcon #sex pollen #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #hotbuckysummer2023 #buckybarnesbingo2023 #bbb2023 #x reader smut #aspen wrote something #female reader #desperate verse

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lets-get-saucy · 3 months

Text

Shake It For Me – Leah Williamson x Reader

Summary – You take the arsenal girls to a country bar for team bonding night. While watching you dance, Leah finally works up her courage to admit her feelings for you.

Warnings - none just fluff

It was your turn to plan team bonding night for the arsenal girls. You had been a part of the team for a while now, but this was your first time being in charge of team bonding. You knew a few of the girls were country music fans, which led you to the idea of country line dancing. It could be a fun way for everyone to let loose, have a few drinks, dance around.

After googling a few bars around London, you found one that was hosting a country night. Some of the girls joked about going all out, buying cowgirl boots and hats. Leah, in particular was always listening to country music and the both of you had shared a few song recommendations in the past. You knew she had been to a few country artists’ concerts but never anything like this.

The day of the team bonding night rolled around filling you with nerves. You weren’t sure why you were nervous. Even if not all of the girls loved country music, you knew that this would be a fun experience, with no shortness of laughter. But still you were nervous wanting to make a good impression and potentially get picked to plan bonding night again. You were also nervous to spend the evening with Leah. You had become close friends shortly after you joined Arsenal. However, the more time you spent with the other girl, the you realized your feelings towards her went beyond friendship. Not wanting to make things weird or ruin your friendship, you never acted any differently around Leah but that didn’t stop the growing crush you had on her.

The team had training that morning, just an easy session that was over by noon. In the changing room everyone was talking about tonight, asking what each other were going to wear, who was going to have the best dance moves.

“mate, obviously I’m the best dancer on the team” you heard Katie say across the room.

You shook your head, a smile taking over your face. It eased your nerves a bit to hear the girls excited for tonight.

“Hey,” Leah said taking you out of your thoughts, “want to come over to mine to get ready for tonight?”

You wanted to, the idea of getting ready with Leah making you heart flutter.

“I would love to Lee, but Less and I are getting ready together.”

Alessia had offered to get ready together a few days prior and you had agreed, thinking it could be fun.

“Guess I’ll see you there then” Leah gave you a soft smile, patting your shoulder as she walked away.

Her fingers felt like the left indents where she had touched you causing a blush to spread on your cheeks.

“Yeah, see you there” you manage to squeak out.

Grabbing your bag you headed over to Alessia. When you got over to where she was standing she arched an eyebrow looking at your face questionably.

“Who’s got you all red?”

“I’m not red” you huff out, rolling your eyes.

“sure you aren’t” she laughed, “are you ready to go?”

You nod, following her out of the changing room to the parking lot.

The drive to Alessia’s apartment was quick, both of you singing along to country songs as she drove. Singing and giggling continued once you were both in the apartment, getting things together for your night out. You had packed a simple outfit, a black top with jean shorts and cowgirl boots to wear. Alessia laid a similar outfit out, wanting to be comfortable yet stylish. You were both in Alessia’s bathroom, makeup spread around messily, as music played. She offered to do your makeup claiming she was practically a makeup artist. After reluctantly agreeing, you were now sat on her bathroom counter, Alessia applying makeup to your face.

“I’m excited for tonight” Less said, applying blush to your cheeks.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm, its all half the girls have been talking about all week.” She said switching to bronzer now, “Leah brought it up every chance she got.”

“Leah’s excited?” you ask, cheeks now even redder underneath the blush.

“You know how she is about country music.” Alessia laughed, seemingly unaware at your blush.

“Well, I hope she has fun tonight”

Alessia sorts through her makeup deciding what to add to your face next. You never wore a lot of makeup unless it was for an event. You already had to talk Alessia out of doing a full face of makeup, but you trusted her.

“I heard Leah has a crush on you,” you almost choke on what Alessia said.

“What?” you said, your face now on fire.

“Yeah, Kyra told me that Caitlin found out from Katie, that Beth told her, that Wally said that Leah was crushing on you.” Alessia rambled.

You just stare at Alessia at a loss of words. It takes her a few moments to notice your silence.

“oh my god, you’re as red as a tomato” she laughs, “Wait! You like her too!”

You roll your eyes unable to look at her, “she’s my best friend Less, it’s not like that.”

“This is perfect,” She says jumping up and down with delight, “tonight, you can tell her your feelings!”

“I can’t do that!”

“Of course you can, if what the others said is true then you both like each other” she smiles at you, her hands resting on your shoulders. “plus you’re always around each other, we’ve all been waiting for you both to tell us.”

“Theres never been anything to tell,” you shrug. “What if what the others said isn’t true and she only likes me as a friend?”

“Guess we’ll just have to find out tonight” Alessia smirks at you.

When Alessia and you arrived at the bar you spotted a few of your teammates gathered at a table in the back. Making your way over to them you couldn’t help but look for Leah. Now your nerves were less about if the team would have fun tonight and more about what Alessia was planning. You had spent the rest of the time getting ready practically begging her to leave you and Leah alone, but the other girl wasn’t having it. when you get to the table you notice they all have on cowboy hats and boots, all dressed for the occasion.

“well, well, well, if it isn’t the party planner herself” Katie said, as you approach the table.

“Looks like y’all started the party without us” you said, seeing that all the girls each had a drink of some sort.

The group laughed as Alessia and you found seats at the table.

Looking around at the girls Alessia asked, “where’s Leah?”

“Probably making sure she looks perfect for lover girl,” Beth said, causing your face to turn red for the millionth time tonight.

“Are you all in on this?” you groaned burying you face in your hands.

“Lessie made a group chat,” Katie said smirking at you.

“Really Less?” you asked.

The girl just shrugged before offering to get you a drink. As soon as she walked away you turned to the other girls.

“Lets just leave the two alone” Kim said, always the mom of the group, “they’ll figure it out eventually.”

“Thank you Kim” you smile, “wait, no, there’s nothing going on between Leah and me”

“But that’s no fun” Beth pouts.

“Okay, new rule of the night, no one tries to interfere”

“Interfere with what?” you hear Leah ask.

“dancing” you lie hoping she buys it.

The blonde giggles at your response, sliding into the seat next to you. She has on a cowboy hat and boots too, but you cant help the

“as if, you’re all going down” Kyra tells her.

“it’s not a competition” Katie says dragging Caitlin away to the dance floor, a few people already dancing.

“It’s always a competition with you McCabe” Beth says following the pair, dragging Viv with her.

A few of the girls follow behind joining in on the dancing. Alessia finally comes back with your drink, she had also gotten one for Leah, setting them on the table she sits next to Leah.

“Ready to show off your moves tonight?” Alessia ask.

“Ready to trip over your own feet Less?” Leah ask back.

She giggle at Leahs response, tracing your eyes over her face.

“Whatever, I’m going to dance” Alessia says standing up, “you two have fun” she winks at you before heading to the other Arsenal girls on the dance floor.

Now it was only Leah and you left at the table. Fiddling with your hands you look around unsure of what to say to Leah without being awkward.

Picking up your drink you take a sip of the beer Alessia had brought you. Even though you planned the night, it was going to take a bit of liquid courage to get you on the dance floor.

Leah mirrors your movements taking a sip of her own drink, “who do you think is the first to trip?”

As soon as Leah ask, you both notice Alessia turning the wrong way bumping into Kyra. Laughing, you look at Leah, “I think we all knew Less was going to be the first.”

“Should we join them?” You ask,

Finishing her drink Leah stands up, “lets show them all up.”

She offers you her hand and you take it, ignoring the way your stomach flips.

Leah’s pov

Leah’s feelings had been building for a while. She didn’t know when it happened but she was in love with you. She may have accidentally told Lia about her feelings towards you last week over drinks but fear held her back from ever telling you.

Tonight though she couldn’t take her eyes off of you. Maybe it was the way your jean shorts hugged your ass just right, or how free you looked as you danced. Maybe it was the smiled that took over your face as you laughed with the other girls. Leah just couldn’t stop watching you.

After a few songs Leah made her way back to the table with Beth, in need of another drink. Even though Beth was talking, Leah didn’t hear a thing. Country Girl by Luke Bryan had just come on and Leah was captivated by you.

“Mate your drooling” Beth said with a laugh.

“Am not,” Leah said crossing her arms, her brows drawing together.

“Just tell her how you feel,” Beth said.

“And why would I do that?”

“Because she likes you too”

“How do you know that?” Leah questions her friend.

“she told Alessia and Alessia told us” Beth said like she was stating a fact.

Rolling her eyes Leah looks back at you almost choking on her drink. You were currently shaking it, and Leah was taking it all in.

“Ill be back” Leah tells Beth, leaving her at the table making her way over to you.

Your pov

You feel a presence come up behind you as you dance. Turning around you see that its Leah. She starts dancing with you, causing you to smile. You dance together, definitely too close than just friends, your arms rest on Leahs shoulders and hers resting on your lower back. The song is pretty suggestive as you and Leah dance on each other. Laughing, Leah spins you around before pulling you back in.

“You look beautiful tonight,” Leah whispers in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Thanks… you do too” you respond, suddenly feeling shy.

After the song ends, your still standing in Leah’s arms when a slower country song comes on.

“Dance with me?” Leah ask.

You nod unable to find words. The nerves from early are back and your stomach is doing flips again. Swaying to the music Leah pulls you closer.

She brushes a stand of your hair behind your ear, “I lied earlier.”

“What did you lie about?” You ask, looking up slightly at Leah.

“You don’t look beautiful just tonight,” she says softly, “You look beautiful every day, I can’t take my eyes off you.”

“Leah,” you whisper.

She stops dancing taking a step back, “sorry, that was too much, I’m just going to go get another drink”

“Wait, Leah” grabbing her arm, you stop her.

“No I’m sorry just forget I said that” she says moving away from you towards the table.

Following after her you grab her wrist this time.

“Leah, I like you” you blurt out unable to stop yourself.

“I would hope so, we are friends” she gives you a sad smile.

“No, I said that wrong” you say looking into her eyes, “Im in love with you”

Leah looks at you flustered.

“Shit, I’m sorry, if you don’t feel the same way forget I said anything” You say repeating what Leah had just tried to tell you, wanting to run away and hide.

“You love me?” She ask, stepping closer to you.

“Just forget it” you huff looking away, now embarrassed.

“Hey, look at me” Leah says tilting your chin up so that you’re forced to look at her. “I love you too.”

You cant help the smile that appears, “you do?”

“Yeah, I think I’ve been in love with you for a while now” she says gently stroking your face, “I’ve just been too scared to say anything.”

“can I kiss you?” you find yourself asking.

Leah nods pulling you somehow closer to her. Your lips find hers, soft at first. Her hands find your hair, yours resting on her waist. The kiss deeps and you smile into it unable to help yourself.

“I love you” you say resting your forehead on Leah’s.

“I love you too,” she says.

You both jolt as your teammates applaud, startling you both. You blush as someone whistles.

“Finally” Katie says patting Leah on the back, the blonde rolling her eyes still smiling at you.

“I knew you could do it” Alessia says with a wink towards you.

Turning your attention back to Leah you smile, “I guess it took us both long enough.”

Leah presses another kiss to your lips, “Better late than never.”

#leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson x you #woso #woso imagine #woso x reader #arsenal wfc #arsenal

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allbark-no-bite · 5 months

Text

marriage and honor.

jake seresin x reader (wc: 6.5k)

summary: the Navy has already taken two people from your life, and you don’t intend to let there be a third. that is until Jake Seresin walks into your life

warnings: severe plot holes, mentions of character death, swearing

authors note: based off of the movie Purple Hearts. it’s a great movie and i highly suggest watching it! please bear with me in the beginning of this, the plot holes fix themselves, i promise lol. i literally threw this together because i wrote one scene for shits and giggles and had to commit to it

(read parts two and three here: december and devotion, cats and christmas)

————————————————————————

No one ever expects to have to bury their brother at fifteen. Kinda just like no one expects to have to bury their other brother at eighteen. But you do it the first time and then you do it again three years later. It's a bit like deja vu the second time, like you're reliving the actual nightmare all over again. Except this time there's no one to hold your hand and tell you it's all going to be alright because he's dead and buried too.

They both die honorable deaths in service to their country. At least that's what they say at the memorials. You're not so sure there's anything comforting about dying honorably. They're both still dead, honored or not.

Raised by your grandparents, you'd grown up the youngest of three on a military base smack dab in the middle of San Diego, better yet known as Fightertown USA. True military brats, your old brothers enlisted straight out of high school, one after the other. As their young and impressionable kid sister, you worshiped the ground they walked on and had your heart set on following in their footsteps. That was of course, until they both went and died.

'Sometime these things just happen', is what you were told. And you know, freak accidents do happen. Engines fail, training exercises go awry, safety precautions are ignored. But that doesn't make up for the fact that lightning has, against all odds, stuck the same place twice.

So after the Navy takes away not one but two people from your life, you swear off all things to do with military life. The moment you graduate high school you pay out of pocket just to move off of the base into a shitty the-bedroom-and-bathroom-are-in-the-same-place apartment. You go to college and get the kind of degree that looks good on paper but you can't really get a job with. But it's fine because it helped you to put the past behind you and move on. So much that when your grandmother passes away unexpectedly, leaving your grandfather widowed, you're able to stomach moving back closer to home to take care of him.

At least, you'd thought that you had moved on.

Now, standing in the middle of the courthouse wearing what had been your college graduation dress (the only white dress you could find on such short notice) and watching the man before you slip a ring on your finger, you're not so sure. As a matter of a fact, you actually feel sick, queasy like you might have to bend over the nearest trashcan to get the blood rushing to your head again. That might would be a good idea because what the hell were you thinking.

Jake must take notice of the expression on your face because he offers you a weak smile, his pink lips pressed together. The same thought must be running through his mind too because he also looks like he might be sick at any moment.

What the hell were either of you thinking?

"I now pronounce you husband and wife." Thankfully the minister is too bored looking with his own job to notice that both of you are looking worse for wear. He also completely forgets to say 'you may now kiss the bride', which is another thing to be thankful for. That might have been the straw that broke the camel's back and sent both you and Jake running for the hills. Instead he mumbles a unenthusiastic congratulations and departs from the room, leaving you and Jake standing numbly side by side.

In the following seconds after the minister leaves the room, silence settles between the two of you, partially due to shock and partially because you don't even know what to say. It's a sight, Jake in his pristine navy dress whites and you in your too short college graduation dress.

Finally, Jake clears his throat, swallowing. "Well, there's no turning back now."

*queue rewind noise*

You may be wondering how we got here.

*six days ago*

"C'mon baby, you didn't think that was funny? Girls usually love that line."

He'd been after you all night, smiling, cracking jokes, buying you beers. You had to admit, he was nothing if not persistant.

"Unfortunately for you, I don't date funny guys." Despite your tone, you're actually genuinely amused by the situation. He's trying so hard, and it's getting him absolutely nowhere.

He's handsome, without a doubt the most attractive man at the bar, but he could be the most attractive man in the world and you still wouldn't touch him with a ten foot pole. Not with that smile and defiantly not with that uniform on.

"And why is that?" he laughs, undeterred by your blatant disinterest. His friends are watching, have been watching the two of you do this dance all night, and he's not about to back down now.

You watch the smile lines that appear on his tanned face, the way his eyes crinkle in amusement as he awaits on your answer. He's probably a few years your senior, early thirties if that's anything to go by.

"Funny guys are dangerous. They make you laugh and laugh and then boom you're naked."

His smile twitches and yeah, you can be funny too, wise guy.

"Is that where you think this is going?" he asks.

"Where else would it be going?"

And that's how it all started. The beginning of the end.

"You know navy spouses get a monthly stipend and are allowed to live on base?"

You remain facing the bar, peeling at the label on your bottle, not bothering to glance to your side. "You know, I really fucking wish Natasha would keep her mouth shut."

"(Y/n)—"

"It's no one else's fucking business what—"

He grabs the seat of your stool, nearly jerking it out from under you as he pulls it closer to his own. "Listen to me," he growls, a stark change from his usual demeanor.

Stubbornly leaning away so that you're not so close, you regard him with suspicious and narrowed eyes. You raise an eyebrow as if to say he's got your attention, however unwillingly.

"Right now, we're both in a tight spot, okay?"

You knew about his dad. Heard the whole spiel from Natasha— who you're learning that while, your best friend, cannot be trusted to keep her mouth shut— about how they weren't on good terms, hadn't talked since Jake got into the academy, and suddenly he calls out of the blue to tell Jake that he'd had enough of his son's playing around and that it was time for him to start thinking about getting married. That if he didn't within the next few months, he'd arrange the whole thing himself.

"You need a place to live—" You shush him, eyes darting to the people around you. You don't need anyone knowing that you can't exactly afford to pay your rent. Jake rolls his eyes because he doubts anyone could hear him even if he was yelling with how loud it is in the bar, but he lowers his voice regardless. "You need a place to live, and I need to get my old man off of my back..." He trails off, as if you should know where he's going with this.

You don't. You're just staring at him with an increasingly annoyed expression on your face, wondering how soon you can get out of this conversation.

He takes a deep breath and sighs.

"Hear me out, okay? What if we get married?"

You had actually laughed in his face at first, and Jake was so dead serious about it that he didn't even dwell on the fact that it was the first time you had laughed at something that he'd said.

"Not a chance in hell, Seresin," had been your second response. But that's the thing with pretty guys, they can be awfully convincing.

It all happens so fast that you have metaphorical whiplash. Next thing you know, you're wearing a brand new diamond on your finger and going out to the bar with his entire squad the night before their deployment.

Of course, they're all a bit shocked at first. You would be too. You and Jake hadn't exactly been even remotely civil with each other just a few days prior. But if any of them are suspicious of your's and Jake's sudden union, they don't let on, all too happy to have something to celebrate before they ship out. Fanboy and Payback have each brought their wives and Natasha her girlfriend as well. You suppose you're expected to mingle with them, maybe shed a tear or two over the shared bond that your partners are going across the country, but you can't really find a way to connect with them so you kind of just avoid them altogether. You do feel bad, sitting there without a care in the world while they all try to offer comfort and reassurance to each other. But you don't really know what else to do because it's not like you're exactly sad.

Thankfully Javy, or as he's known, Coyote, stands up and raises his near empty bottle of beer in the air and saves you from anymore uncomfortable sitting. "I'd like to make a toast! To the newlyweds!" You spoke too soon. The table cheers and raises their bottles in response, all of the attention turning to where you and Jake are sitting. Cheeks immediately flushing, you have to refrain from sinking down in your seat. Jake is grinning, accepting the few rough pats on the back that he receives from Rooster beside him.

And just when you think that's the worst it's going to get, it gets worse.

"Kiss!"

You're not sure who starts it, but like teenage boys, the entire squad parrots in unison.

"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"

At first Jake just laughs and shakes his head good naturedly, shrugging off the insistent urging of his friends, and you think that's going to be the end of it. But the chanting doesn't stop and finally Jake turns towards you. Your face is probably red hot and undeniably panicked. Heart racing, you try to read him in the half second that you're given as he leans and wraps his arm around you. Is he going to kiss you? Are you supposed to kiss him?

Neither option happens. Jake's arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you close into his side and at the last moment, he turns to press a kiss to your cheek. A series of disappointed boos follow but they are drowned out by clapping for the most part. He's uncomfortably close, closer than you ever would have liked to be to Jake Seresin, but you have to remind yourself that it's all for show. When Jake does turn away, you can still feel the warmth of his lips smeared against your cheek. Even so, he hasn't let go of you pressed into his side.

Your heart still racing, you reason with yourself that if Jake can play the part, you might as well too, and under that pretense, allow yourself to hide your face into his shoulder to conceal it's redness. The smell of his cologne washes over you, and oddly enough, you don't hate it. It's subtle, with a hit of what might be amber, and nothing like the overwhelmingly masculine scent that you would have pegged him for.

If Jake finds your sudden willingness to touch him strange, he doesn't comment on it, likely assuming that you're just trying to make this thing between the two of you seem real. You somewhat reluctantly pull away when Coyote's voice raises again.

"And here's to shooting down some fucking MiGs!"

Again, the table erupts into a chorus of cheering and hollering. You still, allowing Jake to fully pull away from your side while the proclamation rings out in your head. It's a very grounding moment, and suddenly you feel very alone sitting at the table. No one seems to have noticed your shift in mood. Maybe you're the only one put off by Javy's statement because this is their reality. There are people who are not coming home from this mission; everyone just likes to assume it won't be them. You know better.

You can't help it, the words just come out of your mouth. "That's a fucked up thing to say."

It's the first time you've really spoken up the entire night and all heads turn towards you. Based on the look in Jake's eyes, which is a bit apprehensive, as if he knows this is headed nowhere good, you realize you probably should have just kept your mouth shut.

Payback shifts uncomfortably in his chair while the rest of the crew glances around the table wearing varying states of confusion. Their gazes shift from you to Jake, as if waiting for some sort of explanation.

Coyote is the first to break the silence. "Look, sweetheart, that's just the way things are. Here in the Navy, that's a badge of honor. Your boy Hangman here is the only one of us with a confirmed air-to-air kill."

"(Y/n)—", Jake attempts to interject, but you're not about to let him explain himself to you in front of all these people.

You set your jaw and swallow back the anger threatening to rise up in your throat. "Yeah, because killing people is so honorable."

Coyote scoffs. "We're just doing our jobs. And if that means taking down a few planes while we're at it, so be it."

"Your job is to protect people," you snap. "There are people out there who have families—"

"Alright, that's enough—" Jake begins to interject for the second time, but this time it's Coyote who interrupts him.

"Come on, man. You're really going to let her say that kinda shit—"

You stand up. "I don't need his permission to—"

"I SAID ENOUGH." This time it's startling enough to cut both of you off. "(Y/n), what is your fucking problem?" Jake snaps.

You flinch at the harshness of his question.

Your eyes travel around the quiet table, where everyone is holding their breath, and then back to Jake. His green eyes reflect a type of pissed off what would be terrifying if you weren't so angry yourself.

A small, logical part of you knows that he has a right to be angry. You've picked a fight for no apparent reason in front of his friends and he hasn't the slightest clue why. It's not his fault your brothers are dead and you blame the Navy for it.

Regardless, that doesn't make up for the fact that you're pissed off by his defense of what Coyote has said. Even though you probably owe him an explanation, you're not about to answer him when he's just yelled at you. You also know that if you don't say something, he's going to and you'd rather die before letting him tell you off in front of all these people. You abruptly push away from the table and storm off for the bar top. You can hear Jake chasing after you.

"(Y/n)."

You ignore him in favor of heading towards the back door of the Hard Deck, pushing past people regardless of whether they're in your way or not. Being slightly more considerate, you can hear Jake moving much slower as he excuses himself through the crowd.

"(Y/n)—"

You come to a stop once you reach the door, spinning on your heels with a fire in your eyes.

"What's my problem?!"

Behind you, you can hear the loud jesting and jeering of his friends back at the table. They're still ruffled with excitement from your outburst, and Coyote's voice follows your retreating back. "Jesus man, get your girl under control."

I'm not his girl, you want to snap. He doesn't own me.

Jake has stopped a few feet away from you.

"What's my fucking problem?! My problem is that your friends are sitting over there calling murder honor."

Jake sighs harshly though his nose. Shaking his head, green eyes looking up, he begins, "He didn't mean—"

"No. I know what he meant, Jake. You're all a bunch of cowards. You're all too goddamn scared to admit that maybe you're not doing as much good as you thought over there, and so you just justify it by saying all killing is good killing, right?" you spit.

His vibrant green eyes harden but he doesn't respond. "That's some real goddamn honor, right, Jake?" you repeat, angrier this time, wanting more than just some watered down reaction from him. If there's one thing that pisses you off about Jake, it's that you've never gotten anything more than what he's conditioned himself to respond with. It's like he's locked up in this stupid box of his and the most you can ever get out of him is a glance. You want him to be angry with you.

"That's enough." His jaw is tight, and you can tell that even despite his lowered voice and rather subdued demeanor, you've hit a nerve.

"Admit it. Admit that you—“

"(Y/n)." His voice adopts a seriousness that you've never heard from him before. It sounds almost dangerous.

Jake steps towards you and for a moment you think you've won. And then in the moment following that, you actually think that he's going to get physically angry with you. Your heart stalls. Jake's a big guy, a naval aviator, and no matter how good he sells himself to be, he could hurt you if he wanted too. You would never have pegged him as someone who would put his hands on a girl, even after only knowing him for a week, but a man is a man, perfectly ironed uniform or not.

Only he doesn't. Instead he steps into your space and leans in closer than you've ever been before. His hand presses into your back, firmly pulling you into his chest so that you have no choice but to shift closer to him, your bodies molding together. "I said that's enough. They can see us arguing."

The press of his mouth to your ear conceals the exchange of your conversation from the listening table. You can smell his cologne on the starched collar of his uniform.

"I don't care if they see us—" Pushing your palm into his chest, you try to reestablish the distance between you, but like a brick wall, Jake doesn't budge.

"You realize that we have to make this look real?" he hisses. "From here on out, they're watching everything we do. The government is watching everything we do. Do you understood that?" His voice is tense, and it sounds more urgent than angry now.

Standing there, you realize his heart is thumping heavily beneath your palm. His body is uncomfortably rigid, like a scared dog waiting for its owner to show up and see the mess he's made. Behind you, the table has gone relatively quite. Rooster murmurs something along the lines of, "It's a little early for there to be trouble in paradise already."

Someone—Coyote—responds, "I don't think he thought this through, man. They won't last two weeks."

Jake's eyes meet yours, and you know he can hear them too. You swallow, trying to relax a little in his grasp. He's right, you have to make this look real, and fighting right off the bat doesn't exactly look good.

"Are they still looking at us?" You finally ask, leery now to even speak too loud.

Jake breathes a sigh of relief beside your ear, taking your sudden quiet as cooperation. "Yeah, just keep talking, okay? Act like we're working it out."

Despite trying to appear more comfortable than you are, you don't move your hand from his chest. The coarse material of his dress whites rises and falls steadily beneath your palm. It's calming in a sense, and you try to focus on its rhythm rather than the fact that you're so close that you can feel the heat of his mouth beside your ear.

"Still looking?" You ask after a few moments pass.

He hums. "Yep."

"Well then what do we do? We can't just stand like this forever." The longer you stand together, the more details you become aware of. Like the fact that his face is freshly shaven against your cheek and that he must have brushed his teeth before this because his breath smells like Listerine.

"Look at me."

"What?" You ask, your brow furrowing as he pulls away. His hand that had been holding your waist firmly in place lifts to grip your jaw.

"You're going to have to kiss me," he explains, glancing briefly over your shoulder.

"What?" Before you can even protest, he's leaning in and pressing his mouth to yours. Without the time to process what exactly is happening given your state of alarm, all you can do is go along with it. His lips mold against yours in what might be the most borderline tame kiss you've ever had. Despite this, you are reluctantly surprised to note how good of a kisser he is. It's just forceful enough to let you know he's in control but not so much that it's unpleasant. His lips are full and taste vaguely of his mouth wash.

You don't kiss him back.

It makes no difference to the group behind you whether you actually kiss or not; they can't tell from this distance and all they have to do is believe it happened. It's more for your own self preservation than anything. It's one thing to play the part, it's another thing to get caught up in it and catch feelings. And with Jake Seresin, that was a dangerous game to play. You'd already felt it, him prying his way under your skin when he'd held you at the table and the smell of his cologne filled your sense. It would be that easy.

To his credit, Jake lingers just long enough to make the kiss believable before pulling away. Even si, it still feels uncomfortably long. He leans back and you don't miss the fact that he wipes his hand across his mouth. "Sorry," he mutters under his breath, looking away.

"Jake..." you begin, immediately feeling bad, but he stops you.

"Whatever, (Y/n). It's fine." He won't look you in the eyes now. You turn to look over your shoulder, desperate to get yourself out of this increasingly bad situation .

"They're not looking," you say, finding the table now amicably chatting with each other rather than focused on the two of you. The sudden PDA must have finally diverted their attention. "...you can step away now."

"Right," he says, clearing his throat awkwardly. Jake drops his hand from your waist and steps back like he's glad to finally put some distance between the two of you. So much for making this look natural.

You return to the table shortly after, in hand to make it appear as if you've made up and smiling tightly when Bob cheerily welcomes you back to break the awkward silence. Once seated, you drop each other's hand beneath the table immediately. The rest of the evening is spent avoiding contributing to conversations that involve the other. If anyone notices, they don't comment on the fact that the two of you hardly look at each other for the rest of the evening, and somehow you manage to put up an otherwise happily married front.

When a few of the guys finally get a little bit too drunk, specifically Rooster, you're all too happy when Natasha calls it a night. Because they ship out the next day, Jake drives you back to the hotel where all of the married couples have rented out a room for the night. Apparently it's a tradition or something. You make the drive in silence. You let him check into the room and carry both of your bags up, disappearing into the small bathroom to splash cool water onto your face. It helps to ease some of the tension from this evening. Leaning over the sink, you watch the water swirl down the drain.

Is this crazy? This is crazy, right?

Jake is sitting on the edge of the bed, head in his hands when you step out. He's taken off his hat and suddenly he seems a lot more fragile than he was a few minutes ago. There's a softness to him, something having been previously concealed by the precise styling of his hair and tense pull of his set jaw. Before you can break the silence, he sucks in an uneasy breath.

"Hey, we need to talk about something. Um, you know... in case I..."

In case he doesn't come back.

You swallow, looking down at the ground. After tonight, after he's kissed you, all of this is starting to feel a little bit to real. What the hell happened to pretending? This was all supposed to be pretend. "Jake, please don't do that—"

He stands up from the end of the bed, and you notice the folded paper in his hands. "This is all of my personal information, you know, bank accounts, passwords, phone numbers... Anything you might need if something happens to me." He says it all as if it's so normal, but you can hear the apprehension in the thinness of his voice.

Already, you're shaking your head as he hands you the letter. "Jake, please. I don't want that." Your heart is pounding and all you want to do in the moment is go back in time and never have agreed to do this in the first place. This was insane. What were you thinking? Like you were going to put yourself through this again?

"(Y/n)—“ Jake tries, interrupting your spiral of thoughts.

"I said NO, Jake," you snap, stepping back from him and the letter. There are tears burning at the backs of your eyes, like you might burst into a hit of hysteria at any moment. "I change my mind. I can't do this..."

Jake's eyes glance from you to the paper in his hand and then back to you, and then he drops his outstretched arm with what sounds like a laugh. "Right. Not like we're fuckin' married or anything." He releases a puff of air from his cheeks and runs his hand through his hair like he's contemplating pulling it out. "Do you know how screwed we are if anyone finds out about this? Do you, (Y/n)??" he asks, his voice rising to a concerning level. "We're done!"

"Jake, I—"

He tosses the letter onto the bed and sits back down with a heavy sigh, looking down at his feet. When he finally speaks again, his voice had lowered to a more acceptable volume. "It's a bit too late for you to back out now. If the Navy finds out about this— if anyone one finds out about this, I could lose my job. We could both go to jail."

Silence settles over the two of you as Jake sits on the bed, staring at his feet, and you stand there in the middle of the room, willing your heart to stop pounding in your chest. You need to get out of here before your heart implodes. You turn and grab your coat from by the door.

"Where are you going?" Jake asks, his voice tired and annoyed.

"I need some air," you say, shrugging on your coat and opening the door. He doesn't try to stop you on the way out.

You regret the decision the second that you walk out the door. Now that the sun is gone, it's freezing outside. Your original plan had been to go for a walk to clear your head but you doubt now you'd make it very far. Walking down the stairs and out into the nearly empty parking lot, you look around, considering whether or not you would survive the trek to a gas station. When you realize you've left your phone back in the room, you decide against it. You aren't dumb enough to walk in the dark alone. Instead you head towards Jake's truck, which is parked out by itself at the end of the lot. To your surprise, you find it's unlocked and the door swings open when you tug on the handle. You climb in and the switch to lock the door behind you. Even the inside of the car is cold but at least it's out of the wind. You hug your knees into your check and tuck your chin into them, curling up in the driver's seat to keep warm.

And then you just sob.

It's the kind of sobbing that starts long and drawn out and then escalates into the rapid breathing that happens when you can't get enough air into your lungs and it feels as though there's an entire golf ball stuck in your throat. You haven't cried this hard since you were a kid—since your first brother died. You didn't cry the second time, didn't allow yourself to feel anything the second time because you knew there wasn't going to be anyone to pull you back together if you did.

At least being away from all of this had allowed you some time to forget, even if for just a moment, that they were gone without having to be constantly reminded. You had moved to put as much distance between yourself and the Navy as possible. Because that way life wouldn't get the chance to take another person from you in the same way. Looking at the ring on your finger now, that's exactly the opposite of what you had just done. This was just supposed to be until you could get back on your feet, and if it helped Jake out in the process then great. Now that you think about it, it was stupid of you to think that you would be able to make it through this with out catching feelings for him.

Now you're going to lose him too.

You cry until you almost make yourself sick and then some more. Your sobbing is interrupted every few minutes when you choke on your own air and have to swallow the golf ball that is lodged in your throat so that you can breathe. You're not sure how long you sit there just crying. Surely at least an hour has passed. By the time your sobbing has slowed, your head hurts and your chest aches enough to be sore.

Knock knock knock

You jump at the noise, head shooting up from between the bracket of your knees. It's dark outside, the parking lot just barley lit in a wash of grey by the moon. Even so, you can make out Jake's broad figure in the darkness.

"Open the damn door." His order comes out in a puff of frosty condensation that warms a spot on the window, his voice only partially muffled by the barrier. His shoulders are hunched against the cold, the upturned collar of his coat doing little to protect him from the brutal conditions.

For a while you just stare at him through the window, swallowing back the spit in your throat.

"Open the door," he repeats, knowing better than to think that you can't hear him. If only locking yourself in his car was the solution of all of your problems. Reluctantly, you reach over and click the lock, slowly rolling down the window.

After it stops, you stare at each other through the open car window, separated only by the frame of door that he could now easily reach out and open. His soft brown hair is mushed and in disarray, nose and cheeks tinted pink form the chill. The pleasant green of his eyes is mostly hidden as he squints against the wind.

Finally, you suck in a breathe, your chest shuddering. "I cannot do this," you stress, all of the fear that you've been shoving down now presenting itself in a singular sentence.

Jake sighs, his face softening to reflect a look of sympathy. "Look, I promise you, it's not that bad. You'll come with me to the carrier when I ship out tomorrow, we'll hug each other goodbye, and then you won't even have to see me for a couple of months. It'll be like none of this ever happened. And when I come back... we'll figure it out. Okay?" His voice is soft and understanding, like he's talking to a child.

You stare at the dashboard, your stomach still churning anxiously. "That's not what I'm... It's not you, Jake." Quite the opposite. "I lost my brothers to the Navy. Both of them. And I don't think I can take losing anyone else."

Immediately Jake's face falls as he puts everything into place. Your initial distaste for him, your furious outburst at Hard Deck, your reluctance to have have anything to do with the Navy... "I—God, I'm so sorry, (Y/n). I had no idea."

You shrug, calming down now that you've finally let go over everything that you've been holding in. "I asked Natasha not to tell you. I just thought that I could get over it so what was the point in even telling you?"

The wind blowing into through the open window is bone chilling and so you can only imagine how cold Jake is standing outside the car. For a while there's only the sound of his quiet breathing.

"Nothing's going to happen to me, (Y/n)," he says into the darkness.

"How can you be so sure?"

Hands shoved into his pockets, body braced against the wind, he shrugs. "I'm not. But if I didn't tell myself that every morning, I'd never get out of bed."

Sighing, you pull the handle on the inside of the door. "C'mon, it's fucking cold out there."

Jake huffs as if to say, you're telling me, and grabs the handle to pull open the door. Only instead of climbing in, he steps further inside the door and grabs your head in his cold hands so that your faces are mere inches apart. "I mean it, kid. I'm not going to leave you, alright? You just gotta trust me."

Looking into his eyes, you know he means it. For the second time since you've known Jake, you really see him. Standing before you is the same man that you saw in both of your brothers. Granted, they were much younger than he is now, but you get it. You'd been trying to see him as anyone else other than the brothers you lost, praying that it would hurt less, but you can't make someone into something they're not.

"Okay," you whisper. "I trust you, Jake."

You're awake hours earlier than what you're used to in the morning, but that's only because you had glanced at the alarm clock at half past three and realized that you only had few hours left with Jake. The both of you had returned to the hotel room and changed in comfortable silence, slipping into the single bed together without a word. Jake had reached over and pulled you into him without so much as a second thought. Now his body is draped heavily on top of yours, his nose tucked into your hair as your fingers trace along the bare skin of his exposed back.

You switch between staring at the ceiling and watching the numbers change on the alarm clock, trying to think about anything other than the fact that Jake would wake up in about an hour, you'd drop him off at the carrier at six, and that would be it. You'd only just gotten him and now you were going to have to let him go.

When Jake's alarm does go off, you're more emotional than you thought you would be, but Jake seems to be fine, dutifully putting on his uniform and carefully packing all of his bags, so you try to put on a brave face. You move slowly, dragging out the process of getting dressed as long as possible just so that there's no excuse to leave for the dock any sooner than you have too. After you're done getting ready, you watch him shave once and then again for good measure before he ultimately decides that you've both wasted enough time putting off the inevitable.

The drive there is silent as well and would have been unbearable had Jake not reached over the consol to reassuringly squeeze your hand. He doesn't let go of it until you pull into the crowded port. Between people trying to get their things on board and a bunch of teary goodbyes, it's beyond you how you manage to find the Dagger Squad in the midst of the chaos. Fanboy and Payback are saying goodbye to their families while Rooster and Natasha chatter excitedly with an older man also dressed in naval attire, the name plate on his uniform identify him as 'Maverick'. It's all so overwhelming that only when Jake squeezes your hand again do you realize that it's time for you to say goodbye.

Reluctantly, you turn towards him, interlocked hands swinging between the two of you. He does his best to smile, and to his credit, it's not entirely fake. "Well," he sighs. "This it it."

"For now," you add, returning his soft smile as you look up at him.

"For now," Jake agrees, his smile brightening now that you seem to be okay also. He pauses, just staring down at you for a moment before he adds, "Are you going to let me kiss you?"

You smile, answering him this time without hesitation. "Only if you keep your promise."

Jake's large hand comes up to cup your cheek, cradling your chin in his palm as he leans down to you. "I promise," he murmurs before pressing his mouth to yours, perhaps even more tender than he did the first time at Hard Deck. Only this time you reciprocate it, chasing his mouth as you lift up on your toes and run your fingers through the back of his hair. Groaning, Jake sighs into the kiss. It's dizzying and you don't know how it's possible to put all of the passion that you've been holding back into one kiss, but somehow you do. His lips are soft and you have to shove down the urge to grip his hair and demand him for more, because it by some miracle occurs to you that you're on a ship in front of hundreds people.

Jake's the one to pull away, his eyes shining and pink lips slightly more swollen than they were a minute ago. You can't help but laugh, wiping away some of your lipgloss from his mouth with your thumb. "Goodbye, Jake."

"Goodbye, (Y/n). And don't forget, I'll see you soon."

#top gun maverick #top gun fic #topgun maverick #hangman top gun #hangman x reader #jake hangman fic #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x y/n

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brazilsho · 4 months

Note

Request idea: JD meets a feisty country fem troll and literally is like “WOW OK, 👀 tough lady” and immediately thinks he’s got the rizz to win her over but gets humbled so fast, so now he’s just this simp chasing a country girlboss

━ FEISTY LADY

summary; the request <3.

notes; NAH I love this idea smsm that I HAD to immediately do this BC WHAT?!?! I generously don’t know what I’m writing ;-; AND ITS SO SHORT IM SO SORRY :‘)

side note; I didn’t actually mentioned that you are a county troll, sorry ‼️ and it’s cringe asf :‘)

When John first met you, he immediately knew you weren’t one to play with.

You where someone that didn’t let herself be fooled around and knows what she’s doing if someone would try something.

John though, found your toughness and fearlessness attractive in his words and wanted to try actually MANY times to either flirt with you or even interact with you.

Well actually he never tried it, he only had many scenarios about how he could talk to you and get your interests into talking to him but eh.. no.

Each time John saw you around, he wants to speak to you but you where a feisty one and didn’t really let anyone know you well, unless your someone you like. (*cough*)

You knew though by the way John looks at you always, that he wanted to speak to you, but you knew that he wouldn’t do it which makes you chuckle always.

Just like today again, John just casually saw you being the lady you are and his mind immediately went to the thought of flirting with you to get your attention and somehow his ego was that high today that he really decided to do it.

The moment though when he was close to you and you took notice of his approach, he was a humbling mess.

Trying so desperately to get a word out of his mouth while you just looked confused as hell on what’s wrong with him, until..

"Hey sweet cheek, are you a toaster? Because you’re even to hot for it to handle"

Oh dear.. you should see his face the moment he said that.. cheeks practically crimson red and him mumbling on and on about that he didn’t mean it.

You though, thought it was funny seeing him like this and actually even if his rizz wasn’t the best, you chuckled a little as you moved closer to him just a little,

"Nice try, handsome"

That’s all you said, playfully placing his googles over his eyes and moved away, but turning your hove over to see him now on the floor, practically giggling and simping over the fact that you even acknowledged him..

#brozone x reader #trolls band together #trolls band together x reader #john dory trolls #john dory x reader #trolls x reader #dreamworks trolls #trolls brozone #trolls 3 #🩷 • brazilsho

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freedomfireflies · 1 year

Text

Stuck With You*

Summary: You and Harry have been assigned to a case halfway across the country. And getting stuck for over twelve hours in a car with him is nothing short of excruciating.

But having to share a bed with him?

A fate worse than death.

(aka: enemies to lovers + one bed trope!)

Word Count: 7.7k

*Contains Mature and Explicit content! Take care of yourself first, only consume what you feel comfortable with!*

BAM!

The violent sound of the car door being slammed is what jolts you from your nap, weary eyes fluttering quickly as you sit up in the rather uncomfortable chair.

You aren't sure how long you've been asleep but from the lack of light outside, you guess quite a while.

So, in an effort to assess your location, you lean forward to peer through the windshield at the bright, neon sign shining just above you.

Roadside Motel and Inn.

Slowly, the pieces begin to come together as you yawn and roll your head back to relieve some of the tension in your neck.

You and Harry have been on the road for exactly twelve hours.

Twelve long, excruciating hours filled with bad rock music, limited snack breaks, and arguments over which part of the map to follow.

Harry doesn’t obey directions very well, something that became abundantly clear when he threw the map out of the window somewhere back in Ohio.

You have to smirk to yourself at the memory of his little tantrum before you realize...he's not in the car with you.

Curious as to where he went, you look back out the window just in time to see him slipping into the lobby of the motel, that familiar, sour scowl still set firmly on his face.

He must be going to book a room for the night, and you feel rather relieved to be calling it quits for the day.

Although, this motel doesn't look all that...safe. Or sanitary. In fact, it kind of looks like the motel in a horror movie where they'd find a dead body.

But, you aren't in a position to complain, so you lean back in your seat and wait for Harry to return with a room key.

However, after five minutes has passed and Harry has yet to return, you realize that something must have gone wrong.

And knowing Harry…it's a pretty safe bet.

So, you retie your shoes, zip up your jacket, and slip out of the car.

You can hear the aggravated arguing before you’ve even reached the lobby door. And you have to resist the urge to roll your eyes when the sound of Harry’s seething retort echoes into the parking lot.

“You aren’t fucking hearing me,” Harry is growling as he leans across the counter. “Two rooms. That’s all. I don’t fucking care about bed sizes or furnishings. I don’t fucking care if the TV is on the goddamn ceiling. Just give me the fucking keys.”

The poor man behind the counter looks absolutely exhausted with him (a feeling you know well) as he waves his hands in front of his computer. “I don’t have two rooms available, sir. I only have the one. One room. One queen-sized bed. One TV on the floor.”

Harry slams his palm against the desk with malice as you rush forward to intervene.

“Hi. I am…so sorry about my friend,” you begin hesitantly, pinching Harry’s hip in warning. “But, um…are you sure you don’t have any other rooms with two beds? No matter the size? We aren’t picky, really, we just…we’ve had a long day. And we’d really appreciate anything you can give us.”

The man’s eyes soften while Harry scoffs.

“Sorry, Miss,” the desk attendant sighs. “Just one room with one bed.”

“I don’t fucking believe you,” Harry begins again, tossing a vengeful glare across the counter. “There’s no way every other room is booked up but that one. What do you want, huh? You want money? Is that what it’s gonna take? Fine. How much fucking money is it gonna take for you to give us a key to a room with two beds?”

With a sigh, the worker says, “Sir…there are no more rooms. I don’t know what else to tell you—”

“You fucking prick. You think you can just con us out of another room because it’s the last minute—”

“Sir. No room in the inn. I don’t know what else to say—”

“Oh, you won’t say fucking much with my fist down your throat—”

“Okay, all right, let’s calm down,” you interject, wrapping your hands around Harry’s upper arm to tug him away from the desk. “We’ll take any room you have. Please.”

The charged silence seems to span an eternity as the desk attendant goes to retrieve a key.

And as he does, Harry rips his arm from your grasp while viciously whispering, “I had it covered.”

You snort. After all, you both know that’s not true.

Once you’re officially checked in, Harry storms for the exit, nearly breaking the glass in the lobby door as he slams it open and shut.

You follow a few feet behind, desperate to put some distance between you and his unjust wrath.

But, even still, you don’t miss his aggravated grumbling as he stomps back to the car, griping and cursing about, “Shitty fucking motels,” and “sleezy assholes with a stick up their arse.”

You suppose it would almost be funny if you weren’t dreading having to spend a night with him. In fact, you’re almost tempted to offer to sleep in the car but…well, you hate those fucking seats.

Harry is already unpacking your things by the time you reach him, tossing items left and right as he attempts to retrieve what you’ll need for the night.

He finds your duffle, yanking it from the backseat before nearly hauling it at you as you catch it and go stumbling back.

Then, he pulls his own backpack free before slamming yet another door shut.

With that, he leads you to your room, booted feet stomping across the concrete as you trail behind.

It takes him about five minutes to figure out how to even get inside, large fingers fumbling with the keys as he growls and nearly shoves his fist through the door.

Once you’re inside, he flips on the light, and you both take a moment to assess its condition.

The queen-sized bed is more like a full. The wallpaper is faded and peeling. The smell is…unplaceable. The carpet is stained and dingy. The TV (which is not on the ceiling) is at least forty years old. And the bathroom has no door.

And seriously, what is that smell?

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Harry huffs under his breath, backpack dropping to the floor. “No. Absolutely fucking not. Not happening.”

“Look, we don’t really have a choice, do we?” you argue as you move for the bed to study its condition. “We’re in the middle of nowhere and the next hotel isn’t for miles.”

“So?” he sneers, moving his glare to you. “S’better than this.”

“This is fine,” you retort, but wince as you say it. “Yeah, it’s not…great. But we’re only here to sleep and then we’re back on the road.”

“No,” he decides, arms crossing as he shakes his head. “Uh-uh. Not fucking happening, I’ll sleep in the parking lot.”

“Okay, great. Buh-bye, then,” you call, waving your hand through the air as if to dismiss him.

His eyes narrow. “He lied, by the way.”

Turning around, you gingerly lower yourself onto the mattress, expression scrunched as you make contact.

Ew.

“Uh…who?” you ask, rather distracted by the somewhat moist duvet beneath your ass.

Seriously, why the fuck is it wet?

“The owner,” Harry snaps, head jerking toward the door. “When he went to get the key, there was another fucking key right next to it. For the master suite.”

“…okay?”

He seems rather unimpressed with your answer. “Seriously?”

“What?” you huff as you stand back up. “Maybe it’s his room.”

“It’s not,” he decides haughtily. “No, he doesn’t fucking sleep here. ’Cause even he knows this place is a fucking dump. All right, satan’s asshole is cleaner than this room.”

Your nose crinkles. “Ew.”

“Exactly. So, get your fucking stuff and let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“To the master suite, are you not fucking listening?”

“Harry,” you nearly scoff. “We don’t have a key. Okay, and even if we did, that’s…you know, illegal…I think.”

“God, you are such a fucking pussy,” he hisses, already spinning around to return to the door. “Fine. Fucking stay here. I don’t care. Sleep with the cockroaches while they make babies in your ear.”

You gasp as he disappears into the parking lot, the rather unsettling image in your head making your muscles recoil.

Ew, ew, ew.

You don’t know where he’s gone. Perhaps to argue with the owner again or perhaps to sneak into the other room.

But you don’t worry about him. Instead, you worry about what he said. About bugs, and babies, and them crawling into your ear, and mold, and bedbugs, and termites, and—

You fling yourself toward the door, duffle bag in tow as you slip from the room, nearly running into Harry on your way out.

He’s already returned, a key now spinning around his pointer finger as he nods at you. “Changed your mind, I take it?”

You exhale a deep breath. “Did you at least pay for the room?”

“What do you think?” he snorts. “Fucking waited till he went to the bathroom and snatched it.”

“Harry, he’s gonna notice the key is missing.”

“No he’s not. I put the old key in its place.”

You lean back. “Oh. That’s…smart.”

“Yeah. Thanks for sounding so fucking surprised,” he grumbles before brushing past you toward the stairs.

“Come on, that’s not what I—” You begin but stop when you realize arguing with him is rather futile.

Instead, you follow after him toward the second floor of building as he leads you toward the end, where only one room lies.

He manages to get this door open a little quicker and once it swings open, your eyes widen.

It’s not the Hilton, but it’s a hell of an upgrade. The room is significantly larger, it doesn’t smell like ass, and the bed is huge. At least a king, you imagine, if not bigger. With what looks to be fresh, clean sheets and even a nice throw blanket.

Harry grumbles something about, “Now that’s more fucking like it,” as you both continue into the massive space to look around.

There’s a mini bar, two TVs, and a nice vanity in the corner. The wallpaper isn’t stained, the carpet is soft, and this bathroom has a door.

“Shit,” you breathe as you practically levitate toward the mattress. “Okay…I hate to say it, but…you were right. This is…so much better.”

“I know,” he deadpans, tossing his backpack toward the floor before moving for the couch placed just across from the bed. “Okay, I’m going to sleep. We’re leaving at eight. Try not to fucking bother me until then, yeah?”

With that, he flops down onto the sofa, eyes falling shut as he settles back into the cushions.

A little surprised, you stare at him, curious as to why he’s chosen to sleep on the most uncomfortable piece of furniture in the room. In fact, the floor would likely be more relaxing.

However, his expression remains placid, most likely aware of your presence but refusing to acknowledge it. “Go away now,” he mumbles without ever glancing up. “Stop fucking hovering and go the fuck to sleep.”

And you’d likely argue or remind him again of how unpleasant he tends to be but choose instead to obey as you head for the bathroom. After all, you are tired, and tomorrow you have yet another long day of traveling ahead.

With him. And his outrageously hostile temperament.

Once you’ve changed into some pajamas, you exit the tiny bathroom and scurry to the bed. It’s still winter outside, and even though this is the master suite, they apparently haven’t mastered heat.

The covers are thin, hardly adding even one degree of warmth. You tug the throw blanket further up and curl yourself into a ball, hoping to find some relief from the shivering of your teeth but to no avail.

You have no idea how Harry isn’t freezing his ass off but can’t exactly focus on him as you begin to lose feelings in your toes. And now, the large bed seems to be working against you since all it does is provide you with more space to be cold in. And even if you wanted to readjust, you’d lose the spot of warmth you’ve created, forcing you to get stuck with the cold sheets once again.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Harry suddenly growls, and you vaguely see the outline of his body as he straightens up from the couch.

Curious, you sit up as he stalks over to you, his large hand coming out to snatch onto the blankets and rip them back.

“Shit,” you breathe, recoiling away from the frigid air. “The fuck are you doing—”

“You won’t stop fucking shaking and it’s fucking annoying,” he snaps as he climbs onto the mattress beside you. “Move.”

A tad stunned, you blink at him. “I—seriously, what are you doing—”

“I’m trying to get some goddamn sleep,” he huffs, as if it were obvious. “But I can’t with your fucking teeth making so much goddamn noise. So, I’m gonna fucking hold you until you stop shivering.”

“Like hell you are,” you snort, already wiggling away from him. “The whole fucking point of us finding another room was so that we didn’t have to share a bed. Remember?”

“Yeah, well, that was before your teeth started doing the tango,” he retorts. “Now shut the fuck up and cuddle me.”

“I—Harry. I’m not going to cuddle you, that’s gross—”

“Oh, grow up. God, you are so fucking dramatic. We’re adults—”

“Yeah, but we’re not in fucking Twilight. Okay, Jacob? I don’t need your doggy heat to warm me up—”

“My doggy heat? The fuck does that even mean? I wasn’t gonna hold you doggy style—”

“Yeah, ’cause you’re not gonna hold me at all—”

“For fuck’s sake,” he seethes for a second time before his arm is extending across the space between your bodies to latch onto your hip and drag you closer.

You don’t have the time to protest before your face is being squished into his chest as he pulls the blankets back up.

Your brain is the next thing to freeze as you take a moment to comprehend what the fuck just happened.

And why you aren’t fighting it.

Because much to your dismay…he’s right. Again. Instantly, this is significantly better, and you can already feel the movement return to your toes as you take a deep breath.

And suddenly, you realize that he’s…everywhere. Against you, around you, inside you. Well, his smell is, anyway. The subtle scent of his cologne making a home in your lungs.

And it’s…nice. A masculine vanilla, of sorts. Comforting.

…ew.

And while your first instinct is to reach up and shove him away…you don’t. Instead, your hands come to rest on his chest as you feel each curve and dip of his strong body. Maybe you’re too cold or too tired, but whatever the case, you don’t push.

“You can’t do this,” you choose to mumble, despite the fact that you do nothing to stop it.

He simply snorts under his breath. “Already am.”

You shift but don’t pull yourself out of his arms. “I can’t breathe.”

“You’ll get over it.”

Your eyes narrow, even though he can’t see you.

For a moment, the dark room falls quiet. The sound of his breathing above you is soft and you feel his body rise and fall with each one. It nearly lulls you to sleep as the heat begins to surround you, much like his arms have.

“Why are you so mean to me?” you hear yourself whisper, momentarily stunned by the words that came from your own throat without permission.

He seems to tense. “I’m not mean to you. That’s just…you know, our thing.”

“Our thing is you being mean to me?”

“I’m not mean,” he repeats sternly, arms constricting around your back. “Trust me, if I were fucking mean to you, you’d know it.”

“So…this is you being nice?”

You hear him huff. “Can you please just go the fuck to sleep?”

“Okay,” you murmur, with absolutely no plans to do so.

But you allow him to think that he’s won for about two minutes before you voice your next question.

“Why is being mean our thing?”

Another sigh. “I swear to fucking God—”

“You used to bring me cookies,” you remind him, the memory of when he first joined your sector years prior coming to mind. “Every morning. You’d bring me cookies from the bakery you stopped at on the way to work.”

Again, he goes quiet, muscles hard beneath your touch. “I don’t remember,” he replies after a minute, the cadence of his voice so low you almost don’t catch it.

“I do,” you say, fingers absentmindedly stroking his soft shirt. A nervous habit. “I remember. It was my favorite part of the day. You were so…kind. Quiet. Maybe a little shy, but…you were a great addition to the program. I liked having you there.”

He snorts again, the sound full of disbelief and contempt. “Yeah. Right.”

You lean back, head tilting to look up at him. “I did.”

He looks down. Stares. Says nothing.

You don’t know what you wanted him to say but you do suppose you want to know why. What changed between the days when you were almost friends to…now.

“I’m not mean to you,” he finally answers, a bit softer than his last remark. “Not on purpose, anyway.”

“Oh, so the constant insults and degrading comments are just a part of your charm and charisma?” you tease, hoping to lighten the mood.

It doesn’t work.

His lips press into a thin line. “Why do you care if I’m nice to you or not?”

“I’m…’cause you used to be,” you say, rather confused by the question. “And clearly something changed, I just…I don’t know. I want to know why.”

“Why?”

“Yes, why.”

“No, why do you want to know?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because it doesn’t matter. We’re not friends.”

“Yeah. I know. Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why aren’t we friends?”

He leans back now, too. “…why the fuck would we be?”

You shrug. “Because we work together. And have to spend a lot of time together. And it would be nice to at least be civil.”

“I don’t want to be civil,” he scoffs. “Especially with you.”

Now even more startled, you blink at him. “I’m sorry, what the fuck does that mean?”

Again, his jaw clamps shut, effectively ending his side of the conversation.

You’ve struck a nerve, but you have no idea which one.

And despite the fact that he’s still holding you, his touch has grown cold and distant.

So, you snatch his shirt between your fingers and tug. “Stop doing that. Just talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about—”

“Yes, there is. Look…if I…did something…just tell me. Okay, because I probably didn’t mean to, and I can’t exactly apologize for it if I don’t know. So, just…spit it out—”

“No—”

“Yes—”

“I said fucking no—”

“And I said I don’t fucking care. Now, tell me what I—”

“Charlie.”

The name brings your response to a halt as you hesitate and flick your eyes between his, looking for understanding. “…what?”

Harry takes a deep breath as if steeling himself from the conversation. “Fucking Charlie, all right? You started dating Charlie. That’s what you did.”

There’s a certain disdain behind his expression that you manage to make out and it throws you for a loop. “I…wait, what? I don’t get it, why is that bad?”

He hesitates before sighing, seeming to dismiss the conversation altogether. “Forget it.”

“No, seriously,” you insist, tugging on him again. “Did…did you want to date him?”

His eyes roll. “Here we fucking go—”

“No, I mean it. ’Cause I don’t understand why else that would make you hate me—”

His attention snaps back down. “I don’t hate you, I…look. It doesn’t fucking matter, all right, so just drop it—”

“It does matter. It does, Harry, because it’s been driving me nuts for four years and I can’t take it anymore.”

And maybe he’s tired, too. Maybe he’s delirious from the long journey or maybe he’s just tired of talking, but for whatever reason, he finally lets his vulnerability slip through the cracks.

You see it peak through his expression. See it—feel it—in the way he holds you. Looks at you. In the way he fights with himself to reveal the truth.

“Because I liked you,” he says. So simply, you could almost be tricked into thinking it is. “I liked you. A lot. But you didn’t like me. You liked him.”

You can say nothing. Can offer no response or reaction as your lashes flutter and your brain works to process what he just admitted to you.

His jaw tenses as he waits. “Yeah. Exactly. So…there you fucking go. Happy?”

“I—” Your heart begins to race wildly inside your chest as this secret bounces around the walls of your mind. “Harry, I didn’t…I didn’t know.”

“I know,” he mumbles, shifting a little as his grip begins to loosen, desperate to let you go and pull himself away. “Why would you have? I’m not Charlie.”

You frown. You don’t like the implication in his tone. “No, you’re not Charlie. And you should be really fucking glad you aren’t.”

Now, it’s his turn to work through your reply. “…what do you mean?”

“I mean Charlie was a fucking ass,” you tell him, past resentment slipping through your hostile tone. “Okay, cheating on me was one of the nicer things he did.”

And you almost think you see pity in his eyes mixed with just the slightest hint of rage. “He cheated on you?”

“Oh, yeah. Cheated on, belittled me, ditched me in the middle of one of our dates with no way to get home,” you recall. “Not to mention he was shit in bed, he couldn’t be bothered to learn my last name, and he owes me over fifteen thousand dollars.”

Harry rears back. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Nope.” You almost smirk, somehow amused by his utter shock. “So, trust me…Charlie was not a threat to you. In fact, nobody could have been a threat to you.”

“And what does that mean?”

He sounds suspicious and you hesitate, curious as to whether or not this is really something you want to admit.

You swallow the urge. “It just means…you were my friend. And I cared about you, and it kind of fucking sucked when you turned on me.”

His expression falls, frown mirror your own. He opens his mouth, ready to respond, but then stops. He stops and he looks at you and he mulls.

You wish he’d allow you a visit inside his mind. Wish he’d clue you into his thought process but perhaps it’s better this way.

And maybe he was right. Maybe this is your thing. Maybe it’s better if he doesn’t like you.

Maybe that’ll make it easier to stay away.

“So…he was shit in bed, huh?” Harry murmurs after a moment, and your brow raises.

“Really? That’s what you’re taking from what I said?” you tease, playfully slapping at his chest. “Very funny.”

“M’not being funny,” he insists, nodding his chin at you. “Must have been hard for you. Or…I guess soft?”

Your eyes narrow as you smirk. “Ha. Ha.”

For the first time all day…he smiles. “Look, I just…I feel bad for you, you know? I mean, yeah, the cheating and stealing and being an ass part all suck. But…the bad sex? That’s just unforgivable.”

“It was heinous,” you agree, feigning a wounded sigh. “Seriously, I had to replace three vibrators over the course of our relationship. Three.”

He sucks in an empathetic breath. “Yikes.”

“I know. But I got really buff in my right arm.”

His grin widens until you can see his bunny teeth. “For fuck’s sake—”

“But not the left one for some reason. So it was really uneven. I looked like a Picasso painting—”

“Oh, my god. Stop. Please stop talking—”

“What? You’re the one that asked.”

“Yeah, I asked because clearly you need some help.”

This time, you rear back, eyebrow raising as you look at him. “I’m sorry…what?”

And he almost looks like he regrets the words that just came out of his mouth, but instead of taking them back…he shrugs one shoulder up. “Well…come on. You have to admit you’re…tense.”

“Wha—I am not tense,” you sputter. “I’m…I…just because I don’t put up with your shit does not make me tense.”

“No, but you not being able to come the way you deserve does.”

It’s so…tenacious the way he speaks. The way he says deserve like he’s had this thought before.

You wonder if he has.

“And who says I haven’t?” you counter.

“Have you?”

Your split-second hesitation is answer enough and his smirk returns as he hums to himself.

“Got it,” he mumbles, letting his eyes rake down your face. “Like I said…s’a shame.”

You snort, “Oh, is it?”

“It is.”

“And why is that?”

“Cause I could probably help you out.”

There it is again. That confidence in what he’s offering that makes your breath hitch. “Harry…come on.”

“Come on what?” he teases. “Your tongue? Your stomach? Your pus—”

“Okay, all right, enough,” you interject, wincing a bit as you lean away. “Seriously. Stop.”

“Why?”

“Why do you think? We can’t…this is a weird conversation,” you huff. “You don’t…that’s not what we…it’s just weird.”

“Why do you think it’s weird?”

An unamused glare begins to form. “Because it is.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

“Because we don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Talk like that.” Your hand quickly gestures between your bodies. “You said it yourself. Our thing is being mean. Arguing and fighting and you getting on my nerves.”

He hums again, as if considering it. “Well…maybe this can be our thing, too.”

“Harry.”

“Princess.”

The exasperated expression on your face deepens at the familiar nickname. “It is not going to be our thing.”

“Fine,” he sighs, one hand raising as he surrenders himself. “I’m just saying…it would probably help you stay warm.”

Oh, he’s such a fucking—

“That’s…dumb,” is what you choose to reply with, to which he smiles.

“Maybe,” he agrees. “But it works. All that body heat, and friction, and excursion—”

“Harry.”

“Princess.”

Your lips set into a line. “Are you being serious right now or are you fucking with me? Because I really can’t tell.”

“I’m being serious,” he says, just as simply as before. “Dead fucking serious.”

“Why?”

Another shrug. “Told you. I feel bad for you.”

You scoff rather incredulously as you turn over onto your back, forcing his arms out from around you. “I don’t need you to feel bad for me. I’m perfectly fine.”

“Clearly.”

It goes quiet then, both of you falling in line with the comfortable silence.

After a moment, you look over, suddenly aware of the absence of his body now that you’re no longer trapped against his chest.

And you almost…miss it. The warmth, and the slight serenity, and…the safety.

He’s one of the most annoying people you’ve ever met but he’s damn good at his job. He’s quick, he’s smart, and he’s quite capable.

And he’s got more muscles than he’s got brain cells.

“What?” he grumbles, seeming to finally notice your staring.

“Sorry,” you whisper, shaking the thought of him free as you glance back up at the ceiling.

But you feel him study you. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

“No,” you deny instantly, cheeks flushing at the very idea. “God, Harry. You’re so—”

“Annoying. Yes. I know. I’m also quite good with my hands if that’s any help—”

“Harry.”

“Princess,” he mimics, and you can hear the smile. “We don’t have to, I’m just saying…my services are here.”

“Services,” you repeat under your breath, snorting some. “How romantic.”

“Never claimed to be romantic. Just claimed to be good.”

“Well, you would think so.”

“I don’t think so. I know so.”

“Yeah, well, Charlie thought he knew so, too.”

“Well, we’ve already established I’m not Charlie, haven’t we?”

Your eyes flick back over to his. “Maybe. That doesn’t make you good.”

“And what about me implies that I wouldn’t be?”

“I don’t know. The fact that you called it services?”

“Getting you off is a service. A very nice one, actually. Or would you rather call it a favor?”

“I’d rather call it nothing. Because it makes it sound cheap.”

��We’re in a roadside motel. What about this entire trip doesn’t scream cheap to you?”

“The fact that we work for the government. And the fact that they’re not paying us to…you know.”

“What? You can’t even say it? Come on, Princess, I thought you were better than that.”

“I’m…I…” It’s incredible how quickly he’s managed to render you speechless. “I’m just saying, that’s not what we’re here for.”

“People fuck on the job all the time,” he reminds you. “Just last week, Spencer Reid told me about this girl he met in Vegas—”

“I don’t wanna hear that,” you exclaim, hands immediately flying to your ears to protect you from any unpleasant information about your friend. “What he does is none of my business.”

“You mean who he does,” Harry corrects smugly. “Look, Hotch doesn’t care. As long as the job gets done, it doesn’t matter.”

“So…what? That makes it okay?”

“Okay? It’s just an orgasm, it’s not murder—”

“Shit like that is personal,” you huff. “It’s intimate and…delicate. You know? It’s not for people who already don’t like each other. That makes it…messy.”

“Yeah, well…I like it messy,” he says, and despite yourself, there’s a catch in your throat. “Besides, I don’t know why we’re still talking about it if you don’t want to do it.”

You hesitate. He’s got a point.

Suddenly, he pushes up onto his forearm to really get a good look at you. “…unless you do want to. And you’re trying to argue yourself out of it.”

Your mouth drops open. “What? No, I…no.”

He snorts. “Oh, well, I’m convinced.”

“I don’t,” you insist before the truth begins to beat against your ribcage like a drum. “I mean…I don’t know. Wouldn’t it be weird?”

“No. Not unless we make it weird.”

“Well how do I know you won’t make it weird?”

“It was my idea. Why would I make it weird?”

“Because you are weird.”

“Yeah, but I’m still good.”

You exhale a sharp breath. “Harry…I’m being serious.”

He returns your stare. “So am I.”

“Well…I still don’t understand why you want to. Don’t guys hate stuff like that?”

“Stuff like what?” he retorts. “Fingering you? Eating you out? Tasting you? I’m sorry, what part of that doesn’t sound like a fucking dream?”

“Listen, Charlie used to tell me that it was gross—”

“And Charlie’s a fucking pussy,” Harry decides, rather resolutely. “Which is ironic since he doesn’t know what to do with one. But that doesn’t mean the rest of us are. Okay, we know how to enjoy the finer things in life.”

“Is that…a compliment?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow.”

“Thanks. Are you convinced?”

Are you convinced? You almost want to laugh at the very question but…perhaps you are. Perhaps he’s right—yet again—and this one-time agreement could offer you a bit of…help.

And heat.

Since it’s still fucking freezing.

“If I say yes…you have to promise to never…bring this up again,” you begin as he straightens up. “Never, Harry. I mean it. Not as a joke. Not when you’re mad at me. Not when we’re in front of anyone. Ever.”

“What, you think I want people to know about this?” He smirks. “Promise. What happens in the shitty roadside motel stays in the shitty roadside motel.”

“Great.” Your hands gather in front of your stomach as you begin to pick at your nail beds. “So…okay. Great. Is that…I mean, are you—”

“What do you need?”

You blink. “What…what do you mean?”

“My mouth or my fingers. What do you need?”

God, this feels too fucking real. You swallow rather thickly as you move your focus to his nose, looking for something less intimidating to concentrate on. “I don’t know. Whichever you want, I guess.”

“It’s not about what I want,” he replies easily. “It’s about what you need. So, I’m gonna ask you again. And this time I need an answer, all right?”

You simply look at him.

“What do you need…to come?” he asks softly, moving a bit closer across the mattress as his breath fans across your face. “Do you need my mouth? My tongue? My fingers?”

His hand outstretches for your neck, palm sliding up until his thumb can sweep along your jaw.

“Hm?” he hums, gazing down at you rather curiously as you lean back into the pillows. “Or do you need it all? Do you need more? Need to feel full? Fucked?”

You feel like you’re being pulled into a trap. Lured into the devious intentions swimming behind his eyes.

But you don’t…care.

“Can’t help you if you don’t tell me, Princess,” he continues, his voice like silk. Sex. “Give you whatever you need. Just have to ask.”

“I don’t…I don’t know, really,” you whisper, desperate to shove the control in his hands. “I’m not…I don’t care. Do whichever you’re comfortable with.”

“Darling…there is nothing about you I couldn’t be comforted by,” he says, finger teasing your bottom lip. “Do you really think…I’d choose not to feel you? Slip myself inside you and feel how fucking tight you are. ’Cause I know you are, aren’t you, honey? Bet you’re so soft…so warm…so fucking wet. Be so easy to taste you for myself.”

He was right. He is good at this.

And maybe in the past you’ve liked to have some control, but right now…you’d do anything for him. Be anything he wanted you to be.

He knows exactly what you need. Knows that you need someone to put you in your place. Guide you toward what you want.

“Why don’t I start with my hand?” he suggests gently, looking for approval on your face. “Give you a minute to realize how much you like it.”

When your only response is continued staring, his head tilts.

“Words, Princess,” he warns. “Or we stop.”

And really, he hasn’t even done anything yet but the very idea of stopping makes your stomach recoil.

“Fine,” you manage to breathe. “Your…hand. That’s…fine.”

You hate how…nervous you sound. How unsure, but Harry is more than willing to make up for the slack, grinning to himself as he trails his palm back down your neck.

“Need you to relax for me, okay?” he instructs as he reaches your chest, delicately and tamely slipping between your breasts toward your stomach. He doesn’t linger, doesn’t graze, doesn’t take a moment to fondle you like a prepubescent horny boy. He does only what he said he was going to. “Just like that, there you go.”

He continues to glide along the fabric of your shirt until he reaches your hips where the band of your pants lie.

His finger taps against the elastic, almost as if waiting.

“Say it again,” he whispers, dipping down until his nose ghosts across your cheek. “Need to hear you say it one more time.”

And you wonder if he really does want to be adamant about consent…

…or if he just enjoys hearing you submit.

“Please,” you just about gasp, suddenly aware of the lust you feel for his touch. The way you really do feel…empty. “Please, Har…just…just—”

His hand disappears beneath the material, and when you feel him brush over the fabric of your underwear…your eyes flutter shut.

He chooses to forgo skin on skin contact. At least for now, and you imagine it’s because he’s waiting for you to feel a bit more at ease.

And the rather generous thought does something to your stomach as he begins to drag the pad of his thumb down your covered clit.

You go still. Deathly still because it feels so fucking good. You hadn’t realized you were this wound up but instantly…your muscles turn to jelly.

“How’s that, hm?” comes the low purr of his voice, his lips now much closer to your ear. “Feel good?”

You nod mutely as your hands begin to fist the sheets below you.

“Good,” he replies, seemingly proud as he repeats the previous action before moving down. Then…he tsks. “Oh, honey…what’s this?”

You venture a glance over at him as he leans back to see you.

“Already so wet,” he says, fighting his amusement. “What’s got you so worked up, darling? Haven’t even done anything yet.”

Truthfully, you don’t know. You hadn’t realized. Maybe he’s just that good or maybe your body has been more complicit to his unspoken intentions than you were aware of.

Either way, he’s right. You are so pathetically wet, and he hasn’t even fully touched you yet.

“Have you been thinking about it this whole time?” he asks next, voice slipping back through the needle of salacious resolve. “Hm? Just been lying here, dripping for me? Needing me to make it better?”

He adds a bit more pressure and you gasp, the ache between your thighs growing much more unbearable.

He does it again before slowing down and your chest just about caves in.

“What?” He moves closer again, grinning to himself as he places his lips against your neck. “Something wrong?”

“Har…” you nearly whine, squirming some under his hold.

His tattooed arm flexes as he rolls the heel of his hand down your clit. “What? What is it? What do you need?”

You, you, you. The thought screams inside your head as he licks his tongue along your jaw.

“Please…” you say instead, hoping you sound desolate enough to garner his sympathy.

“Please what? Can’t read your mind, honey. Need you to tell me.”

You groan in the back of your throat, partially from his arrogant, flippant behavior and partially from the way he’s pulling at your skin with his teeth.

“Just…just…” Still, the request refuses to come out, and you want to smack yourself for being so weak.

“Just…just?” he repeats, somewhat mockingly but still gentle. “Just what? Just…this?”

You feel his finger hook around the hem of your panties before he’s effortlessly pulling it aside to graze his touch through you.

And you moan, so much louder than you’d meant to. Because even this simple touch does more for you than Charlie ever did.

“Ah,” he murmurs as he dances his mouth down the side of your throat. “That’s what you need.”

And before you have the chance to reply, he’s slipping a finger inside right at the same time that he’s raising up to kiss you.

Really kiss you, his tongue tangling with yours as you willingly give him every breath in your lungs.

The combination of sensations just about kills you as he effortlessly works his touch in and out with ease.

And he’s not recoiling the way you imagined he might. He’s not half-assing it or declaring he’s already done.

No, he’s…he’s indulging in you. Truly and completely as he groans into your bottom lip before sucking on it.

“Fucking knew it,” he whispers, moving to sit up on the bed so he can fully hover over you. “Fucking knew…”

You aren’t quite sure what he means but you do like the way he says it, your skin flushing as he gently introduces you to a second finger.

And it’s so good. So…full. Exactly the way you’d hoped. Exactly the way he’d promised.

Practiced, and patient, and pure pleasure. Right now, you know nothing but this feeling he’s giving you.

His kisses grow hungrier. Angrier. Like he’s fighting himself on how much he’s enjoying it.

And it makes sense. You’re rather annoyed yourself at how easy it was to start needing him. How desperate he’s made you become in such a short time.

Your arms move to wrap around his shoulders and keep him close, nails scratching at the few hairs lying on the nape of his neck.

You hear him sigh. Perhaps with contentment as he places his other hand on the mattress to brace himself and fully give in.

You wish you’d turned a light on. Wish you could really see him. Drink him in. Admire the man you’ve always loved to look at.

Because he is quite fun to look at.

Your hips lift from the mattress as if chasing the feeling he’s offering, and he makes a noise against your mouth that’s a mix between entertained and disappointed.

“Easy,” he chastises, subtly pushing you back down. “Come on, Princess. Be a good girl and stay still for me.”

“Har,” you whimper again, pulling a bit harder on his curls. “Please…just…hurry.”

“No,” he says simply, and your lashes flutter. “No, I’m gonna enjoy you. Gonna take my time…and you’re gonna take it.”

You exhale a wounded whine as he leans back and slowly removes his fingers.

And the loss of stimulation just about ruins you.

“Fuck,” you seethe between gritted teeth. “Come on. God, knew you’d be a fucking pain in my—”

His hands latch onto your pajama pants and underwear so he can pull them down, and when the cold air hits your cunt…you gasp again.

Once they’re off and discarded to the side, he maneuvers along the mattress until he can take hold of your thighs and guide them apart.

Then…he blows.

A warm, gentle breath dances across your already sensitive pussy, making you tense as he settles onto his stomach.

His fingers constrict around your legs to keep them planted firmly to the bed as he leans in to press a kiss to your inner thigh.

Then, another.

And another.

Higher, and higher, and higher until he’s so close…you can practically taste it.

He pauses and you aren’t sure why. You hope it’s not because something’s wrong. Or because he’s repulsed. Or because he’s changed his—

His tongue presses into your cunt with fervor and pressure, cutting your overthinking short as he takes that taste.

And just like that…everything makes sense.

All you understand his him, and his mouth, and his lips, and the powerful rush of immense and innate pleasure washing over you.

But it doesn’t just wash, it surrounds you. Overwhelms you. Pulls you down until you feel like you’re drowning.

There’s static in your brain as he sucks on your clit and squeezes your legs in his hands. As he leaves kisses across your pussy and traces his name across every inch.

“Harry,” you whisper, too overcome to care how pathetically enamored you sound. “Please…please…please…”

You can’t see him, but you don’t doubt that he’s proud. Probably smiling to himself as he releases one leg to slip his fingers back in.

He curls, and he stretches, and he sucks until your skin is on fire. Until it almost hurts. Until you feel as though you can’t hold it.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, nose bumping into your hip as he works you closer. “S’a good girl…you can take it, come on.”

“Shit…shit, Har,” you breathe, muscles burning from the way you attempt to hold yourself together. “Can’t…please…”

“Yes you can. You can, come on—”

“Harry—”

“I know, Princess. I know. S’okay, you’re okay. I’ve got you—”

“Please…”

“Shh…let me play with you. M’having so much fun. Don’t wanna stop.”

And you don’t want him to stop either. You never want him to stop again. You want to stay here, in this shitty motel, on this lumpy mattress, in his hands. Forever.

He’s so warm, and strong, and safe, and good.

And you can feel the tears slip from your eyes from the immense build-up and from the realization that you are so insanely…happy right now.

You hate him. God, you fucking hate him.

But there’s no one else you’d want around. No one else you can even imagine yourself doing this with.

You don’t want to let this go. This joy, this serenity, this moment.

Him.

You don’t want to let go.

But you know…you’ll have to.

The tears begin to flow a bit faster as you suck in a sharp inhale through quivering lips.

You focus in on his touch. His voice. The gentle rasp that encourages you to keep going. That he’s got you. That you’re doing so good. That he can’t wait to taste you.

And you can’t do it any longer. Can’t hold off, can’t fight it.

You come with a mangled whimper, fingers clawing down the sheets as your thighs squeeze around his head. As you see a glimpse of heaven while he makes you roll against his tongue. As everything changes.

“Fucking perfect,” he hums, working you through every second, thrusts slowing as he eases you back down. “So good, honey. Just like I wanted.”

But you don’t respond. Can’t. Not out of remorse or embarrassment…but because your throat has gone dry from the tears.

And as the dark motel room falls silent…he hears it. Hears your cries as you struggle to contain your emotion.

“Hey…hey,” he calls sternly, quickly straightening up so he can move closer. “What’s wrong? What happened? Why are you crying?”

You don’t answer as he reaches over to flick on the bedside lamp, and the moment the light fills the room, you throw your hands over your face.

“Fuck,” you whisper into your palms, cheeks stained with broken promises and humiliation. “Fuck…fuck, I’m sorry—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he warns, fingers already wrapping around your wrists to pull them down. “Don’t fucking do that. Don’t. Just tell me what happened, tell me what’s wrong.”

But you don’t. Can’t. You simply blink up at him as he studies you, the trepidation clearly etched across his expression.

For a moment, you both stay there. Him kneeling above you, hands tight around yours, and you. Lying in your defeat.

After a minute of silence has come and gone, he seems to understand. Seems to accept that this isn’t about what did happen.

It’s about what didn’t.

His eyes grow sad as he sighs and reaches up to brush a thumb down your lip.

Then, he caresses your cheek with more tenderness than you’ve ever seen from him.

“I know,” he murmurs while your heart just about shatters. “In another life…I would have done it right.”

And you know exactly what he means.

You sniffle as he dips down to find you again. Mouth on yours as a hundred unspoken promises pass between you.

“Yeah…in another life.”

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

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residenthughes · 1 month

Text

coming home - connor dewar

pairing: connor dewar x fem! reader

word count: 11k

tags/warning: friends to lovers, childhood friends to lovers, fluff, slight angst?, mentions of alcohol/drinking, minor swearing

summary: your entire life has entailed having connor by your side, no matter where the universe carves your paths. back home for the summer leading up to your final year of university, there's much to ponder - even your feelings about your best friend.

notes: this is genuinely a labour of love, the longest fic i've written in a long time 😭 i wanted this to be short and sweet, but it's long and sweet and i don't know how to feel about that lmao. but (!!!) i am really proud/happy about how this has come together and i hope you all enjoy this fic just as much as i loved writing it 😇 this is mostly proofread, but it is 5 in the morning, so I'll return to this soon! (apologizes for any errors towards the end!) more dewey content shall be coming soon, hehe! much love! <333

(also! this is very much in celebration of dewey's first goal as a leaf, teehee! 😁💗⭐️)

Summer’s always your favourite time of the year. Tan lines, midnight drives, fireworks, the beach. So much sweetness is in the breezy summer air and you simply can’t get enough. You wouldn’t admit it, but your favourite part of the season is when one of your closest friends, Connor, comes up from his gruelling hockey season and returns to the slow and laid-back lifestyle of your small town. Having grown up next door neighbours the majority of your lives, you quickly became two peas in a pod, always together with laughter following closeby.

Your friendship is something you’ve always treasured, held in some reclusive and special part of your heart that only houses your fated connection. No matter how mundane your time together may be - Connor strumming his acoustic guitar and you reading as the citrus sunset dips into the horizon - it's all so memorable to you and nothing, as you’ve come to experience, can ever replace his place in your life. However, life is a constant cycle of change and that first dose came when you two were fourteen, too awkward for your own good and growing out of your bodies. Connor was selected to play in a high-level hockey league hours away from your hometown and as your fingertips buried themselves into his tear-soaked t-shirt, you swore nothing could compare to this pain. The absolute tear of your beating heart out of your raw chest that ached with every gasp. You were a mess, undeterred by your futile attempt to appear as nonchalant at your silly age, but the second Connor stood on your porch, luggage in hand and the sadest tinge in his sage eyes, you fell apart.

Despite the sheer anguish you experienced that crisp autumn day, you adjusted. Stayed in contact with your best friend and continued to build up your life in his absence. Completed all your teenage rites of passage - took some extracurriculars, went to prom (you wanted to ask Connor, but ultimately decided against it), graduated high school and started attending university in Calgary - nine hours away from home. So many things changed and some still stayed the same. Connor was still as hockey obsessed and through his diligent efforts, he’s achieved his dreams of playing in the NHL night after night. You were there for draft day and there for his first game, university be damned. As was Connor, in the stands during your high school graduation and any time you needed him, whether that was him sitting on the phone with you until four in the morning or meeting up with you halfway across two countries because he felt like it. There was always something so spectacular about you two, your stories detailed by destiny and hung amongst the stars. A divine creation that despite the odds, of paths that have taken you two elsewhere, always merged because that is simply how it’s meant to be.

And, so it is, your last summer before your final year and here you are, fingertips tapping against the wooden bar as your leg jerks in anticipation of a figure that will come through your hometown bar, Punch & Judy’s doors any minute now.

Your best friend, Charlotte, manages to interweave your antsy fingers in between hers, a nurturing smile across her smooth face. “He’ll get here, don’t worry.”

Your eyebrows quirk, your legs stopping all motion. “Who said anything about worrying?”

She rolls her eyes, unamused. “You know what I mean,”

Then, she goes on to untangle your fingers, leaning her crossed arms against the bar occupied by the usual mellow group of regulars, including your own bunch of friends. “Besides, you know him. Knowing you’re here, he’s tryna get here quicker than a New York minute.”

A funny feeling flips in the pits of your stomach, an immediate flush coating the apples of your cheeks as you clumsily grab at your cider bottle. Connor always poked fun at your inability to enjoy a cold one, resorting to fruity flavours of cider. “He’s a law-abiding citizen, he’ll wait for the greenlight even if it kills him.”

“If you say so,” Charlotte casts you a glance out of the corner of her eye, smugness tugging at the corners of her lips as she takes another swig of her beer. The bell signifying the main door opening sounds in the background. “Oh, look. Speak of the devil and he shall appear! Hey there, stranger!”

Suddenly, your attention is elsewhere, eyes pinned to the tall silhouette that struts through the doorway of the LED ridden bar, kind eyes and a kinder smile with his tousled hickory hair and hushed voice finding its way to your eardrums again after so long. It’s like coming home again, watching from afar as close friends fall into endless hugs, your reunion saved for last as you beam a closed mouthed smile, reproduced by your best friend who opens his arms for a hug that solely belongs to you. You fall into him instinctively, inhaling his soft woody scent as you bury yourself in his embrace, the pendulum of your life coming to a pause as your universe centres.

“Get a room, you two!” Connor’s brother, Quinn taunts from over your shoulder, eliciting an exaggerated sigh from you as you’re reluctantly reminded of the lame chirps he seems to be full of whenever you and Connor are together.

You ignore him, savouring the moment for what its momentarily worth before Connor’s pulling away, arms loosely wrapped around the circumference of your waist as he peers down at you with those same green eyes you’ve known your entire life.

“Hi.” you breathe, short and sweet.

He simpers, something coy in the lines of his smile as he replies back, “hi.”

It’s a simple greeting, but there’s so much more in those few syllables - the endless gravity of your shared experiences and fondest memories making their way back to each other. Your eyes linger for a minute longer, taking in each other’s presence that’s long been missed due to your busy schedules leading up to your summer break. You part ways and despite how fulfilled you are to have him here and see him after some time, there’s a small knack that nags at you - hollow and wanting as you venture to a booth nearby, squishing up in between Charlotte and another one of your guy friends, Owen Power, who like Connor has been busting his ass in the NHL and friends with you all for longer than you can remember. You all chatter amongst yourselves with Connor’s brother sitting across from you, a discussion brewing as Connor returns shortly after getting a drink at the bar, sliding beside his brother with a beer in hand.

“Come on, Connie. Help me out here, these guys have lost the plot.” His brother argues, an eye roll your response.

Connor looks between your group, a knit in his eyebrows. “What’s the deal?”

“They’re tryna say, get this - that dolphins are more dangerous than damn orcas. Can you believe that?” Quinn attests, expression pinched as he ruffles the curls of his bleached hair sticking out his snapback.

“Hey! We’re well within reason to be arguing with you. You on the other hand? I don’t think so.” Charlotte proclaims, an accusatory finger directed towards Quinn.

“Yeah, not gonna lie, Quinn. You’re severely underestimating how evil dolphins are,” concludes Owen, his hand raised as he pushes up his glasses on the bridge of his sunkissed nose.

Quinn guffaws, jaw slack as his eyes flicker between everyone’s faces in quick succession, clearly in disbelief. “Are you hearing this right now?”

“Look, Q - we’ve been over this,” you start, hands extending as if to make sense of your proposed point. “You’ve been fed dolphin propaganda. We’ve literally shown you so many resources about their heinous crimes. Take it or leave it.”

Quinn groans, elbowing his older brother who wordlessly listens to the ongoing conversation. “Bro! A little help would be nice.”

A brief pause follows his younger brother’s melodrama, Connor weighing out the arguments of a conversation he hadn’t been here for, his eyes flickering over towards yours fleetingly. An unexplained shiver runs down your spine, the action camouflaged poorly as you appear to distract yourself from the sensation, fingernails scratching against the lines of your neck as you look up at the ceiling.

“Hello?!” hollers Quinn.

You swear he loves to hear himself talk.

“They’re right,” Connor concludes, eyes set on you as he speaks before he takes a swig of his beer, focusing back onto his brother. “Personally, I think you’ve been taking one too many trips to Sea World.”

“The promised land of dolphin propaganda.” mentions Charlotte.

“This is ridiculous!” Quinn exclaims, sending a heavy elbow into his older brother’s arm, all of which barely gains any sort of response from him. “What happened to honour amongst bros, huh? They don’t have that in Minnesota or what?”

Connor scoffs lightly, his smile reading amused as his head turns towards his brother. “That doesn’t mean I have to agree with everything you say.”

Quinn mumbles something under his breath, clearly displeased. “I forget you’re my harshest critic.”

Their double act entices the crowd, your circle of friends laughing amongst yourselves as Quinn folds his shoulders with his usual theatrics. No one buys into it, much less Connor who drapes his arm loosely around his brother’s squared shoulders, leaning in with a tickled pink smile that reflects within your own expression.

“You’re just mad I won’t kiss your ass.”

That earns him a shove off Quinn’s shoulders, sending him into a fit of laughter. Everyone chortles along, basking in the merriment of the moment before you’re delving into other non-controversial topics, indulging everyone in the bits and pieces of your lives they’ve missed and just like that, you're four drinks in and so sentimental it hurts. Owen suggests a walk around the town centre, a tradition you cannot help but all agree to as you all shimmy out of your respective booth, bidding Judy at the bar farewell as you file out of the establishment.

The cobalt sky dazzles with stars you’ve forgotten shine so bright here, the midday heat nowhere in sight as a cool breeze pushes you forwards. You linger behind Quinn as he impulsively hops onto Owen’s back, who stumbles at the sudden weight whilst Charlotte laughs at the unfolding scene. Nostalgia warms your heart at the sight, eyes half-closed and posture relaxing as the warm summer night holds you close and kisses your worries goodbye.

An arm drapes over your shoulders, your slow strides matching up with Connor’s as he looks to you, smile small and earnest as he playfully challenges, “Since when did you know about dolphin propaganda?”

You gasp, humour shaping your lips. “Well, you’ve been in my ear most of my life yapping about it, so…”

“Hey, I’m just saying - was I wrong?” the smirk on his face attests to his unwavering confidence and as you catch a whiff of his woody cologne, you roll your eyes in defeat, smile still on your lips.

“Considering you wore a shark tooth to school, I didn’t think so.”

You have to bite back the wide smile that fights to spread across your face, a few snickers here and there escaping before the loose ring around your shoulders closes in, Connor smushing your face inwards against the strength of his bicep. You can’t help but laugh throughout, swatting away his pesky grip that lasts no longer than a few seconds before all you hear is the echoes of your winded chuckles. In an effort to stabilise yourself from the momentary loss of oxygen, your hand seeks Connor’s, holding onto his larger and warmer as your feet hit the pavement in unison.

“Feels good to be back, doesn’t it?”

You let your head fall to Connor’s shoulder, arm wrapping around his lower back as your steps sync with such ease. A lightness in your limbs and how perceptive you can be to the sounds of downtown - car horns, hushed chatter and the like - let you know there’s nowhere you’d rather be right now than here. Back at home, with your best friends and your partner in crime who you answer in the form of a hum.

Your first few days back in the Pas are slow and uneventful, most of your time spent decompressing from the taxing semester and unpacking your items, all of which you didn’t know just how much you possessed. In an effort to make the most of the sunshine and get out the house for reasons other than your part time job at the local diner, you sign up for community gardening activities and ask the groupchat if anyone wants to come along. Everyone appears to have plans, except for Connor, who in the early hours of the next morning, picks you up from your childhood home and drives into town where for the next few hours, you’re knee deep in dirt under the blaring sun as you plant various kinds of greenery to spotlight the natural beauty of your rustic town.

What is certain, when early afternoon pours in, painting the sky in shades of honey and tangerine, you’re exhausted beyond belief. You have no idea how Connor makes the drive home, yet he does and when you two collapse into the hammock in your family’s backyard, your lips are slack and echoing more yawns than you can contain.

“That was great and all, but that’s knocked me out,” Connor groans, limp body shuffling in the confinements of the cotton hammock hanging off one of the trees in your backyard. The same tree which holds the treehouse you and Connor partially lived in throughout your youth. “That was more tiring than hockey practice.”

You’re tired and easily distracted, your head perched up in a way that puts the treehouse in your direct eye-line. “Remember when we’d watch movies in that treehouse?”

A brief pause follows, occupied by the tranquil chirps and running water from the nearby bird bath. “Yeah, I’d always wanna watch Jaws but you wanted to watch Disney movies.”

You give him a laugh, shuffling yourself in order to get comfortable in the small space. Why did you two think this would work like it did ten years ago? The thought occurs to you, but you brush it off to save yourself additional mental load, making the adjustments to cater to some form of comfortability in the tiny space. Even if that means sacrificing your shared personal space as your body overlaps onto Connor’s strong and firm one.

“Says the guy who knows the all the songs in Lemonande Mouth,” you counter, “And, Let it Shine.”

Without missing a beat, in his sleepy voice, Connor replies with, “kissy kissy, Roxanne, did you miss me?”

Groaning despite the snickers slipping past your lips, you bury your head into Connor’s chest, refusing to hear the rest of his ramblings. “My girl is hotter than your girl, you know it! You know it.”

To get your point across, you unbury your head, wide eyes peering up at your best friend who’s so amused by this all, hair messy and smile stretching from ear to ear. A bright sight. “Can you not?”

“You’re just hating 'cause I sing better than you.” He follows that by sticking his tongue out at you, so mature for his age that you grant him the response of a heavy sigh and an averted gaze, settling back into the peace and serenity of your backyard.

However, the silence doesn’t last long before you’re speaking again.

“Your hair’s getting long,” you observe, fingertips dancing along Connor’s nape as you absently fiddle with the long strands of his hair, silky between your fingers. “You should let me cut it.”

“Name a time and place, and I’ll be there,” he mumbles sleepily against the crown of your head, soothing you further towards a serene sleep. “Unless you fuck it up. Then, I won’t forgive you.”

You give him the satisfaction of a laugh tucked away in your chest, the ghost of a smile dissipating as the aches of a hard work’s start to plunge their teeth into your flesh and bones, body like cement as you sink further into the comfort of the hammock, into the comfort of your calm summer afternoon.

“One of my friends from my team’s supposed to be coming up for a night or two,” Connor croaks, voice hoarse and the gentle breeze of the summer’s day pecking your skin in an act of love. “Think…you’ll all get along with him quite well.”

His point is punctuated by a tired yawn that proves to be contagious as you mirror the action moments after, eyes unbearably heavy as time moves slow like molasses, body further sinking against Connor’s. You don’t even stop yourself from falling asleep, only blinking away the exhausted sting in your eyes to answer your best friend.

“Can’t wait,” you mumble, adjusting your body against Connor as your limbs slot together like puzzle pieces, matched at every curve as slumber envelopes you two in a kind embrace. “It’ll be good - the visit…and the rest of summer.”

Your words trail in a drowsy daze, tone doused in sleepiness as your eyes can no longer keep themselves open, glimpses of hickory branches and pear leaves wishing you peace and serenity as you finally fall asleep.

Your shift at the local diner passes without as much traffic as expected, local patrons ordering their usual with a few tourists dropping by to try the culinary experience of your average but nostalgic diner food. Due to how quiet the establishment is - Mabel, your boss and long-time owner of the diner - lets you off early and with a hug, you scurry back to your family house to get ready for the night's events. After dozing off with Connor in the hammock out back, your mother softly awoke to you with a holler she’s used since the dawn of time.

“Up and at ‘em, kids. Dinner’s ready!” in the distance of your dreams, you hear your mother yell.

With drowsy film still coating your eyes, you and Connor manage to dislodge your limbs from one another, sleepy smiles and croaky chuckles exchanged as you amble inside your house and Connor stays for a filling homemade meal that everyone at the dining table fawns over. Connor hangs back as you venture into the kitchen to wash up, a tradition you two have forged, him washing the dishes and you drying them. Not much dialogue takes place between the two of you and there is no need. For all the instances where you believed the need for conversation, you appreciate this silence so much more - how there’s no urge to talk for the sake of talking and how much comfort there is with simply just being with Connor. After you’ve done the washing up and Connor’s hugged your mother goodbye, fist bumping your father hilariously enough, he’s climbing into his car and wishing you well.

“You sure you don’t need me to pick you up from Mabel’s?” coaxes Connor, the wiggle of his eyebrows offsetting the echoes of titters that leave your lips.

“I’m good, thanks. Need to shower and get ready, anyways,” a gentle gust of wind blows, fallen leaves scraping against the cement of your driveway. “We all know how long that takes.”

“I don’t mind waiting.” Connor simpers, says like it’s the easiest thing in the world and like it doesn’t demand for the city of butterflies within you to soar beyond their ability.

You flash a strained smile, giving the top of Connor’s car a pat as your posture straightens and you step away from the vehicle. “Goodbye, Connor.”

“See you soon.” and just like that, he’s gone with the wind, taking a little piece of you with him.

It’s when you’re strolling your way back inside the house, halfway up the stairs to your bedroom that your mom gives you a gentle call, beckoning you back down the stairs to find her in the dimly lit living room, mahogany reading glasses hanging low on the bridge of her nose whilst the quiet snores of your father and his baseball game fill in the background noise.

She folds her newspaper, crinkles running up your spine as she addresses you. “So good to have Connie over, makes me miss him more when he’s away.”

Connor is like a son to her, the better part of your childhood glued at the hip whilst your parents cooed and awed at your loyalty to one another. He helps around the house with no complaint nor expectation of compensation, buys her favourite flowers every Mother’s day with an additional heartfelt gift come her birthday. He listens, he jokes and he cares. What more could she ask for?

“Can’t imagine how much more you miss him whilst you’re away.” she comments, throwing her denim clad leg over the other, directing all her attention to you, swaying between two feet with your hands behind your back, sceptical.

“Well, we try to meet up when we can, so it’s not too bad,” your hand goes to scratch the back of your neck, chin jutted as your head leans to the side. “…Is that why you called me down?”

Awkwardness rarely rears its head in your household built upon openness and unconditional love, which is why the unspoken truth your mother struggles to vocalise raises a red flag, your skin prickling as you fiddle with your hands behind your back.

She’s looking at you now, a maternal love in her eyes as she speaks up. “Maybe, I can’t really put my finger on it, really. I did, however, want to say that I hope you guys keep each other in your lives, however that may pan out in the future. There’s a special happiness in your eyes I want you two to be selfish with.”

It’s a small thing, she says. A snowflake amongst the pile of snow in the realms of your mind, but as you lay in bed later on that late afternoon, staring at the gold stars Connor helped hang up in your room, your mind wanders places it never conceptualised. Inserts Connor in places in your life where he hadn’t been previously - opposite you illuminated by a candle-lit dinner, dancing in a kitchen as you prepare breakfast and kiss each other in between, above your bare body as he holds you in the palm of his hand like you are the most precious thing the universe has gifted him. It’s a point in time that despite busying yourself with dipping your toes back into your hobbies - heck, even walking your next door neighbour’s golden retriever to clear your head - it never quite leaves you, awakening something deep and dormant in you that never goes away.

Snapping out of your syrupy daze, you adorn yourself in your finest line dance clothing, slipping on your gingerbread cowboy boots before you’re tying bows in the pigtails of your hair. Your mother yells down the stairs for you and you leave in a flash, kissing her goodbye as she drops you off at Punch and Judy’s, your jewellery clinking together as you walk through the main entrance.

Much like your first night back, the bar is illuminated in dim light and sharp LED lights of varying colours. Cowboy hats dominate the sea of customers, the building crowd of the bar dressed in shades of denim and tired leather cowboy boots. Knowing the others have already arrived, saving a spot at a nearby booth, you decide to make your way to the bar first, ordering your signature berries-flavoured cider, to which Punch (co-owner) makes quick work of, the cold beverage in your hands before you can blink.

“Beer not to your liking, sugar?” A smoky, mellow voice grabs your attention.

You spare a glance at the source of the gravel voice, eyes long lingering as they capture the image of a face that stirs a flip in the pits of your stomach. The man stood beside you braces his muscular arms against the hickory brown of the wooden bar, his sleepy chocolate eyes trained on yours as he takes a swig of his tequila flavoured Desperado beer. Locks of umber messily cascade along his face, unless tucked away in his vintage black cowboy hat that ties together the rugged cowboy look he presents with the sweet addition of his light stubble. To make things worse, he’s stupidly fit, his black t-shirt clinging to the curves of his muscles like second skin. If it were up to you, you’d-

“Like what you see?”

The smug comment snaps you out of your hazy olge, a pout forming upon your lips with an accompanying knit in your eyebrows. You make a point to angrily grab at your pint glass, ingesting a big gulp of the sugary alcohol whilst the rugged cowboy laughs to himself.

Even his laugh is attractive. Sick bastard.

“Coming from a man drinking a Desperado? Funny,” you have to laugh at whatever lame attempt of making conversation this man is pulling, Punch masking his misplaced laughter behind a cough as he polishes a pint glass. “How flirtatious you are.”

You admit, your latter remark is more bark than bite, a quick chirp that refuses to feed his ego yet grab his interest all at the same time. The ruse proves to work in your favour as the sexy cowboy gives another one of his huffed laughs, his body turned towards yours.

“Give me a chance, sugar. Just tryna start the night off right,” he counters, so brazenly confident in himself that you don’t know whether to laugh or shy away from his prying eyes. “Tequila beer and beautiful company - sounds about perfect to me.”

You react in a juxtaposition, eyes rolling and cheeks flushing as you divert your line of sight away from the handsome man flirting with you at your hometown bar. Perhaps, he’s some city folk travelling through the town, fancying himself a good time at Punch & Judy’s weekly hoedown Fridays, a little bit of flirting on the side to inflate his ego and keep his blood pumping. Whatever reason explains his presence, you are not one to complain. Your love life isn't very entertaining to put it mildly, so you're willing yourself not to get swept up in his caramel eyes.

Against the wishes of your quickening heart, you decide to give Mr. Handsome Traveller the time of day, body shifting as you face each other finally. “You don’t quit, don’t you?”

He cocks an eyebrow your way, something sneaky and sugary in the lines of his smile. A brief pause follows his actions, the soft rustic sounds of old town country murmuring from the jukebox nearby filling up in the space between your figures. It’s when he’s about to make yet another cocky comment that your conversation is put on pause.

Connor’s voice calls your name, head turning to find your best friend standing in between you and the Punch & Judy’s cowboy of the night, eyes wide and expectant as they shift back and forth in the middle of your standing figures.

“Dew, forget about Desperados tonight. The lady in bows will have your head otherwise.” Handsome Traveller nods his chin towards you, humour dancing in his smile as he snickers into his half-full glass.

Then, it dawns on you. Dew? One of the handful of nicknames Connor’s adopted over the course of his livelihood. So, they’re acquaintances? Or closer? Your eyes frantically search for social clues to point you in the right direction.

“The lady in bows is my best friend,” Connor explains, a bite to his words as his eyes glare a knowing look at Sexy Cowboy. He then goes on to face you, gaze softening almost immediately as his head tilts in his friends (?) direction. “This is Brandon, or Dewey One.”

Oh. Makes sense, you rationalise. This is Brandon, Connor’s close friend and teammate on his current team out in Minnesota, the one who gets into fights he can’t win on the ice whilst Connor trails nearby picking up his fallen gear. The one he told you a couple of days ago that was coming up to visit. And, of course you were flirting with him.

Of. Course.

“Dewey One?” you ask, minorly deflecting from your embarrassment and still genuinely curious.

Connor inhales, as if to speak but Brandon beats him to it.

“Brandon’s just fine,” he interjects, expression unassuming as Connor’s eyes put his visiting friend underneath a microscope. “Nice to meet you, darling.”

Normally, you’d wrinkle your nose at the sometimes sleazy pet name Brandon casually calls you, except this time round you find it more amusing than cringe-worthy, which is how you find yourself grinning as you two exchange a handshake that testifies to how strong Brandon is. You clear your throat to stop the circus unfolding within you.

“Come on,” Connor gestures over to you to follow suit. “Can’t keep ‘em waiting.”

You call out an agreement over your shoulder as you go to grab your drink, the hairs on the back of your neck stand to attention as a close whisper brushes past your ears.

“I ain’t no quitter, sugar.”

The next couple of hours are spent packed into a crimson leather booth that peels at the ends, going from topic to topic over many a pints. Brandon fits so easily into your group, his infectious energy illuminating as he takes up space without regard, his confidence more enticing than suffocating. Everyone seems to be in good spirits as the alcohol keeps flowing and as you sit back, careful eyes watching your friends engage in conversation, you wish for this to be your forever for as long as you'd like for it to be.

A nudge against your shoulder turns your head, greeted by Connor’s sage eyes. “You ready for Judy’s Line Dance?”

His rhetorical question draws a laugh from you. “You say that like I don’t do this every time I come back.”

“Yeah, but if you were ready then, you would’ve brought your cowboy hat,” comments Connor, his veiny hands grasping gently at the ends of your braided pigtails accented with a bow. “What? Wanted to show off your pretty bows?”

He thumbs the ends of your hair, engrossed in the strands and its feel and for some reason, the casual intimacy of the moment inflates something in your chest, a balloon about to burst as you forcibly breathe in and out, clearing your throat afterwards. “They're my favourite accessories.”

Connor huffs, corners of his lips lifting gingerly as he continues his motions with his hands whilst your body remains rigid with the exception of your racing heart and crimsoning cheeks.

Your mother has definitely planted a seed you cannot unroot.

“Yeah, you’re almost always wearing them in your BeReal. posts. They’re real cute.”

For a fact you know so well, Connor’s confession comes as a pleasant surprise, one that shallows your breaths and quickens your pulse. It makes you reflect back on before, when all was platonic and the comment wouldn’t have made you bat an eyelash. Now, your skin tingles and you’re struggling to find the words to encapsulate your affection past your dry mouth. So, like many others in your position, you settle for a safe reply.

“Aren’t you a charmer?” you roll your eyes, brushing off his grasp because you might combat otherwise, projecting your attention ahead of you to come face-to-face with Brandon, who despite the engaging conversation he shares with Owen, his eyes skirt over to you.

You look away, even more flustered than before.

It’s just your luck when you hear Judy’s tap incessantly against an old microphone that you have something else to hold your focus, eyes brimming with glee as she announces the dances for the night and their updated partner songs. Last time you were here, they were still playing their beloved country hits and you danced along thanks to the amounts of alcohol you consumed, but their new playlist of pop hits within the past decade or so, you’re more motivated than ever to tear apart the dance floor.

“If you ain’t shy to do a little two step, please make your way to the dancefloor please.” Judy grins into her mic, tipping her cowboy hat as patrons make their way over to the illuminated space.

Connor makes way for you to exit the booth, your boots hitting the ground as you iron out any kinks in your outfit. Amidst your actions, you catch other movements out of the corner of your eyes, to which you find Connor playing with the ends of your bow this time round. There’s always been something so sweet and tender about him - in the way clouds are amongst a blue sky, in the way laughter spills over so easily in the presence of a found family and in how harmonies make you feel as if you're floating. But, it’s never been like this before, this intense and vivd. In a way that rids you of all thought and scares you beyond your deepest fears all at once. You’re still finding your footing in this new territory, a plain that speaks to the existence of your feelings but has no road nor destination. It’s a simple plain you seek to find some end to, picking up clues along the way that predetermine what the future holds. At the beginning, the animosity scared you pale and grey. Now, the end is what grasps your fear in a fierce chokehold. To pry yourself from the jaws of unhinged anxiety, you allow yourself to relax, to seep into the present and take it for what it's worth because the end is unknown and you’re not there yet. Not by any measure of time, you hope.

“Kick butt out there, rockstar.” His big smile deepens the soft lines of his face, a pure display of pride in his features as he gives you a pat on the back and gives way for you to shine.

It’s small, insignificant in the grand scale of things, but your smile deepens too and you nearly float to the dancefloor, adrenaline rushing through your body as the DJ prepares the upcoming music.

As you settle in line, you feel a light pressure lay upon the crown of your head, eyes darting to find Charlotte in the line next to you, giving you a wink before she faces forwards, thumbs slotted through the loops of her flare jeans. Her straw cowboy hat no longer, you reach up to find said object upon your head and with a chuckle behind your hand, your thumbs hang on your belt loops and let the music guide you.

It’s only when you’ve done your first turn that you realise that Brandon has also decided to join the line dance, huffs of amusement sounding from you as he glides and slides with a confidence dusted with his normal dash of comedy.

When Judy announces it's time for the partner dance, it’s your cue to catch your breath as you plan to evacuate the dancefloor. As mentioned earlier by Charlotte, the pretty sandy brown haired man who’d bought her a drink earlier in the night circles his arms around her waist as she gives him a smitten grin. You beam at the endearing sight, about to make your way towards your booth but are stopped in your tracks as a calloused hand clasps around your wrist.

Brandon’s expression is more sheepish than you’ve ever seen, his eyes distracted as they wander away from you. You raise an eyebrow.

“Who says the night has to end here, sugar?” His voice trembles partially, its edge lost in the coyness lining his smile as he finally looks at you with a dazzle of hope in his eyes.

A momentary pause delays your response, the moment used to turn the cogs in your head and sneak a glance back at your booth, where Connor was last you saw him, eyes trained on you as he simply watches the interaction. Under the weight of his gaze, a creeping sense of embarrassment climbs up your back, scolding the skin. You’re about to give your reply when the music starts up and Brandon speaks again.

“Put this desperado out of his misery and allow me this one dance?”

It’s so cheesy, maybe even idiotic - the words he proposes to you but he’s trying and that’s what appeals to you most, warms your heart and sways your response as you send him a nod that has Brandon cheesing ear to ear, his hand leading the way as you two fall in line.

You haven’t had much experience line dancing with a partner, the closest experience to this being a night you barely remember, happily back sliding with a fifty year old local in your college town bar who wanted to feel young again. Regardless of the fact, there’s no time to mull it over as the music already starts and your fingers are interlocking, matching up with the rest of the duos as you dance, cowboy boots stomping as you make a scene.

In all the commotion of heavy stops and ongoing thumps of Rihanna’s ‘S&M’, Brandon manages to catch your attention, mirroring your movements to a tee.

“You and Connor don’t do this much, do you?” he queries.

“You kidding me? Connie has two left feet, I’d be left for dead if it wasn’t for Charlotte.” You yell over the blaring upbeat country music, arms extended as Brandon glides you further away from his figure.

“Good thing I’m here tonight.” jesters Brandon, and you laugh along because you’re tipsy and having a lot more fun than you imagined.

Despite your familiarity with the dance routine you two execute to a tee, you’re caught off guard when Brandon brings you inwards, bracing you against his hard chest before his arm circles around the circumference of your lower back, holding you steady as he dips your body slightly. Your foot is kicked out, your (Charlotte’s) straw hat’s fallen to the scuffed dancefloor and you’ve just had the wind knocked straight out of you, eyes feverishly searching for answers as the bar falls to a hush.

You’re looking in each other’s eyes now, chest heaving and high off the adrenaline pumping through your veins from all that dancing. All time ceases to exist and it’s just two of you, sharing laboured breaths and looking for any cues for how this will end. It appears as if you’re in your own head at this point, combing through a thousand possibilities all at once to respond however you see fit. Thankfully for you, Brandon breaks the silence.

“One night and one night only.”

The sentence sends shivers down your spine and you’re pretty sure Brandon feels you quiver in his arms as he gives a brief chuckle, hauling you up onto your two feet and bringing you back to reality. You don’t really find their footing after that.

The rest of your time at Punch & Judy’s passes by in a flash, more pints being consumed over your group’s loud chatter as the night stretches on. Charlotte and her blue eyed companion indulge in another dance before he’s whisking her back to the bar and paying for everyone’s next set of drinks - bless his heart. He introduces himself as Jack, a new face in town and as he and the boys exchange pleasantries, the wild eyed non-verbal dialogue you engage in pieces together Charlotte’s sentiment and if it isn’t enough, when Jack makes his departure, she gives him a kiss on the cheek and bides him a coy farewell, a promise to meet in the next coming days on her tongue. One thing is certain, when Jack makes his exit from the bar, the door shutting behind him, you’re yelling and shaking each other’s shoulders in glee, stupidly happy and sharing that with one another.

Your table has their last drinks and before you know it, you’re being squeezed into the back of Owen’s pickup truck, sandwiched between Charlotte and Connor whilst Owen and Brandon sit up front. Over the murmured sounds of slow alternative music, you get bits and pieces of their conversation, the two excitedly talking about their shared love for Legos and the most they’ve splurged on one set. You shake your head with a laugh, going to share your merriment with Charlotte, only to find her soundly asleep, a light snore bypassing her punch pink lips.

“How you holdin’ up, champ?” Connor’s low voice draws you in, a slight head turn in his direction. “Don’t think I’ve seen you dance like that since we were ten and begging our parents to have a sleepover.”

The image is so vivid in your brain, two wide eyed kids that held hands as they begged and pleaded to have a sleepover, only for their polite request to be refused. Taking matters into your own hands, you dragged your parents’ big hands into the living room, where in front of them and an oblivious Connor, turned on MTV and danced to some popular song of the time. Lucky for you, it worked. Unluckily, Connor would hold that over your head forever onwards.

You’re cringing into your hand, face mangled in discomfort as you wish away the reality of you doing that away. “One of us had to convince them. Plus, it worked, didn’t it?”

“I can’t argue with that,” Connor laughs behind a fist before his hand falls to his side, a moment of quiet between you two. “You and Brandon seem to be hitting it off.”

A single eyebrow raises to express your confusion, perplexed frown prominent not because of his statement which is completely true, but because there’s an edge to his voice - something unfamiliar and cold in the way he says his words - a tone you’ve yet to hear, even after all these years. Uncertain how to proceed, you choose to be cautious about the matter, selecting your words carefully.

“He’s nice,” you state, because Brandon is but something in you twists uncomfortably, feels the recognizable pangs of embarrassment as you’re subjected to uttering this out loud. Or rather, in front of Connor. A betrayal of some sorts. “You were right about him fitting right in with us.”

There’s a strange shift in the air in the backseat of the car, the once peaceful quiet now becoming increasingly heavy and awkward as your words hang in the air like knives. Connor absorbs your words, stare averted as he watches his fingers fiddle with the lock of the door on the windowsill. You run your palms against the material of your denim shorts because you don’t know what to do with them otherwise.

It’s only when you’ve scratched the back of your neck, eyes stiffly roaming the interior of the car that Connor replies. “Yeah..I guess I just didn’t know how well.”

You’re about to ask him what he means by that, going to press him but Owen’s suddenly shut off the truck, his blinding interior lights turning on and him killing the ignition, alerting you of your arrival. Connor climbs out before your vision reverts back to normal, so you put the matter on pause and softly wake up Charlotte who sheepishly wipes away dried drool at the corner of her lips and climbs out the pick-up with you. You’re about to shut the door behind you, though someone beats you to it.

“I got it.” Brandon’s husky voice sounds from behind you, the slam of the door following.

You send an appreciative smile his way, perhaps a bit of timidity mixed in there too, turning to include Charlotte in any possible conversation to come, only to find her halfway up the porch stairs of Connor’s house.

How is it always the two of you left alone?

“Let’s head in, it’s chilly out here.” suggests Brandon, you falling in line with his request as the beginnings of goosebump dot your arms, the roughness of your skin hitting an all time high as Brandon’s large hand falls to the small of your back, guiding you up the stairs into the cosy and quaint house.

Hums of conversation lead from the back porch of Connor’s house, the presence of your friends known as you wordlessly navigate your way through the halls of Connor’s house, hallways and framed pictures you’ve committed to memory. When you’ve made your way to the kitchen, you find Owen nursing a cool bottled water, hair tousled and cheeks dusted in pink.

“There you two are,” announces Owen, fingers threading through the waves of his brown hair. “Everyone’s out back - apparently, Quinn’s out back too.”

You waste no time beelining for the backyard, the sudden weight of your reality dawning on you the second you stepped through Connor’s doorway, a cold shower of water easing you out of the mirage you’ve impulsively floated in. Once you’re outside, the cool air sinking into your skin, you spying the usual suspects - Quinn, Charlotte and Connor gathered together around a fire Quinn boasts about making. His glee is short lived.

“That boy scouts training finally coming in handy, huh?” Charlotte banters, a suppressed smirk sneaking amongst her features as she takes a seat in one of the camping chairs surrounding the fire.

“You laugh now but when you need someone to tie an impossible knot and survive off the land, don’t come running to me.” responds Quinn, taking a swig of his beer as Charlotte holds her hands up in surrender, laughing regardless.

You’re about to turn on your heels to head back inside, retrieving a beverage of your own, but a familiar call of your name is stopping you in your tracks.

“I’ve got your cider here,” alerts Connor, expression indifferent as he approaches you to hand off a can of your favourite berry cider and a bottle of water. “Blankets are on the chairs too.”

It’s embarrassing how much you want to melt into this man’s arms right now. Nonetheless, for reasons you know all too well, you express your gratitude in a toothy grin that he mirrors with a closed mouth, pulling you down into the camping chair beside his.

Soon enough, Brandon and Owen are sitting round the fire too and your night ends like this, light-hearted discussions under the stars as the heat from the open flame soothes your heavy eyelids closed. Whilst you’re mildly awake, you don’t miss the glances you and Bradon trade over the sandstone fire, loaded questions in his eyes. Had this been any other occasion, any other person not linked to Connor, any other reality where your current feelings didn’t exist for Connor, then there would be no questions asked, blossoms of wine doting both your necks come tomorrow morning. Alias, these were not the conditions and simply lounged in your camping chair, hoping Brandon didn’t look your way every time Connor’s hand would play with the bows in your hair.

Arm hanging out of his shiny porcelain white pick-up truck, Brandon squints as the rays from the blistering sun reflect into his eyes. Having said their goodbyes earlier, Connor and Brandon dab each other up with good-natured smiles before Brandon throws his focus over to you, standing with a bit more awkwardness than you’d like.

“Take care, Lady in bows,” Brandon says, a well-mannered nod sent your way with a closed mouth smile. “Don’t give Dewey a hard time. He’ll come round.”

For a split second, you’re eyeing him as if his face contains all the answers, but when he gives you that knowing look, the same one Charlotte and your mother give you any time Connor’s name is mentioned - you know. Know all too well and blush as a result, head snapping behind you to see if Connor’s within earshot. Thankfully, he’s in the middle of chatting with his brother, hands in his pocket as Quinn points off into the distance. You circle back to Brandon, the apples of his cheeks clear as day as he snickers like he’s been told a secret.

It’s as if this best kept secret brings you infinitely closer, your walls falling as you begin to bare the depth of your sentiment surrounding Connor. There’s no more beating around the bush, so you lower your head as you kick at the rocks at your feet. “You think so?”

You hate how small your voice comes out, meek and questioning everything known to man. It’s unfamiliar and not to mention, uncomfortable in every aspect of the word. Alias, Brandon sees you - catches the vulnerability you’ve shared with him and embraces you with a kindness that ushers a relieved sigh from you as he responds back.

“I’d bet my NASA Space Shuttle lego set on it.” Brandon banters, smirk soft and small.

So, he’s serious. Very serious, it seems because you know how treasured the item is to him. You exhale a breath you hadn’t known you were holding.

“Thanks, Brandon,” you breath, coyness coating your cheeks as your hands fall behind your back, your fingers tangling. “Don’t go fighting no alligators.”

“We can only hope,” Brandon gives his side-door a smack, rounding up everyone’s attention. “I’m hitting the road, fellas. Enjoy the fair for me, yeah?”

A chorus of agreements go off from behind you before Brandon gives one more salute, speeding off into the canary yellow sun. The small crowd outside Connor’s house disperses and regroups again later on that day, refreshed and ready to attend the local fair held every summer and the highlight of the year.

The fair lives up to its expectations, grand and joyful with a variety of rides ranging from teacups to a catapult-like ride that swings back and forth and then upside down. You’re distracted by all the colours, the sights and sounds that you’re so oblivious to what goes on right before you, until your vision is shrouded in black and your face is submerged in fluff.

Retracting, you blink your eyes to adjust to the change in lighting, lips parting as you stare at the massive latte-coloured teddy bear that Connor presents to you, the rest of your friends nearby taking their turns at the darts board way ahead of them.

He must see you struggle to find the words, his grin infectious as he jests, “I think I’ve finally out-conned the concessionaires.”

You must look like an idiot, or a deer in the headlights as Charlotte jokes, disbelief strikingly apparent on your face as you reach for the souvenirs, the fluffy animal so cosy in your arms and melting your heart into a big puddle of goo. “Thank you, Con.”

“Don’t mention it.” a smile plays tenderly on his lips, the sheer kindness he captures in his sage eyes enough to make your pulse race and head spin.

After the thoughtful gesture, your high spirits cannot be tamed as you indulge in every little thing your heart desires - laughing a little harder, smiling a little wider and stuffing your cheeks full of hearty food that makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. Charlotte basks in your glee, speaking of a glow you radiate as she snaps photos of your stuffed cheeks, a knowing smirk on her lips as she hands you your teddy bear once your food is finished. You don’t reply, exchanging words through your glances as you make your way towards the second bit of rides the boys want to try.

“Wait, isn’t that…?”

As Quinn’s voice trails off into the distance, you find yourself turning in the exact direction where he directs your view, eyes landing on a pair of figures - one being Connor and the other being, Amelia, Connor’s ex-girlfriend from high school and most notably, his last girlfriend. Her waves of blond hair glisten in the sunshine, something like a Renaissance painting. Her smile bright and wide as she greets Connor with an enthusiastic hug, a hug you feel lasts longer than necessary.

They then go on to immerse themselves in conversation, and for the life of you, you can’t look away - pry your jealous eyes away nor dry swallow this bitter pill because she’s still so into him. Hands familiar and all over him, leaning in when she gets the chance and beaming like she’s won the lottery. In all fairness, her life’s been such a tale - excelling academically, incredibly driven in all sports and other extracurricular activities that garnered her attention. And such a kind spirit too, always there to help no questions asked that it made you physically sick that you could foster any ill feelings towards her, because she’s such a light and maybe Connor would see that too. As he did when they were together.

You’re too busy losing yourself in a sea of self pity that you don’t notice Charlotte's attempts to snag your attention nor other things at first, your illegitimate fears getting the best of you but as your posture stoops, your eyes floating everywhere around the busy fair that it pauses on Connor’s figure. Once immersed in conversation, he appears distracted, indifferent somehow as his attention wanders, wanders over to you as his line of sight floats over to you from time to time as the conversation stretches on. At first, you think it’s your mind playing tricks on you, feeding into delusions that’ll soothe your pity party, but at some point, he holds your gaze, giving Amelia a pat on the back before he’s jogging over to where your friendship group is, not even uttering a word as he slots himself between you and Owen.

“What was that about?” Quinn just has to ask.

“Oh, Amelia just wanted to catch up,” he sounds distracted, his mind elsewhere but you don’t dare to indulge, your sight directed elsewhere as you grip onto the plush teddy bear as if it were a lifeline. “She says hi, by the way.”

You don’t do much listening after that, tuning out all the colours and sounds of the fair as you ride the highs and lows of what your life has become.

A sense of urgency plagues you from that day forth, a hurriedness in your actions as your anxieties get the better of you, going from lounging around in day old pyjamas covered in crumbs and mystery stains to getting a head start on your master’s personal statement and running every errand you’ve been procrastinating. Your parents swear you’ve become a different person - venturing outside the house before noon to visit the bank to change your address or go get your car serviced. Perhaps seeing Connor with Amelia was the jump start you needed to stop relishing in instant gratification, distracting yourself from facing any sort of music that pertained to the future and all its question marks. You still hang out with the others, more so Charlotte as you spend a few afternoons at the lake with one another, feet dangling into the water as she updates you on her adventures with Jack.

It’s the first time someone’s pursued her with such sincerity and charm that she’s hesitant about his authenticity. And yet from the sounds of it, Jack doesn’t mind one bit and shows his patience as they get to know each other, the smitten man taking your best friend on dates that further solidify their connection. You couldn’t be any happier for your best friend, this kind of treatment a long time coming, all of which you express just to see her blush and dive into the cold lake water to avoid further talks. You chase after her, teasing her mercilessly as the thoughts still linger at the back of your mind - your own sentiment with regards to Connor and what has come from the change of heart.

Emotional anguish and so much fear you’re not sure what to do with yourself. It takes a week of mulling things over, his missing presence due to off-season hockey training for you to make up your mind, peeling into his driveway and hiding your apprehension behind a strained smile as he greets you at the door. You preoccupy every bit of silence with running chatter, because you don’t want to hear yourself think, a multitude of topics discussed over vodka pasta you make together before you’re finding your way into his bedroom, the early evening sky greeting you as he flicks on his buttermilk bedside lamp.

He brings out his guitar, the same one you gifted Connor two years ago at the height of his newly-found hobby and plucks the strings, creating a melody you compel yourself to relax into, somehow ending up sandwiched in between him and the guitar as he directs your fingers to play one of your favourite songs, just because.

Apparently, your shaky hands don’t make for good playing material.

“You’re shaking like a leaf, you cold or something?” notes Connor, his looming presence over your body sending you into overdrive, your skin feverish and mind imploding from overwork.

“This is different.” you annouce, because it is. Unlike times before, it didn’t mean as much to be alone in his bedroom with him, getting glimpses into the life he’s lived and who he is as a person through all his possessions. You could handle the casual intimacy - the soft spoken whispers, the unprovoked kindness, the skin to skin contact that didn’t send your heart into a series of flutters. Now, all you can do is bat an eyelash, many at that, and this you must make known. For the selfish reasons you can think of.

“What d’ya mean?” he mumbles, clearly distracted and known the wiser to his breath fanning over your neck, goosebumps rising against your skin as your body grows rigid against his.

So acutely aware of your proximity, of the bursting feelings that thud at the confinement of your chest, your thoughts scatter like glass. “This, Connor. Being like this…with you.”

That strikes a chord with Connor, his motions ceasing altogether as his hands drop from the guitar and you’re forced to face the music. Sink your teeth into this undeniable truth that’s followed you all these years and you’ve been too blind to see. Confront the holy truth that maybe there was more divine work intertwined in your story with Connor, that maybe the universe wrote you two as one heart as opposed to two. That, as the summer days ticked by, the sun seeping into your skin, your love grew for Connor like molasse - slow and thick and palpable that once you were aware of its existence, that’s all that consumed you. Coated in his syrupy love, an endless desire.

You’re facing your best friend in spite of the hellish screams in your mind to play this off as some random mood swing, a joke even, because laughter follows you two everywhere, right? But, you know. Know better than anybody else that Connor knows you, like the back of his hand. Sees right through any charade you may jester him with, so any attempts to divert the conversation are as pointless as anything. Your confession starts and ends here.

A flicker of concern mixes in the dark of his eyes, hands clasped together with a crease in between his eyebrows. “I don’t follow.”

A full body sigh draws out of you, shoulders sagging and back curving, your hands casting aside the acoustic guitar with caution. You’re back to staring at each other, in the silence of the night, caged in between four walls that burn your eyes white as you once again grapple with your innumerable feelings and the finality of it all - this longing.

“Don’t you think,” you croak, question in your eyes as you look up at Connor, stifling any rise in emotion within you. “-this summer has been different?”

His sage eyes cast away, pink lips settling into a pout as he racks his brain for whatever answer you may be looking for. “No? Maybe? I don’t know.”

He adds on, looking back at you as he leans closer without fault. “Is this because it’s your last summer before you graduate?”

Connor’s got a point. When you’re trying to kid yourself into not having romantic feelings for your childhood best friend, your mind wanders to places where it has more control. Plans for after college, what modules you’ll be taking, what societies you want to join, what last things you’d like to cross off your list before you’re forced into full fledged adulthood. It’s a thought that lingers ever so presently at the back of your mind, like background music stuck on loop, but ultimately, Connor has missed his mark and you tell him so.

“Partially, but,” you wet your lips, struggling to find the words again as the burn against your cheeks proves to be insufferable. “This is what’s been on my mind more than anything else.”

Your point is accentuated by your single finger gesturing between the two of you, a poor attempt at best to foster some sort of confession of your romantic feelings. Because it's so scary, lending these thoughts your voice because they become much more real, spoken aloud for his ears to hear and his heart to see. For his heart to feel and what then? What awaits you once your confession reaches his ears? The unknown is scary, chilling to the bone and you wish to shroud yourself from it as long as there’s daylight.

There’s a beat before you hear Connor’s voice again. “What about us?”

Hearing him vocalise those three words makes the moment so real, so vividly intense that it sends chills down your spine and slows your laboured breath, the thump of your heart all you can hear aside from the ticking clock against Connor’s bedside table. It ticks and ticks, signifying the curtain call to your summer long charade.

“Connor, I..” It’s as if the magnitude of your feelings have manifested into some beast, with razor-like fangs and sharp claws that slash at the confinements of your chest, the words of love dying on the tip of your tongue as the moments hangs over your head like a gauntlet. You’ve never been so scared before, driven nearly to tears as your desperate hands grip at the material of your hoodie to ground yourself in some sort of way whilst you try to push yourself. To see this through until the very end and leave the destination unknown.

“We’ve been friends our entire lives. I don’t know anything beyond being with you and I never wanted to, and I feel like that means so much more than it did years ago,” his eyes are on you, undivided attention served on a silver platter that you turn away from, for its sincerity and shine. “Maybe, I did know deep down inside what I know now all those years ago. Like when I cried and begged for you not to leave the Pas. Or when you held my hand any chance you got when we were kids, or anytime you smiled at me really that let me know I always liked you. Maybe, even love you - I don’t know. But, what I do know is that I just couldn’t leave for Calgary without letting you know. Even if that means…”

You don’t have the heart to utter your next words, a dagger to the heart at even the possibility of losing your best friend and partner in crime. Perhaps, it isn’t worth saying - this whole grand love confession because this is a risk you’re not ready to face. However, despite your thundering heart against your bruised chest and however many times you’re second guessing yourself here, the weight lifted from your words is undeniable. An unspoken truth that had been set free, that needed to be set free - whatever the fallout may be.

A snicker snaps you out of your deep seated fears, your scattered daze settling on the view before you, one you had least expected. Connor, eyes cast away from yours as he huffs into his hands, a laugh you’re undecided where it derives from.

“…Are you laughing at me right now?” You feel awful for even asking such a ridiculous question. At the same time, you’ve just been as vulnerable as you’ve ever been in your entire life - some hesitancy is to be expected.

At your question, Connor’s huffs of delight cease and stares at you at alarm, realising his mistake. “God, no. Fuck, I’m so sorry, I just-”

“You used to rub dirt on me, and now you're proclaiming your love for me,” an airy laugh puffs out of his moving chest, a mixture of disbelief and amusement painted amongst his chiselled features. “It’s a bit of an adjustment.”

He seems…happy? Relieved? You’re not really sure, but what you at least find peace in is that there’s no sunken look about him, no expression worn that conveys disappointment and hurt because that’s all you’d have to see to know where his heart lies.

“Good or bad?” you ask.

His eyes bounce back to yours, those same olive eyes you’ve spent years looking into, glimmer with a sparkle that you’ve yet to see and robs you of rational thinking as your heartbeat picks up the pace.

“Good,” he whispers, like it’s a secret for just the two of you - one that is small and fragile, but so special and cherished that it makes your heart squeeze. “Because, there’s no one else I’d rather be with. Not by a long shot.”

You swear you could cry, burst like a dam and drown in your tears that overflow with such joy and relief because this is it for you. So right and settled, being where you’ve always meant to be - so loved and treasured by the one person who knows you better than yourself, someone who’s seen you at your most awkward and at your worst, and loves you because he has. Because he’s seen it all and wants to spend the remainder of his life doing so, a conscious choice he makes everyday because he loves you and you love him.

You’re unsure how you’ve ended up like this, limbs curled up in your lover’s lap as he cups your cheeks, rough thumb caressing the skin as his love shines through his gaze that blows his iris’ out of view. He looks so beautiful like this, unabashed and vulnerable, secure in love and what destiny holds for you. He looks at you as if you colour his skies and spin his world round and just like that, you lose yourself in him. Thread your fingers through his strands of umber brown and kiss him like you mean it. Kiss him long and hard, and with everything you have because it’s long overdue, so needed that you melt into him, lips overlapping as you taste destiny on his tongue.

The story of you and him, a tale as old as time.

#connor dewar x reader #connor dewar #connor dewar fic #cd24 #minnesota wild #toronto maple leafs #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #hockey fic #connor dewar fluff #dewey 2 #brandon duhaime #dewey 1 #dewey #residenthughes

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roosterforme · 1 year

Text

Right Girl, Wrong Time Part 1 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: Beer Boy and Sugar may have spent years apart, but their ten year college reunion proves they have always been part of the same equation.

Warnings: Fluff, swears, and angst. Eventual smut. 18+ only

Length: 3100 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader (former fuckboy college student Bradley)

This is a sequel to accompany my story Old Habits Die Hard (you'll want to read that one first)!

Check my profile for my masterlist

It was kind of funny to you when you thought about it. Everyone from your graduating class was flooding back to the University of Virginia for your class reunion, but you'd been here pretty much every single day for the past six years.

You hadn't planned on ending up right back where you started after graduating from the University of Chicago with your PhD, but things never usually went as you planned.

"Big ten year reunion for you tomorrow night," said Veronica, your closest friend from work. "Are you excited?" You and she were sitting at a small table in a trendy bar near campus.

You just shrugged and swirled the last sip of your beer around in your pint glass. "Honestly? Not really. I haven't kept in contact with that many people I graduated with, and I probably wouldn't be going if I wasn't already living in town."

You pictured your cute rental house with the crooked fence and crumbling front step. It was only a few blocks from where you had lived your senior year.

"I'm sure you'll have fun!" Veronica said with a grin. "And if everyone sucks, you can rub it in that you have your PhD from one of the most prestigious programs in the country. And that you were published in Mathematics of Tomorrow when you were only twenty two."

You laughed. "I think you are overestimating how many people I plan on talking to. Maybe I'll see someone I know, but I'm just going for the free drinks and dinner, and then heading home."

"Yeah, you better head home early! Head home and make a decision for the fall! You are the only person I know who has ever been offered a tenure track at six colleges at once!"

You just waved your hand. "I have it narrowed down to Miami and San Diego. The other offers were kind of bogus, to be honest."

"Either way, you'll be somewhere warmer than Chicago," Veronica said with a shrug.

"I will cheers to that," you said, tipping your nearly empty pint of beer to her nearly empty glass of chardonnay. "Now, I need to run home before I meet this guy John for a second date."

Veronica made a face and shook her head. "That's the most generic name ever. And he sounded boring when you described him."

You just sighed. "Well, he was boring, but giving someone a second chance never hurt anyone."

You waved down your waiter for the check and handed him cash for the drinks.

"Want to walk out with me?" Veronica asked, checking the time.

"You go ahead, I'm going to use the ladies' room before I head out. See you on Monday?"

"I can't wait to hear all about your class reunion!"

You just shook your head and waved over your shoulder as you went to use the restroom. When you finished washing your hands, you glanced in the mirror. You were having such a good hair and makeup day, it was almost a given that you'd look like a clown or a wet dog for the reunion tomorrow night.

You straightened out your short, blue dress and headed for the bar exit. You ducked past a server who was carrying a tray of drinks, almost bumping some of the patrons seated at the bar in the process.

But as you walked past the guy sitting on the end, you slowed down a little bit. Even from behind, you knew he was going to be handsome. He had broad shoulders and thick, wavy brown hair. Just what you liked.

Just what you'd loved, actually. Since college.

You tucked your hair behind your ear and glanced at him as you turned toward the door, but you stopped dead in your tracks.

The scars. You knew those scars by heart. You'd touched his cheek and his neck so many times, you'd be able to describe them in your sleep. You'd thought about his face more than you should have. You'd thought about his body next to yours. You'd imagined what could have been.

But now Bradley Bradshaw was right in front of you, leaning his forearms against the bar and watching sports highlights while he played with the label on his beer bottle.

Only now he was all grown up.

"Beer Boy?" you asked softly, and he spun in his seat to face you so quickly it made you smile.

He just gaped at you, his eyes softly searching your face and dipping down as far as your neck before he licked his lips and grinned.

"Sugar."

Your belly swooped, and you were afraid you actually gasped out loud. His voice was even deeper than you remembered. You took a step closer to him, and his grin lit up his eyes. God, you could remember everything with him. Every bittersweet feeling came flooding back.

"I can't believe it's you." A giggle escaped your lips as you spoke, and his grin faltered a bit as his eyes landed on your lips.

He had a mustache now, and his hair was a little shorter than it was ten years ago. And he was so big and impossibly handsome.

"It's me," he said, his eyes flicking back up to yours. "And I guess you really are Doctor Sugar now?"

"Yes," you said before you bit your lip, remembering how many times he had called you that.

He shook his head, and that crooked grin was back. "Chicago was lucky to have you."

You felt your cheeks grow warm as his eyes roamed your face. He looked good. He looked so fucking good.

"You're still in the Navy?" you managed to ask as you inched ever closer to him. He turned his stool a little more to face you, his legs splayed apart with one hand resting on his thigh.

"Yeah," he confirmed. "I'm Lieutenant Bradshaw these days."

You looked him up and down in his fitted pants and black tee shirt that really hugged his chest and biceps. "I can just picture you in your uniform."

When your gaze settled on his face again, you saw hunger there that had you squeezing your thighs gently together.

"I wear a flight suit a lot of the time," he said in the raspiest tone you'd ever heard from him.

You pressed your lips together before you whispered, "You're just so much bigger now. You really filled out."

Part of you recognized that you should be embarrassed at saying that, but it felt like no time had passed at all. It felt like all those years ago you had turned back around, climbed back in bed with him and told him you never wanted to break up, ever.

"Yeah, I guess basic training will do that to a guy," he said casually, but his eyes were making you feel so warm. "Can I buy you a drink, Sugar?"

The fact that nobody had called you Sugar in the past ten years was not lost on you, but nothing had ever felt more right. You had missed him, thought about him frequently, too. Especially during those years you spent in Chicago.

"Yeah," you agreed with a slight nod, praying you weren't about to embarrass yourself. "As long as your girlfriend doesn't mind." He wasn't wearing a ring, but you needed to know for sure.

He just smirked. "Well, yeah, she would have absolutely minded if I was buying drinks for my beautiful ex-girlfriend. But we broke up two months ago, so I'm single."

"I see," you said, trying to bite back your smile, but you knew he was onto you.

"So what are you drinking?" he asked, already raising two fingers toward the bartender to get his attention.

"The good beer," you said softly.

And then Bradley turned toward you with a longing look that reminded you of ten years ago. "You still remember everything, Sugar?" he asked, his brows scrunching together as he took a deep breath and waited for you to answer.

"Everything," you confirmed with a nod.

"Another beer for you?" the bartender asked Bradley before he turned toward you as well.

"Make it two. Please," Bradley confirmed, and you shifted a little closer to him.

When the bartender returned with two bottles, Bradley shifted on his stool to stand.

"Have a seat," he told you, but you placed your hand on his very muscular chest and stopped him.

"No, stay where you are," you told him, pushing him gently back down. When he eased himself back against the stool, you tucked yourself closer so your hip was nudging the inside of his knee. "Is this okay?"

"Yep," he said, quickly grabbing both of the beers and handing you one. "It's okay," he added as his cheeks started to grow pink.

When he shifted around in his seat, his leg rubbed against you, and you needed to start a new conversation to keep from moaning.

"You're in town for the reunion?" you asked quickly.

"Yeah," he confirmed after taking a sip of beer. "I was in Virginia for work. It made sense to try to stop by. Where are you living these days?"

You laughed, and it seemed to make him more comfortable. "Like six streets over. I'm working at UVA."

"No way," he said with another grin. "You're teaching here?"

"Yeah, but only for another couple of weeks. I'm trying to decide between two tenure positions."

"Which schools?" he asked softly, and you couldn't help but think he kept intentionally bumping you with his knee.

"University of Miami and San Diego State."

His eyes went wide as he sucked in a short breath. "That's great," he told you, looking at you in awe now. "I still can't believe you teach math to a bunch twenty year old guys."

"Why not?" you asked with a laugh.

Bradley turned his head to face the bar and took a long drink of beer. He gave you side eye and said, "I would have died if you were my math teacher, Sugar. Trying to teach me calculus, looking like that? Please, I'd have failed the class."

"What? Why?"

"Come on," he said, turning fully back and giving you a playfully annoyed look. "You're just as gorgeous as you were ten years ago. Maybe moreso. I mean...you filled out, too."

Your mouth was hanging open and your heart was pounding erratically.

"But at least your students don't know about your math tattoo. So I guess they don't have it so bad. Me on the other hand? I wouldn't last a minute in your lecture."

"Bradley," you gasped, but he just kept his eyes on you while he finished his beer.

Your phone started vibrating in your clutch purse which you were gripping tightly in your sweaty hand. You set down your beer and pulled it out to see that John had been texting you.

"Shit," you muttered, and Bradley adjusted himself in his seat again, eyes still on you.

"You need to go?" he asked, and it sounded like he was dreading the answer.

"I...just need to send a quick text, actually," you replied, setting your purse down on the bartop and frantically typing back to John. "I'm just going to cancel my plans."

When you lowered your phone and set it down on your purse, he asked you, "Are you seeing someone then?"

"No," you replied quickly. "It was just a second date." You would have canceled plans with anyone to stay here longer.

Bradley's grin was slowly creeping back. "Did you just cancel a date for me?"

You scoffed playfully. "Yeah, but he was boring anyway."

"That'll never do. Not for you. You deserve the best."

You looked at him carefully, letting your palm rest on his knee. "Is that why I had you?"

"Hmm," he hummed teasingly. "I would assume so."

You just stood there for a minute, barely moving at all, except for your fingertips moving against his muscular thigh. "I missed you. When I was in Chicago," you whispered, and he was nodding right away.

"I missed you, too. Had a hard time at first. I thought about you a lot."

"I thought about you all the time," you replied, your heartbeat picking up in tempo again.

Bradley nudged you a little closer with his knee, and you willingly went. "I still think about you sometimes," he whispered.

You sighed softly, and he sat up a little straighter, his face closer to yours. You felt like you could melt against him, if you thought that was a good idea. Which it was not.

A loud group of college students entered the bar and made their way toward the crowded tables, jostling you and bumping your butt in the process. You stepped further into Bradley's personal space to make room, bumping both of his thighs with your hips.

His sharp intake of breath and slow exhale had you meeting his eyes and withdrawing your hand from the top of his thigh.

"No," he told you, grabbing your hand and then gently pressing it where it had been. You looked down and saw you were standing precariously close to him; if you moved your hand just a little bit, it would be on his zipper. "It's okay," he murmured, bringing his hand to your hip.

This felt very good.

"I like your mustache," you told him, blurting out the first idiotic thing that came to your mind. Of course you liked it. He looked great with it. You weren't even aware you actually liked facial hair before this moment.

"Thanks," he said softly, and his eyes grew wider as you brought your other hand up to run your fingers along his mustache. His lips parted, but he didn't move otherwise.

"You couldn't grow one of these in college," you told him with a laugh.

"No," he replied, his lips skimming along your fingertips. "Would have looked ridiculous."

Your soft laughter seemed to spur him on as his huge hand wrapped around your hip and settled on your lower back.

Oh god, you wanted him. So badly. You needed him. You had never stopped feeling this way about Bradley Bradshaw.

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

Bradley had often wondered what it would be like to see you again. At first the idea of it haunted him; it was the only thing he wanted, but he figured it was never going to happen.

Then as he got older, thoughts of you would jump into the forefront of his mind when he least expected it. He always figured you were doing everything you wanted to do. He thought you would be married by now. He was absolutely certain you would have found someone better than him.

But you made him better. He grew into a man because of you. Every girlfriend he had since you broke his heart should have honestly written you a thank you letter.

But the crazy thing was, Bradley wasn't surprised in the least that he still felt a connection to you right now. His heart was leaping in his chest, elation pouring through his body.

Your beautiful face was a few inches from his and you were touching his mustache. Your other hand was on his leg, and he couldn't seem to stop himself from guiding you closer with his palm on your lower back. Your gaze was still sharp, and you were just as witty as he remembered. And you were so perfect, he never wanted to stop looking at you.

"Maybe your mustache would have looked ridiculous ten years ago, but it looks good now," you told him. He wanted to kiss you. He thought he was going to, when you added, "You look so handsome."

"You're fucking gorgeous, Sugar," he told you, and he was treated to a radiant smile as your fingers rubbed the end of his mustache and trailed along to the faded scars on his cheek. "You always have been."

You were softly sighing as you examined him.

"You look like you want to ask me something," he told you, and you nodded the tiniest bit.

"Yeah," you confirmed with a soft laugh. "But I'm scared."

"Don't be scared. Just ask." He would be honest with you, no matter what you asked him.

"When you think about me... what do you think about?"

A montage of images rushed through his mind, and he swallowed hard. Your lips parted with a little gasp like you just knew some of his thoughts on the matter were completely filthy.

His cock was getting a little hard as he let his mind settle on the first time he got you off. "I think about that study room, Sugar. And how cute you looked in my bathrobe. And I think about how effortlessly you made me want to change my ways."

Bradley started to close the distance between you, and you cupped his cheek as your lips brushed his in the softest kiss.

"Beer Boy," you whispered, nudging his lips with yours again. But you were already pulling away as he was trying to get closer.

Then you asked, "Do you want to know what comes to my mind when I start thinking about you?"

"Tell me."

You licked your lips before you said, "I think about your Navy desk lamp. And I think about your bedroom door. Nobody else has ever done anything like that for me."

Bradley kissed your lips nudging your nose with his. "I'd do it again in a heartbeat, Sugar."

You threaded your fingers through his hair, and Bradley was absolutely aching for you now. He wanted to take you to his hotel room. He wanted to make you feel so good.

You had your hand incredibly close to his cock as you looked him in the eye and said, "And when I think about you, Bradley, I think about the fact that nobody else has made me cum as good in the last ten years."

"Shit," he groaned, growing harder by the second as you sighed and moved your hand higher.

Bradley had to take your hand in his to stop you. But it was your wide pupils that had him shifting his right knee so it rubbed against your core.

You sucked in a deep breath and gasped, gently grinding yourself against him as your eyes drifted closed.

"Sugar," he groaned. "Please tell me you're coming back to my hotel room."

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

Ahhhh!!!! They are back! Seemingly picking up right where they left off! Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls.

PART 2

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#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x you #rooster fanfic #rooster x female reader #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley rooster x reader #rooster bradshaw x female reader #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction

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i-heart-mgg · 3 months

Text

Puppy Love - Ch.1

Pairings: Spencer Reid x female reader

Summary: It’s your first day at the BAU and you meet the genius Dr. Spencer Reid who quickly becomes a blabbering, stuttering mess once you start to get to know him.

Warnings: light swearing, mentions of horror movies/books, general anxiety

Word count: 2182

Next chapter

————————————————————————

The hot sweat that radiated off your body contradicted the chilly morning condensation slowly dripping down the windows of the small but practical car you got for your eighteenth birthday. Nearing a whole six years ago.

You watched as the droplets raced against each other, a harsh battle for which one would reach the window sill first. In an attempt to distract yourself from the fact that you were parked outside the FBI Quantico headquarters, where you were about to start your first ever day as a real FBI agent.

You swung open the car door forcefully, heart pounding with an overwhelming sense of anxiety that comes with starting any new job. Let alone, one of the most highly sought-after and official in the country.

Standing outside in the soft breeze with the tranquil sound of lush trees whisking in the wind, you took a deep inhale. Soon exhaling as you briskly walked your way through the glass sliding doors, into the cold and desolate hallways. Choosing to ignore the emptiness, considering it was 7:30 am and you and your new unit chief, Aaron Hotcher, were presumably the only two people in the building.

Your fingernails dug into the sides of your upper thighs over the rough fabric of your plain black, possibly too-tight slacks. Accentuating in all the right places- just because you’re a huge nerd whose only hobby is reading the latest articles in just about anything, except for maybe how to become an alpha male with a PhD in hating women, does NOT mean you have poor taste in fashion.

Your hand hesitantly reached out towards Hotchs' office door to place three short knocks against it. "Come in." A deep, no-nonsense, kind of voice called out from inside the room. One last deep breath out before you prepared for the best act of faux confidence, dare I say ever performed.

That was until you could feel his eyes reading every tiny detail about you like a book, from the insecure look in your eyes down to the over-thought-out choice of your plain black slacks. All your prior preparation was completely thrown astray. You forgot that profilers also profile regular people, much different to deranged criminals. "H-hello, I'm (Y/N), (Y/N) (Y/L/N)". You stuttered as you reached to shake the intimidating man's hand. "Welcome to the BAU (Y/L/N), it's a pleasure to meet you".

He went over all the formalities with you until it was time to introduce yourself to the rest of the team, all of which you knew a bit of information about from previous research. Not to be creepy but just to get more acquainted with everyone, lessen the overload of information you were inevitably absorbing on that day.

Your eyes scanned the bullpen as one by one, agents walked through the glass doors of the BAU. Having seen all your soon-to-be-colleagues in the various articles you'd read, none of them phased you, except one. He was tall, and handsome, with slick-back chocolate brown hair, and big, adorable hazel eyes shielded by a pair of glasses, only being 1 year your senior but having accomplished three times as much as you. It was the one and only Dr. Spencer Reid.

He locked eyes with you for a second, before you swiftly averted your gaze to who you presumed was SSA Emily Prentiss, cheeks slightly tinted rosy to have been caught staring. The sound of a door opening and closing alerted you to Hotch advancing towards you, it was time to get the most nerve-wracking part out of the way.

With clammy hands and an urge to jump off a building, Hotch cleared his throat, gaining the attention of his team. "Hi I-um-I'm (Y/N) (Y/L/N), but I guess you can call me SSA (Y/L/N), or (Y/N), whichever you'd like!" Well, you completely fucked that one up, may as well just quit right then and there. This was not going according to plan.

"I think I like baby girl better, or maybe pretty girl, you seem like the copy-and-paste female version of our pretty boy Spence here". That must have been the infamous Derek Morgan, judging by his suave attitude and demeanour. Unsure of what to say, you heard another voice speak instead.

"Morgan! You can't just say that, especially not to (Y/N), it's her first day, and I'm not even a pretty boy so that comparison is quite redundant in the first place!" Spencer whisper yelled at Derek. "Come on Reid, she's gonna have to get used to me at some point may as well start as early as possible." He said as he shrugged nonchalantly.

"Oh, 'em, gee!! You're so, so, cute! Hi, I'm Penelope Garcia, the world's best tech analyst who can just about hack into anyone's devices." You chuckled lightly before she enthusiastically took your hand. "Good to know, I'll keep that in mind for whenever my ex tries to contact me again". You two both began to break out into a small fit of giggles before another three people approached you.

Jennifer jaureu, David Rossi, Emily Prentiss and yourself exchanged greetings and humorous banter before Hotch ordered the team to meet in the briefing room for your first case. A mixture of excitement and consternation bubbled up in the pit of your stomach as you cautiously made your way down the steps.

The team found their usual spots at the round table, leaving a singular spot next to Spencer Reid. You crept up to the seat, eyes darting wildly over anything that wasn't his own, before facing your body towards him.

"Could I- perhaps, sit here, please?" Spencer nearly jumped at your voice, a little startled by your sudden appearance. "Ah-well, y-yes of course, uh- nice to meet you, sorry I didn't introduce myself earlier I'm Dr. Spencer Reid. I didn't mean anything by it, it just seemed like you were busy with other people and- and it just-" "Reid!" Hotch slightly raised his voice to get the attention of the Dr. after calling it out about 5, 10, maybe even 15 times. It's not exactly like you were paying any attention to Hotchner either.

Spencer let out a meek "sorry" before The briefing began. The case involved a string of murders involving families in their own homes, those of which were alarmingly brutal. Even though you had worked with stuff similar to this in the academy, the reality of the crimes never fully set in as it did when you were the one investigating murders and catching the killers.

The briefing wrapped up and not long after it was "wheels up in 30" as Hotch likes to say. You felt like you were already learning a lot about everyone, making it much easier to feel comfortable around them. Although Spencer was still unexplored territory to you.

—x—

"Oh um yeah I really like that book! I mean I think you could already figure by me reading it.." he trailed off before awkwardly tittering. "Have you watched the movie too?" You questioned him, trying to get him to open up more regardless of the fact you were also extremely terrified of most human interaction.

"I have, surprisingly, I mostly just read books". He simply stated. "Ah I see, are you into any horror movies though? Because damn do I love them!!" "I do, I do! They're practically the only ones I watch but I have a fascination with the horror genre, as well as Halloween. Arguably the best holiday ever."

You laughed at his exceedingly biased opinion, sitting yourself down across from him on the plush couch to continue your conversation. In due time, the rest of the team piled in, Spencer and I's delightful discussion was cut short as we had to talk about real-life horror, not nearly as fun.

—x—

As you worked tirelessly into the once radiant sunlight-filled skies, now shrouded by darkness, you could feel the looming presence of slumber sneaking its way into every inch of your body. That seemed to be the way everyone else was feeling too, the drooping eyelids and slouched posture a tell-tale sign that we all needed some well-earned rest.

"Alright let's wrap it up for tonight, we aren't going to make any progress in this state and we need some fresh eyes," Hotch announced. We began packing our go-bags up to head to the least sketchy motel, which was still extremely mediocre at best.

You lazily undressed and threw on your oversized cal tech T-shirt, just your underwear underneath before crawling under the worn-in duvet covers. The moment your head hit the pillow you were out like a light.

The same unfortunately couldn't be said for dear Spencer, a lot was plaguing his thoughts. Some were about the case, most were about you. How smart you were, how pretty you were, and especially how well you got along. It wasn't often Reid warmed up to people this quick, even less so with that of the opposite gender, but he found himself getting lost deep in conversation with you. It felt too good to be true, after all he didn’t have the best luck with women.

As he twisted and turned over between his left and right sides, Spencer knew he was getting nowhere. His lanky frame sat upright on the bed, reaching out for his glasses to have some clue where he was heading. He glanced over at the time; 3:42 am, before creaking the door open carefully so as to not wake his dreaming coworkers.

The Dr. made his way in the direction of the lobby, passing by the arguably atrocious-looking floral wall print and stain-ridden carpet. Soon stopping by a janky old vending machine accompanied by an even dodgier-looking water dispenser. He fumbled around in his sweatpants pockets before he inserted a coin to get the sweetest coffee available. He scrunched his nose in dismay, it wasn't sweet at all (It probably was but we know how much sugar this man likes in his coffee).

"Spencer..?" A voice chimed out to him, your voice. "Oh (Y/N), what are.. you um- doing here?" He fidgeted with his hands before looking down to make eye contact. "I could say the same thing," you snickered. "Couldn't sleep. Thought I might as well get some coffee before I attempted to do some more work on the case," He explained.

His eyes travelled even further down your figure, passing the ends of the messy (H/C) hair cascading down your chest. He noticed a familiar bold black text plastered on the front of your T-shirt. The realisation hit in the form of a deep red blush creeping its way up his neck onto his sculpted cheeks, as you were wearing the exact same thing. Excluding the bottom wear, were you even wearing anything underneath- fucking hell could this get any worse for him?

Quick answer, it could. You reached your arm up to snatch the coffee from his grasp, tutting your lip while your shirt had risen just about as far as it could go before you'd flash your lace panties for anyone to see. "Give me that, you need to sleep!" You scolded him, your palm pressed flat against his chest, trying to obtain the drink. He sharply inhaled at the movement, unsure of what to do next.

"It's ok seriously, I wouldn't be able to sleep either way." He assured you, but your stubborn ass couldn't take that as an answer. "You could always come to my room, I'm sure me cuddling you would make you sleep like a baby," you teased. "E-excuse me, what.. do you-" "I'm only kidding, jeez ever heard of sarcasm?" You heartily laughed.

Sweat beaded on his forehead as he struggled to articulate any kind of thought racing his temporarily stupefied mind into speech. As Emily said an IQ of 187 was slashed to 60. Luckily for him, you chose to pull away to grab a disposable cup. Lukewarm water trickled into it as you waited impatiently for it to fill.

"God, could this take any longer?" You let out an exaggerated huff before downing it in one go. "And room temperature too?! This place desperately needs some upgrades." Spencer chuckled at your hysterics before you snapped back at him, "What exactly do think you're laughing at, if I recall correctly you were the one left all cute and flustered by my little joke." You raised your eyebrow waiting for a response yet none came, that sure shut him up.

The thud of the coffee cup as it dropped to the bottom of the trash can rang through both of your ears before you promptly turned on your slippers to head back to your own... compact, motel room. Leaving him a star-struck mess who would certainly not need any caffeinated beverages to stay awake till dawn.

Hope this wasn’t dog shit and you enjoyed, l’ll be uploading more parts to this series soon. Thanks for reading and feel free to make any requests for Spencer 😜.

#spencer reid’s hands in every episode #Spencer #spencer reid #spencer x reader #Spencer Reid x Reader #matthew gray gubler #mgg #mgg x Reader #Spencer Reid x fem reader #criminal minds #cm #i need him #cutie #cutie pie #early seasons Spencer

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not-another-leon-blog · 8 months

Text

Out Together

DI! Leon Kennedy x Fem! Reader

Summary- Your family spends some rare quality time together. Word Count: 2266 S/n- Son's name D/n- Daughter's name A/N: Part 3 of the Family Matters Series Family Matters / Aftermath

With the kids on suspension from school, Leon had decided that it was the perfect time to spend together. It was rare that all four of you went out to do something together– work tended to prevent it and oftentimes stole him away to far corners of the country or the world. So naturally, he wasn’t going to let this opportunity go to waste.

Of course, he gave them the standard lecture about not fighting in school (though he did praise them for standing up for and protecting each other), but otherwise assured them that they weren’t in too much trouble.

Leon woke up with S/n still curled up against him and your side of the bed empty. S/n had slept through the night between the two of you, and D/n seemed to have slept all night in her room, too. His kids were starting to heal just a little bit and the thought brought him peace.

The scent of bacon wafted through the house and just moments after Leon smelled it, S/n was pushing himself to sit up. His hair stuck up in all directions and he yawned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Bacon?” he mumbled as he looked back at his father.

Leon chuckled and rubbed his boy’s head. “Better go get it before your sister does,” he said. Without another word, S/n jumped out of bed and rushed out of the room. D/n was notorious for eating almost all of the bacon you made. So much so that you started buying two packs just so the rest of the family could have some, too.

You had just pulled the second pan from the oven when a pair of strong arms wrapped around your waist. The twins were already sitting at the table, quietly eating the bacon tacos you’d made for them. Leon gave you a squeeze and pressed a kiss to your temple, uttering a quiet ‘good morning’ against your skin.

Moments like these were his favorite. You in one of his shirts and a pair of your sleep shorts, the twins sitting at the table with messy hair and rumpled pajamas. If he could, he’d live in these moments forever. No bio-weapons, no being called away for work, just him and his family enjoying breakfast together.

You smiled and turned your head to give him a proper kiss before turning to plate the bacon. “Good morning, handsome. There’s eggs and potatoes over there, too.” You gestured to the table. “Go ahead and start eating, I’ve been nibbling while making all this.”

“You’re the best, you know that?” He kissed you again.

“I am, aren’t I?”

The four of you ate in a comfortable silence for the first time in a while. Since returning from San Francisco, tension had settled over the table. At least for the moment, that cloud had dissipated. It made you think that perhaps Leon was right. Getting the twins to be active seemed to be the best way for them to release their stress. You only wished it hadn’t been a school fight to make you realize that.

“Are we still going to the park today?” S/n asked between bites of his taco.

“We are,” Leon replied, “and don’t talk with your mouth full, bud.” He took a napkin and gently wiped crumbs from the corner of S/n’s mouth. “I’ll bring down your glove and we can throw a ball around.”

“Can I bring the soccer ball, too?” quipped D/n.

“Absolutely, baby,” you said. You ran a hand through her hair and gently undid large knots with your fingers. The twins finished eating and put their dishes away, leaving you and Leon alone while they went to get dressed.

You looked over at Leon. There was a sad, forlorn look in his eyes. “What are you thinking about?”

Leon gave you a sad smile. “When they were born. I promised them I wouldn’t let anything happen to them. Now look at us.”

You reached over and gave his hand a squeeze. Guilt over what had happened plagued the both of you. In the days following Alcatraz, Leon barely slept. He would get up and triple-check the locks on all the windows and doors. Nearly any creak would have him up and checking the house, especially when D/n had started sleeping in her own bed again.

“And you saved them,” you reminded. “They knew you would. We can’t change the past. But what we can do is give them a good day.” Helping them move on was the best you could do. You couldn’t let them wallow in those memories and drown in nightmares.

Leon pressed a kiss to the back of your hand and nodded. You had a habit of drawing him out of his darker thoughts, and when you did it made him love you even more. You were right. Your family came home in one piece. Neither of the kids were hurt (physically) and Rebecca had cured you. Your family was intact and that was all that mattered.

The two of you cleaned up the kitchen and went to get dressed. Then it was time to get to packing the car. It wasn’t much, just getting a small cooler filled with water and a few sandwiches while Leon went to hunt down S/n’s baseball bag in the garage.

“S/n, D/n,” he called as he came back inside with both of their gloves. There was an excited twinkle in his eye that you hadn’t seen in a while. The twins came running and he handed them the gloves. “Try them on, see if they still fit.” Leon had once had a dream of getting at least one of them into sports, but there simply wasn’t time. He never wanted to be the parent that didn't make it to practices or games. The twins put the gloves on and flexed their hands, opening and closing them. “Feel okay?”

“Good,” they replied unanimously. “A little stiff.”

“Just need to break them in. We ready to go, Mom?” You smiled at him and nodded.

This was the kind of life Leon dreamed of having when he was younger. A beautiful wife and two wonderful kids. If he didn’t have a dislike of dogs, he was certain that there would be one running around with you.

The park was almost empty. Being a weekday, the only ones around were the occasional joggers or new parents walking their toddlers in their strollers. The day itself was nearly perfect. Only a few clouds dotted an otherwise clear blue sky.

You watched from under a tree a little bit away on a blanket as Leon tossed baseballs for the twins. It was S/n’s turn to bat and D/n was scrambling to catch the fly balls he hit. Her jeans and shirt already had grass stains from diving after ground balls.

“Dad,” S/n said after he hit another, “I’m hungry.”

“Hey, Hungry, I’m Dad,” Leon replied with a cheeky grin. The twins groaned, resulting in a wider smile from Leon. The three of them made their way back to the tree you sat under. You lifted your camera as they came closer, wanting to preserve the moment. It was an old thing from years ago and though the lens was a little scratched, it still took fantastic pictures. “I didn’t think you still had that.”

You shrugged. The kids plopped themselves down and rummaged through the cooler. “Well, we don’t do stuff like this often. I figured we could use some more pictures together.”

“I wanna sit next to Mom,” S/n said, trying to scoot in between you and Leon.

“I had her first,” Leon wrapped his arms around you, pressing you to his side.

But this didn’t deter S/n. “But I’m her first-born.”

“I’m her husband.” He loosened his hold on you just enough that S/n was able to wiggle in and try to push Leon away from you.

D/n settled herself on your other side, quietly watching her brother and father squabble as she ate her sandwich. She leaned up to your ear and whispered, “Are boys always this dumb?”

“Sometimes,” you replied, wrapping an arm around her.

“Is that why Daddy makes things explode?”

“No, Daddy tries to be careful about that.” No point in denying that Leon did, in fact, blow things up every now and then. She’d already seen him do it once, at least you could prevent her from worrying about him getting hurt while doing something so dangerous.

The four of you continued to eat and once the kids had their fill, they were up and chasing after each other. Leon threw the soccer ball between them and it quickly became a game of keep-away.

Leon took to clicking through the pictures you’d taken, a soft smile on his face. “You know, you deserve to be in a few of these, too.” Most of the pictures were of him and the kids, very rarely did he see you in any of them.

“My mom takes more than enough,” you replied. You made it a habit to take the kids to see their grandparents at least once a month, and your mother could never have enough pictures of you and her grandkids.

“Still, this is a family outing.” He gave you a gentle push, urging you to your feet. “Go, I’ll take a few for you.”

You groaned playfully and got up. He was right, afterall. The albums you’d put together over the years were filled with him and the kids growing up. In fact, you’d started making them because of how often he was gone; you wanted to keep some kind of record for him to look back on. And being so focused on keeping his memories with the kids, you often forgot about keeping some of your own.

Leon watched you jog out to the kids, laughing as you stole the soccer ball from S/n. You carefully and swiftly moved the ball between your feet. The twins charged at you, but flew past you as you turned to dodge them.

The twins shared a look and split up, D/n running to get himself behind you and S/n staying in front to distract you. Leon raised the camera, waiting just a few moments before pressing down on the button. He watched through the viewfinder as you tried to keep both of them in your sight. D/n sprinted up behind you, throwing her arms around your waist as S/n swooped in to take the ball from you.

God, he wished his vacation days would last forever.

He put the camera away and went to join you. He easily snatched D/n from you, picking her up and lightly tossing her in the air. She squealed with laughter, “That’s cheating, Daddy!”

“And what were you doing just now?” He caught her and tossed her up again. You’d taken off to chase after S/n. The next half hour continued like that: racing after the kids and eventually ending up in a pile in the grass trying to catch your breath.

The sky had gotten darker, gray clouds threatening to rain. “Alright,” Leon said, pushing himself to his feet, “time to go.” He helped you up and S/n followed. D/n continued to lay in the grass, her eyes closed. It was obvious she was only pretending to be asleep but he didn’t care. He scooped her into his arms and carried her back to the car.

“Want me to drive?” you offered once the car was packed and the kids were buckled in. Rain had begun to fall and you knew how it could put him on edge.

“If you don’t mind.” He tossed you the keys. Truth be told, he was exhausted. But in a sense, it was satisfying. For once it was the kids who wore him out, not some bioterrorist trying to shoot him down or zombies chasing after him. It was the sort of tired he’d love to get used to.

By the time you returned home, rain was falling steadily and the twins had officially fallen asleep in the back seat. The two of you decided that everything in the trunk could wait to be taken in later and instead simply carried the twins inside.

You gently set them down on the couch and woke them up. They stretched and yawned, rubbing their eyes. “Go take your showers,” you instructed softly.

“Do we have to?” D/n whined.

As much as you wanted to give in to her, you nodded. “Don’t want to wake up all sticky tomorrow, do you?” She shook her head. Slowly, the two of them waddled down the hall to take their showers and get ready for bed.

Leon watched them until they were out of sight and then took their spot on the couch, pulling you down with him and tucking you against his side. You were happy to oblige, tossing your legs over his lap and nuzzling into him.

“Want me to get any of those pictures printed?” you asked tiredly.

“I have a few in mind,” he replied. You could print out all of them and he’d cherish each one. He sighed and leaned his head back against the cushion, closing his eyes.

The next time he opened them, he found the twins settled on either side of you, their hair still wet from their showers and sound asleep.

#leon kennedy #dad! leon kennedy x reader #di! leon x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy #leon scott kennedy #resident evil #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy fluff #leon x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy fic #leon fluff #resident evil fluff

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ladykailitha · 1 month

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Across a Crowded Room

*grumbles* I can't believe this IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE CUTE AND SHORT! Not only has it gotten a little angsty in middle there, it's about to breach 10k words. And I'm not even CLOSE to the ending.

The fuuuucckkkkk.

I was meant to be working on other things. Like editing a story to be beta'ed so I can put it on AO3 for you all, extending Batshit soulmates because I was skipping over too much, and wrapping up Glitters.

Guess who did none of those things because this story consumed my soul?

ME!!!

I will be posting this on Saturday as it's not one of my regular WIPs.

Enjoy. *sniffs* I guess.

Summary: Modern, no monsters AU. After they all graduated from high school the older teens drifted to other parts of the country. And while Steve and Eddie have made short trips to see each other, usually with the whole, they really haven't spent much time in the same room in years.

That all changes when Eddie is able to spend a week in Chicago with Steve and Robin.

But when Eddie sees Steve for the first time in years, he gets scared. Will have the courage to walk across that crowded room to be with Steve?

@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

Eddie hadn’t seen Steve in years. After high school when they became friends through mutual parenting of six absolutely terrifyingly smart teenagers, they kinda went their separate ways.

Steve and Robin had gone to Chicago for college and Eddie and his band had gone further west to LA to try and make it as metal artists.

This is was the first time in a really long time that their schedules lined up. They talked all the time. Friends on all their social media. But they hadn’t seen each other since they said goodbye in Steve’s driveway four years ago.

Eddie was standing at the bar entrance where he was supposed to be meeting Steve, just staring at him.

God, he had been gorgeous in high school. Because of course he was. Captain of the basketball team, co-captain of the swim team, and the baseball team’s best hitter.

But he looked even more so now.

His honey colored, wind tussled hair had grown out a bit. A lock of hair flopped devastatingly in front of one of his hazel eyes. He had filled out some, once thin and wiry, now deep chested and toned. Even in the winterscape hell that was Chicago, Steve’s skin was warmly tanned.

He was laughing with a group of people and never had Eddie felt more out of place in his life, and that was saying something. He had been dropped off at his Uncle Wayne’s when he was twelve. Been nicknamed the “Freak”. And had always been flamboyantly himself: a big, gay, metal loving geek.

Eddie was about to turn around and go back the way he came when a familiar voice called his name.

He turned around and there was Robin Buckley. Steve’s platonic soulmate and best friend.

“Hey,” he croaked.

“Did you just get here?” she asked brightly.

Eddie nodded. “My flight was delayed three times. I haven’t even been to my hotel yet.”

Robin winced. “That sucks.” She looked at him more closely and he gulped. “You weren’t thinking of cutting and running were you?”

“Me?” Eddie said, dramatically clutching his hands to his chest. “I would ne–”

She raised an eyebrow at him, effectively shutting him up.

“I wasn’t gonna,” Eddie said mournfully, “until I got here. He just looks so happy. He doesn’t need someone like me coming back into his life like a wrecking ball.” He pulled out his phone and waved it at her. “Once I can get this charged, I’ll message him and tell him my flight got canceled and that’ll we’ll reschedule.”

She looked at his phone and then back up at him. “What happened to your phone?”

“My charging cable port snapped,” he grumbled. “And it died after the first delay.”

Again she winced in sympathy.

“You’re in love with him,” she said, “aren’t you?”

Eddie sighed and looked back over at Steve. One of his friends must have told a joke because Steve was laughing so hard his eyes were mere slits. He looked back at her and he sighed.

“The sky is blue, Midwestern winters suck,” he muttered, “and I’m in love with Steve Harrington.”

Robin rolled her eyes, then she got this calculating grin on her face.

“Uh oh.”

“I’ll tell you what,” she said slyly, “you let me do a little experiment with a small wager. If I win, you man up and tell him how you feel. If you win, you can tell him that your trip has been cut short and you have to go back in a couple of days and blow out his life again.”

Eddie pursed his lips and looked at back at Steve.

“What’s the experiment?” he asked.

Robin jumped up and down with glee. “I’m going to text Steve that I found you. You aren’t going to take your eyes off him the whole time. Then when I’m done, I’ll show the conversation.”

He licked his lips. “And what’s the wager?”

“You think he’s happier without you,” she said. “If that’s true, he’s not going to show a lot of excitement. He’ll be relieved and happy that you’re here, but no real enthusiasm. Right?”

Eddie just nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“I know he’s going to flip out,” she continued with that sly grin. “He’s going to be jumping up and down and looking around for you, trying to find you in the crowd.”

“What if it’s somewhere in the middle?” Eddie asked honestly.

Robin cocked her head to the side. “Then you stay the full week and suss him out.”

Eddie let out a long sigh. “All right. You’re on.”

“Good!” she said. She grabbed him by the arms and moved him a little. “There. Now he won’t be able to spot you immediately.”

He had let himself be manhandled because he had long since learned that Robin could and would kick if he didn’t do what she wanted.

“Now, keep your eyes on Steve.”

Eddie scoffed. “Easiest thing in the world.”

Robin snorted and got out her phone.

He really wanted to look over her shoulder to see what she was typing because he was eaten up with curiosity about what she was sending Steve. But he did as he was told. He kept his eyes on the most beautiful boy in the world.

Steve pulled out his phone and then his head snapped up. He looked around excitedly. He started flapping his hands and talking animatedly with his friends. Eddie watched as he smoothed down his hair and wiped his hands on his jeans. He pulled out a breath mint out of his pocket and ducked his head when his friends obliviously teased him for it.

He looked over at Robin in shock.

“What the hell did you tell him?”

She turned her phone around and he read their conversation.

-Guess who I found by the door looking like a lost puppy?

-He’s here?

-Eddie’s here?

-Where?

-Why didn’t he text me? :(

-lol

-Calm down, I’ll bring him to you.

-The idiot’s phone died and his charger broke.

-I can’t be calm, how can I be calm? He’s here! He’s finally here.

“Oh.”

The little frownie face at the end of the “Why didn’t he text me?” message did Eddie’s heart in.

He cleared his throat. “Um...if I were to, say, I don’t know, go over there and kiss his lights out, would I get hate crimed?”

Robin laughed. “No. And there is no one in his friends that would be nasty about it either.”

Eddie nodded. “Lead the way.” He bowed and waved his hand dramatically so that she would go first.

“Nerd.”

Eddie cackled as he followed her to the table. Steve was on his feet the instant he saw him.

Eddie was a weak man. That had been pretty well established tonight. So he thought he could be excused when he picked Steve up by the waist and swung him around.

“Eddie!” Steve giggled.

Robin scoffed. “Gays are so disgusting.”

“Says the lesbian,” Steve said when Eddie had put him down.

“Lesbians are a different flavor of gay and thereby aren’t disgusting,” she said with a half shrug like it was a truth universally acknowledged or some shit.

He shook his head and turned back to Eddie, who had yet to let go of his waist. “I missed you, too, Eds.”

“I missed you so much, Stevie,” Eddie whispered back.

“Yeah?” Steve asked, hopeful.

“Yeah,” he breathed and lifted Steve’s chin. He pressed their lips together and suddenly Steve’s crowd of friends erupted into cheers.

Steve broke the kiss and stared up at Eddie in awe.

“Wow.”

Eddie giggled. “You like that?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, more than a little breathless. “You’re stuck now. That’s how I want you to greet me every time now.”

Eddie’s face split with a large grin. “You got it, baby.”

Robin cleared her throat. “May I remind you two that we are in fact in public?”

Eddie and Steve looked over at her and then back at each other. Robin isn’t sure who started it, but soon they both were laughing like children.

Steve introduced him to the small group of friends.

There was a sofa near the table Steve’s friends were sitting at so Eddie sat down there, so Steve could cuddle up on his side.

“How long are you in town for?” A punky Asian girl with pink and purple streaks in her short cropped hair asked. Steve had introduced her as Maria Nguyen. They had a couple of classes with each other.

Steve looked at Eddie as if he had been wondering the same thing.

Eddie chuckled. “That’s the surprise I was telling you about, darlin’. Me and the boys got a record deal and their headquarters and studio is right here in Chicago. So I will be moving to the fair Windy city.”

“You’re staying?” Steve asked, his voice rising with excitement.

“I’m in town for about a week to look for apartments and shit,” Eddie amended. “Then I will move here at the end of the month.”

“Holy shit!” Robin said, glaring daggers at him.

Steve picked up on the latent hostility, but Eddie shook his head and whispered, “I’ll tell you later.” He pressed a kiss to Steve hair.

“You have a band?” a large young man with freckles and braces asked. He had red hair and wire rimmed glasses. Steve said his was Jason, Justin...Jarren! That was it.

“Sure do!” Eddie said. “Corroded Coffin. Me and my three closest friends, besides Buck and Stevie here, have been out in LA playing our hearts out.”

“Buck?” Maria asked, rearing her head back.

“Buckley!” Eddie explained.

“So what kind of music do you play?” Jarren asked, leaning forward, very interested.

“Metal.”

Maria snorted. “Like that’s Steve’s least favorite kind of music.”

Steve sat up. “It is not! There are all sorts of music I don’t like. Metal can be good. It’s just the screamo shit I can’t stand. Corroded Coffin isn’t like that.”

“Yeah,” Robin agreed. “Hell, Steve would put pop music below metal and you know how much he loves Tears for Fears.”

Eddie groaned. “I still can’t believe of all the 80s bands out there to be your favorite you pick Tears for Fears!”

“What? They’re great.”

“Stevie, darlin’, love of my life,” Eddie said sweetly. “You cannot honestly tell me that their version of ‘Mad World’ is better than Gary Jules.”

“Wait?” Jarren said. “They did a cover of ‘Mad World’?”

Steve shook his head. “They sang it originally. Here let me show you.”

He pulled out his phone and handed it over. Robin, Maria, and Jarren huddled around the phone as they watched the video for it.

“That was trippy as hell,” Maria said, handing the phone back to Steve.

“I know, right?” Eddie said.

Steve rolled his eyes. “He does have a point regarding this one song. The original version is too fast for what the song is about.”

Eddie cackled with glee.

“I still maintain that Shout, Head Over Heels, and Everybody Wants to Rule the World are absolute bangers,” Steve huffed.

Eddie kissed his cheek and Steve blushed.

“Wait!” Jarren said, “Do my eyes deceive me or is Steve Harrington, the man, the myth, the legend, blushing?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Not that again. I don’t believe it was ever a thing.”

Eddie sat up on the sofa, too and looked Steve in the eye. “What’s this, babe?”

“Stevie here made a girl come just by talking to her,” Robin said with a grin.

Eddie licked his lips slowly and Steve blushed deeper. “Did you now?”

“No!” Steve insisted. “That was just the excuse she used for running away after I badly flirted with her.”

Maria scoffed. “Dude, I was there, you did not flirt badly.��

Eddie pulled Steve close to his side and murmured in his ear. “I fully expect the full Harrington Charm experience, sweetheart.” His voice dropped really low. “Because I bet you could make me come just from the sound of your voice.”

Steve’s eyes went wide and he ducked his head.

Maria shook her head. “I can’t believe that King Steve got out rizzed by this swagless loser. How in the hell?”

“Maria!” Jarren hissed. “He does not look like a swagless loser. You take that back. He’s cool.”

Eddie turned to Steve. “Looks like you’re going to have to be the tie-breaker, sweetheart.”

“How’s that?” Steve asked. “Robin hasn’t said anything yet.”

“Ah, but that’s because I think I’m cool,” Eddie said holding up one finger, “and I know that Robin would vote for swagless loser.”

Robin snorted. “Damn right I would.”

“So it’s girls verses guys,” Steve said thoughtfully.

Jarren snorted. “More like lesbians verses the gays.”

Steve cocked his head to the side and then nodded.

“I dub thee my really cool metalhead geek!” Steve said solemnly.

Everyone’s eyes narrowed at him.

“Babe...” Robin said. “Did you just go down the middle of the road to avoid an argument?”

Steve batted his eyelashes at her. “Maybe...”

Eddie huffed and crossed his arms in front of his chest, pouting. Steve leaned forward and kissed the bottom of his jaw.

“How about my very cool, gorgeous, metalhead boyfriend?” he murmured softly.

Eddie looked down at him eyes wide. “Holy shit, you mean that?”

Steve nodded.

Eddie swiftly brought their mouths together and kissed Steve deeply. “That is acceptable.”

Steve giggled.

The night past in good company and drinks.

Eddie had duck out early because he still had to check into his hotel, but he kissed Steve goodbye and left with a spring in his step.

****

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Also, also. I forgot to mention that the title comes from a song by Counting Crows called Long December. So in my head I was singing, It's been so long since you came to (Indiana) I think you should!

Never mind they're in Illinois and the actual lyric is California.

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @danili666 @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @vecnuthy @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

#stranger things #my writing #steddie #ladykailtiha writes

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