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helliontherapscallion · 3 years

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(Y/n) and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week: Thursday (Part 2)

Monday Tuesday Wednesday Thursday (Part 1) Friday Saturday Sunday

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: panic attacks, swearing, puking, concussions, mentions of injuries/bullying, homophobia

Word count: 5,138

After school, you were sitting on the couch as you furiously typed on your keyboard at an extremely fast pace. You were on a roll with these essays, they were probably going to be finished by the time you had to go back to the school to get on the bus with the team. You figured that you could even finish Annie’s essay and get started on Sammy’s US history presentation on the sociopolitical climate of the United States in the mid twentieth century to today. However, instead of covering a variety of topics like the rubric requested you to do, you were only going to talk about the significant events that happened to the LGBT+ community starting with Stonewall and going to Obergefell v. Hodges. You were also going to go in depth about how even if there are more opportunities available and more laws set in place to protect for LGBT+ people in the present then there were in past, members of the LGBT+ community still suffer heavy discrimination in the workplace and in the public. With receipts of course, the assignment required a minimum of three pictures per slide, and the group chat was a perfect source.

After that was done, you would email Sammy’s teacher (you had her last year for US history and you knew that she had a son in the grade below you currently transitioning from female to male) that you were the one that did her project and send screenshots of Sammy calling you slurs. Luckily for you, you had receipts of her being transphobic in the past that you could also send. Everything was effortlessly falling into place for you today.

As you were typing, the front door swung open and two overly excited fifth graders ran into the house and up the stairs. A tired Schlatt followed them. “I will never know how the hell Phil keeps up with them.”

“I dunno, maybe because he’s already raised three kids before.”

You watched as your uncle jumped and whipped his head over towards you, his hand clutching his chest. He lightly glared at you, “christ kid don’t do that, you nearly gave me a heart attack.”

You smirked at him before turning back to your laptop to continue typing the essay. You were almost done with the conclusion paragraph on Annie’s essay and you wanted to get to Sammy’s presentation as fast as possible. As you were typing, you felt a warm air fan across your neck and your uncle’s voice right next to your ear, “whatcha typin?”

You lept off the couch and almost fell into the coffee table before steadying yourself and deadpanning at Schlatt. “I was typing an essay before you interrupted me.”

He snorted, “it looked like you were on a roll, just thought I’d see what my beloved niece was writing. Can I read it?”

Your eyes lit up as an excited grin split your cheeks, “yeah, but lemme catch you up real quick. Adrian, Sammy, and Annie got mad at me a few days ago and wanted me to do some homework for them as a sort of payment. But after they pulled that little stunt in the lunchroom yesterday, they decided to be little bitches to me and call me slurs. So naturally, I decided to change the essay prompt into an in depth analysis about discrimination LGBT people face from their peers on the daily. My english teacher’s really against homophobia and the project’s worth twenty five percent of our overall grade, so it’s perfect.”

While you were rambling on and on about your detailed plot for revenge, Schlatt couldn’t help but be proud of the person you’d become. A major part of him was impressed that you came up with a detailed plan so quickly, that meant that his cunning nature was rubbing off on you and that made him ecstatic. Sure you mentioning not being straight was new to him, but he was prepared to accept you for whatever you identified as. He didn’t care how people identified, he just cared if they were good people. And his niece was one of the best kids he knew. He’d let your slip up slide for now until you felt comfortable enough to properly come out to him.

“That an amazing plan, fuckin brilliant. Though, you could do more.”

That piqued your interest, “I’m listening.”

“Do you have any blackmail?”

Your eyes glinted with sudden understanding, “why yes I do, uncle dearest. I just so happen to have thousands of texts from them talking shit about each other and basically the entire school. And them being incredibly racist. They would be destroyed if that came out.”

“Two things. One, never call me that again. Two, perfect. Keep it as leverage if they try to do something. You don’t pull out all the good cards in the first round, you wait for the right moment to strike so you can win. You need to constantly defend yourself against other players and anticipate their every move. If you leak everything right now, you won’t have anything to use against them if they have something up their sleeve you didn’t know about. Patience is key in things like this.”

You absorbed every single word that came out of his mouth like it was the holy gospel. Although he was your uncle and you loved him with all your heart, but he was a sly bastard when he wanted to be. He knew his way around fighting and manipulating people just right, so you were incredibly happy that you were on his good side and he absolutely adored you. Though questionable and morally gray, he was giving you advice because he cared about you and you’d be an idiot to not heed his advice.

“That’s genius, Uncle Schlatt. What would I do without you?”

“You’d get along just fine without me, you would’ve gotten there eventually. You’re smart. I’m just givin you a little push in the right direction.”

“I honestly would’ve never thought about waiting, I was so dead set on getting revenge that I would’ve just leaked everything all at once. I want them to feel how I felt when they were around me. I-” you paused. Would this make you the same as them? You’d be screwing up all their grades, Adrian’s job, and Sammy’s athletic career. You came to the chilling realization that you’d be the same as them. You’d be as manipulative as they were. “...Uncle Schlatt, would that make me the same as them?”

“Fuck no! You’re always gonna be better than them no matter what. When they’re at their best, you’re always gonna be a whole lot better than them. They deserve what’s happening to them, it sounds like they put you through so much shit the past few years. I actually think you could do a whole lot worse to them if you’re willing to put more work in, but it’s your plan and if you think that what you’re doing is too much,” he darkly chuckled, “you wouldn’t like my idea.”

“You’re right, they deserve everything I have planned for them. God, I don’t know what I was thinking, ‘would that make me the same as them,’” you mocked what you said earlier, “what a load of shit. Anyways, thanks Uncle Schlatt. I’m gonna get back to writing this. They’re due tomorrow and I wanna finish as much as I can before I have to go.”

“Alright, whaddya want for dinner? Phil’s gonna be like thirty minutes late from work so I’m cookin tonight.”

Oh no. No, no, no, no. That man can barley cook boxed mac n cheese, let alone anything else. He’d burn down the house if you left him alone in the kitchen with the stove. “On second thought, why don’t I help you with dinner? We can make some chicken alfredo.”

“Awe, you’d rather hang out with me than finish your homework? Ya really do love me. C’mon let’s start.”

The process of making dinner was… interesting. Multiple times, Schlatt almost spilled boiling water on himself and he even managed to burn the pasta while it was in the water. How he even managed to do that you’d never find out, you had your back turned cutting up vegetables and herbs at the time. That was when you subtly started to take over in the kitchen, giving him smaller tasks while you handled everything else. You felt bad for Tubbo, his father can’t cook for shit.

By time you finished, about an hour passed and Philza had come home and changed out of his work clothes. The two adults sat at the table discussing something that you didn’t pay attention to while your brothers and cousin were in the living room waiting for you to finish dinner. Finally, you set the table and it was time to eat.

Because you couldn’t have many fatty foods before any matches or practices, you had made a separate plate for yourself that only had plain pasta, chicken, and broccoli. You were surprised with how well it turned out, you were following an iffy recipe you found on the first link Google brought up.

After dinner, you went upstairs to put your uniform on and pack a little bag full of things you might need: a small blanket, some snacks, a water bottle, and a portable charger. Oh, and fuzzy socks and a pair of crocs. You could never go wrong with fuzzy socks and crocs. Feeling a vibration in your pocket, you pulled out your phone.

Hales : )

(Y/n), I’m omw to your house

Gonna give you a ride to the school

(Y/n)

Hales you don’t have to give me a ride, I can drive

Hales : )

Don’t care

Omw, be there in like 7 mins

You swiped out of yours and her conversation and opened up the family group chat

(Y/n)

I don’t need a ride to the school, Haley’s giving me one

She’s gonna give me a ride home too

Dadza

Alright, thank her for me

Tell her I said good luck too!

Uncle Schlatty Patty

Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do

Dadza

(Y/n), do everything he wouldn’t do

Uncle Schlatty Patty

Fuck you I’m a good influence

Dadza

You’re really not

Wilby

^^^^

Technology Sword

Uncle Schlatty Patty

Fuck all of you

You heard Haley’s car pull into the driveway and dashed out of your room with your bag. Just as you put your hand on the doorknob, a hand stopped you.

“Coat.”

You grumbled as you reached past Philza to grab your coat. After you slipped it on, you were pulled into a hug. “You’re gonna do great out there. I know you’re gonna win this, we’ll be watching in the stands.”

“Damn right she’s gonna do good, she’s my niece after all.”

Schlatt pulled you away from your father’s hug and tried to ruffle your hair before you swatted away his hand, “don’t. You have no idea how long it took me to get a perfect ponytail. I have an ungodly amount of hairspray and bobby pins in my hair right now.”

“Fine. You’re gonna kick their asses tonight.”

Tommy and Tubbo pushed past Schlatt and both tackled you into a hug making you stumble slightly back.

“Kick their asses good (y/n)!” Tommy cheered, making you crack up before one stern glance from Philza completely stopped you. “Tommy, don’t say that. (Y/n), not funny.”

“Alright, Haley’s waiting for me. I gotta go, love you guys!” As you turned to walk through the door, you could hear your family following you and shouting “good luck”. You felt heat creep up on your cheeks as Haley rolled down her window and wove at your family with the biggest grin on her face.

“Thank you! We’re gonna take home the gold for sure!”

You hopped in her car as she rolled up the window and chuckled. “I love your family, they’re always so full of energy. It’s refreshing to see compared to how boring my family is.”

You glanced at your entire family gathered on the front porch. Tommy and Tubbo were practically vibrating with excitement, Wilbur and Techno calmly smiled and wove at you, Philza was grinning widely at you as you saw his mouth forming words that you couldn’t hear or read, and Schlatt was grinning cheekily at you. You raised your hand to wave at them as they vanished from view when Haley pulled out of your driveway. You smiled softly, “I love em too.”

The car ride was relatively quick with the same soft indie pop music floating from the speakers and an easy going conversation with Haley about the match tonight. You both thought that you could beat the other team if everyone focused 100% and played exactly like you guys did in practices. If everyone did that, you would be unstoppable.

Luckily for you and Haley, you were the first ones in line to board the bus so you two got the back seat with Zara and Jazzy sitting across from you guys. The hour long bus ride passed quickly and lively with you four passing around your phone and playing some mad libs, you were sure that by the end of the last game you four were laughing and crying. Sometime in the middle of the trip, you noticed that Haley would start to lean on your shoulder and continuously glance at you as she laughed. You desperately wanted to believe that it was because she liked you, but she was straight and she was your best friend. She was probably trying to make sure you were having a good time.

When the team had gotten to the opposing school and left the locker room to stretch in the gym, you could hear your family start to scream your and Haley’s names from the front row next to you, Tommy and Tubbo being the loudest amongst them with Philza trying to get them to quiet down so you could focus. You felt your cheeks heat up as you smiled at them and Haley wove enthusiastically back at them. Zara was laughing at you two. Stretching went by in a flash and before you knew it, you were on the court facing the opposing team.

The first match was won by the opposing team by five points. The second match stretched on and on until it was won by your team narrowly by two points. The team was going to have to shape up in the third match if you guys wanted a chance at winning, the opposing team was good. Before the third match started, Coach Williams called for a time out so you guys could talk about strategy. Before Haley could go back onto the court, you pulled her aside.

“Hales, we need to do what we practiced. The other team won’t be expecting it at all, I’ve been setting you up this entire game. They’re never going to expect you setting me up for a spike.”

“When are we going to do it though? We need a better plan.”

“I’m sure the opportunity will come and both of us will recognize it. We just can’t do it too early in the game though, that’ll ruin their surprise.”

“(Y/n), I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“When do I not Hales? We gotta get gold this year.”

The third round went by with both teams constantly swapping places until you both were tied fifteen to fifteen. You saw the ball flying towards Haley, giving her the perfect opportunity to set you up for a spike. “HALEY NOW!”

You watched as her face hardened in determination as she pretended like she was going to spike it by jumping high in the air and stretching her arms back, making the opposing front row players all gather in front of her. Much to their surprise, she launched it towards you as you leaped up and went for the kill. The stinging of the ball hit by your wrist and the smack sound the ball made when it slammed onto the open gym floor was something you’d never forget as the crowd around you went wild over the unexpected play. You could hear the high pitched screaming of Tommy and Tubbo over everybody else. Glancing at them over your shoulder, you saw them jumping up and down on the gym floor and looking at you with awe filled eyes and gaping mouths. The rest of your family looked at you with similar expressions, their cheers echoing in your mind. Winking at them, you turned back to your team and went straight to Haley. Clapping a hand on her shoulder, you pulled her into a quick hug, yelling over the raving of the crowd. “HALEY WE NAILED THAT!”

“HOLY SHIT I DID NOT THINK THAT WAS ACTUALLY GONNA WORK!”

“You have such little faith in your setter! You wound me Hales.”

“Well, I would have more faith in you if you weren’t chaotic on the court, sweetheart.”

You felt yourself surge in happiness at the nickname, but you couldn’t afford to focus too much on it. Your team only needed one more point to win best in the state and go to nationals. It would be the first time in your team’s history if you reached national level, and you’d be damned if you were the one to screw it up for them.

The last rotation went on for a while, each team fighting tooth and nail for the state championship title with clashing determination. You tried your best to block every hit and try to set Haley up for a spike, and you were successful for the most part, only missing a few blocks. You saw the setter adjacent to you set the spiker up for a spike and jumped up in time to try to block it, your arms stretched upwards and your palms out. Only, the ball didn’t hit your hands. It collided painfully with your nose, ricocheted off your face with a thwack and sailed over to the other side of the court. Your head whipped back as your body followed suit and flew backwards onto the floor. Without giving you any time to react, your head bounced back and cracked against the polished hardwood floor of the gym. Everything went black.

“...(y……”

“..(y/n)......”

“(Y/n).”

You faintly heard someone calling someone’s name over the continuous ringing noise. Was it your name? It felt right, so it had to be your name. You peeled your eyes open to see a blurry figure hovering over you. It was swirled with tans, browns, and backs. After a while of the figure repeating your name, it slowly became more recognizable, albeit appearing twice in your vision. It took you a while to figure out who this was before your muddled brain recognized Haley.

“Hales! There’s two o’ya. Twice as beautiful babe…” You slurred out as you attempted to smile at her.

“Oh thank god, PLEASE WE NEED A DOCTOR SHE HIT HER HEAD!” Her usually angelic voice gritted against your brain like sandpaper making you cringe as pain exploded in your head.

“God babe you’re so loud, why’s so bright? I-wha's goin on?” You blearily tried to move your head to look around only to be stopped by a pair of large hands on each side of your head gently holding it in place. You moved your laggy eyes around to look at the figure. He was a blonde man with blue eyes and a hint of stubble on his chin. His eyebrows were knitted together and he looked… he looked… your brain worked to figure out why he looked how he looked. Who was he?

“Please don’t move hun.” His muffled voice was baritone. You squinted at him trying to figure out who this man was.

“Who th f-fuck… why?”

“I’m your dad hun. Do-do you not recognize me?” You made a noise in the back of your throat as your stuffy brain finally put a name to the face.

“Dad- wha’s goin on? I’on feel so good…”

“Shh, I know, I know. Just stop moving and talking. Everything’s fine. I’m here. You’re okay.”

“Mmk… Dad, where are we? I’ont know- you’re so quiet.”

“Stop moving so much. You’re on the floor in a gym. You just won your team the state championship. Now stop talking please.”

Huh. So that’s why everybody seemed to appear from above you. You strained your eyes to look around you, but you could only see your dad’s face hovering above you. “Shit I- who’s aroun’ me? Where’s Hales?”

“I’m right here sweetheart. I got the doctor, Mr. Minecraft.”

Your dad’s face moved away from your vision so fast that it made your head spin and your stomach twist. Another face appeared above you that you once again didn’t recognize.

“I’m Doctor Martin, can you tell me your first and last name?”

“Uh, (y/n) Minecraft?”

“Good, what month are we in right now?”

“Nov-November?”

“Close, it’s late October. Can you tell me who this,” he pointed to your dad, “is?”

“S’my dad Phillip.”

“That’s your dad Philza.”

The questioning stopped as he suddenly shined a blinding light into your sensitive eyes. You hissed as you tried to move your head away from the offending light only to be held in place by your dad’s hands. Your head spun as you moved too quickly and a wave of nausea hit you, making you groan and move your arm to cover your eyes. Your hand was stopped by something warm and soft wrapping around it and holding it tightly. Everything was so overwhelmingly and painfully bright and loud. You wanted to make it stop.

“Mr. Minecraft, your daughter appears to have a concussion. I don’t have the tools on hand to determine the severity of it, but it’s worrying that her pupils are asymmetrical, she’s delirious, and has slight memory loss. I understand you live about an hour away from here, and it’s alright for you to take her to a hospital closer to your house. Make sure you keep her alert.”

Your delirious mind only registered about half of what came out of the doctor’s mouth. You mumbled gibberish as you once again opened your eyes to look around. You were only briefly able to crane your neck to the left. Several figures large and small were standing behind your dad. Your family, your mind supplemented. Slowly, your mind was starting to recognize your surroundings even if there was currently double of everything and everything was blurry.

“I’m going to help you stand up. Do ya think you can do that?”

“Yeah Dad.” You lifted your upper body off from the ground with a gentle hand on your back helping you sit up. Fighting the wave of nausea that slapped you in the face, you reached up to rub at your eyes. A hand once again stopped you. You peeked your eyelids open and lightly glared at whomever stopped you. “Hales you’re lucky you’re so cute I woulda slapped you. I like holdin but you’re bein annoying. Stop.” You attempted to make your voice sound firm, but the words that came out of your mouth were slightly slurred.

She was silent as she helped her dad haul you to your feet. Once on your feet, you saw the room spin and felt yourself start to sway slightly. An arm wrapped itself around your shoulders and pulled you close to them so that your weight was supported. They were a little taller than you were making it easy to lean on them.

“...Can you walk?” A deep, monotone voice rumbled the chest of the person you were leaning against.

“Mhm. ‘M not weak.” Though your limbs felt like they were made of molasses, you placed one foot in front of the other slowly. The person moved alongside you, “you’re doing so good, keep going.” That sparked familiarity in you as you stopped in your tracks and tried to look up at the person you were leaning against making the person tighten their arm around your shoulders when you almost fell over.

“Tech?”

“Yeah, it’s Technoblade. Just focus on walking. You’re almost out of the gym.”

When you realized that you were out of the gym, you sighed in relief. It was so much quieter and darker. Though it was still relatively bright, it was better than the gym.

“S’better.”

“When we get her to the car we can give her some sunglasses or something if it’s still too bright for her.”

“Wilbs-”

“Focus on walking.”

You huffed in irritation, “don’ tell me what to do bitch.”

You felt Techno’s body jolt slightly as he chuckled, making your head throb at the sudden movement. “Just walk.”

When you walked outside, you shivered as you felt the cool air nip at your exposed skin. Right, you were in your volleyball uniform. “I’ll go pull the car around, you guys stay with her.”

You saw a tall brunet start to walk away from you. Uncle Splat? Uncle Schmat? Whatever his name was, you were sure he was your uncle. You tried to snuggle closer to Techno, craving warmth but never being satisfied. Where was your uncle?

After a while, you saw a car moving towards you and blinding light pointed right at you making you cringe away and groan. Techno started to slowly walk towards the car. “C’mon (y/n), you’re almost there. When you’re in the car you can relax.”

“Tommy, Tubbo, and Techno, you’re in the back row. Schlatt can drive and Wil, you’re taking the passenger seat. I’ll stay with her in the middle row so she can have some room to lay down.” Tommy and Tubbo were with you? Why weren’t they talking, they usually were very vocal.

“Tom, Tubbs didja like the game?”

They didn’t say anything as they climbed into the car. Did they not hear you?

“They’re just… tired (y/n).” Your dad’s voice reassured you as he took Techno’s place holding you up.

“I wanna nap. ‘M so tired.”

“You can’t sleep yet. We gotta get you to a doctor first.”

“Mm. Makes sense.”

“Let’s get you in the car hun.”

As he helped you climb into the car, you felt an overwhelming wave of nausea wash over you making you lose your balance and almost faceplant into the cloth seats. You felt yourself being gently, yet urgently taken out of the car and led to grass as you felt your esophagus shorten. Something burning made its way up your throat and spewed into the grass. You felt someone rubbing your back as you puked up your dinner.

When you were done, you reached up with a shaking hand to wipe your mouth. “You feelin better? Think you can get back into the car or do you need to sit down for a bit?”

“Car.”

After some difficulty, you were successfully in the middle row of the car laying down with your head on Philza’s lap. Soon enough, your shoes were taken off and a blanket was draped over you.

“(Y/n), what do you remember?”

You scrunched up your face as you squinted at Philza’s face. “I remember playing volleyball with Hales. She’s so pretty, she’s straight though. I remember the other team hitting the ball, me jumping, then nothin. Wha’ happened?”

You watched as Philza winced, “well, you got everything right so far. You got hit in the face with the ball so you fell and hit your head on the floor. You were passed out for a minute before you woke up. It was a pretty nasty fall, we’re going to the hospital now. How’re ya feelin?”

“Head hurts, ‘m seein two of everything, an I can’t think.”

“Do you know what a concussion is?” You nodded in his lap slightly, “you probably have one.”

After a while of talking, you were slowly starting to come to your senses and your speech was clearing up, but your head was still too stuffy to think about what you were saying before you said it. You didn’t have a filter.

“Do you wanna tell us about your week so far? Do you remember most of it?”

“Mhm, it was shit. On Monday I had a panic attack and Adrian, Sammy, and Annie were being bitches to me all day. They fucked up my back. On Tuesday, they got mad at me for ditching them and they had me do their homework, had another panic attack, and Haley told me that someone took pictures of our boobs ‘n stuff and they were gonna leak it to the school if Haley didn’t stop hanging out with me. Haley and I almost kissed, but she’s straight. Pulled an all nighter and Wednesday I accidentally came out to Tech and Wil and had another panic attack. Annie, Adrian, and Sammy took more pictures of me through my window, Annie outed me to the entire school and slapped me. Another panic attack, skipped the last two classes and felt like shit the entire practice. Today Adrian and Sammy told me to kill myself and I had another panic attack. ’S about it.”

As you were going through your week, the hand that was previously gently stroking your hair had frozen as the car was enveloped in a tense silence. Luckily, Tommy and Tubbo were passed out in the back seat so they didn’t hear how bad your week was. Everyone awake knew that you had a few bad days this week, but they didn’t know the full extent of it. You watched as Philza’s expression had turned downright murderous, but you didn’t really care. You were busy talking about your week.

For the rest of the car ride, Philza asked you simple questions like what your favorite color was, your favorite animal, basically your favorite everything. Eventually, the car pulled into the hospital parking lot and Philza helped you get out of the car. “Schlatt, can you take the boys home so they can get some rest? I’ll stay with her.”

“Yeah, I’m on it. Don’t cause too much trouble (y/n), we all know you can raise hell.” He watched you for a reaction, but when you didn’t react, he coughed. “Well, I’ll see ya later kid. Good luck.”

The car drove off leaving you and Philza at the front of the emergency room building. “It’s gonna be a long night (y/n).”

“I gotta finish Annie’s essay and Sammy’s presentation though.”

“No you don’t, I’ll email your teachers.”

You two checked in with the front desk before moving to sit on the uncomfortable chairs. It was going to be a long night. You were so tired.

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theladyofdeath · 3 years

Text

Life As We Know It {Chapter 12}

Summary: After the sudden deaths of Nesta’s sister and Cassian’s best friend, they gain guardianship of their nephew, Nyx.

Based on Life As We Know It (2010) and a prompt sent in by anonymous for our Nessian fanfic contest. This is a modern au.

Instead of doing a tag list for this story, we have decided to have a set posting schedule. Chapters will be posted weekly on Mondays and Thursdays. Chapters will be posted on both my and Shelby's blogs! >> @snelbz

Life As We Know It Masterlist

Shelby’s Masterlist

Tara’s Masterlist

* In case you missed the announcement - we will now be posting chapters 3 days a week! Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays. We hope you continue to enjoy the story!

** Trigger warning: Miscarriage.

This chapter is legit a roller coaster, ngl. Enjoy. ;)

“You don’t have to do this, you know.”

Nesta stood in the living room of Elain’s house with Nyx on her hip, feeling guilty for dropping Nyx off for the night even though Elain was the one to offer.

“I know I don’t have to, but I want to. Gives these little cousins some bonding time.” She reached out and took Nyx’s chubby little hand. “Besides, you and Cassian both need time to recoup.”

She wasn’t about to deny that. It had been a week since her not-date with Balthazar, a week since she and Cassian had uttered more than passing comments on how Nyx had acted throughout the day to each other.

Every time she looked at him, she found him already watching her and the fact got under her skin.

It became an unspoken thing that whenever she cooked dinner, she would make an extra helping and put it in the fridge for him. Not because she felt like she needed to, but because it made her feel better about their awkward arrangement. The longer time went on, the more she realized that as much as she’d been acting like taking care of Nyx together was a death sentence to her social life, he was going through the same thing.

And when she got home, she planned on making dinner for the two of them to share together. A sort of white flag of truce between them.

It was the least she could do. “Call me the second something happens-.”

“We’ll be fine,” Elain said, taking Nyx from Nesta and kissing her sister’s cheek. “Now, go. Relax. Take a bubble bath with some wine or something. Read one of those filthy books you used to hide in your closet.”

Nesta’s eyes narrowed.

Elain’s smile widened.

After a tough goodbye, Nesta was heading toward her car and driving back home, making a quick stop at the grocery store just around the corner.

She quickly got all of her fixins, prepared to make one of her favorites - salmon, rice, and green beans. A glance at the calendar that morning told her he would probably be home around five, which gave her just under two hours to make dinner. Easily doable, she’d made three-course meals in less time, for much harsher customers.

Yet she couldn’t figure out why her stomach was in knots.

When Cassian came home, he opened the front door and froze. The quiet in the house unnerved him. Usually, there was some random white noise to fill the house, whether that was the television or one of Nyx’s inane toys that distracted him so well. But as he walked through the house, the TV wasn’t on and he couldn’t hear much of anything.

Until he heard a throat clear from the kitchen.

Instantly, Cassian was on alert, not liking the sound at all, recognizing who it had belonged to, but silently, he made his way into the kitchen.

Nesta was sitting at the table, a plate of food in front of her, with an identical one at the spot he typically sat in.

“What’s…going on?” He asked, slowly taking another few steps into the kitchen.

Nesta stood and grabbed a beer out of the fridge, before taking it back over to where he hovered between the table and the doorway. She held the cold bottle out to him. “This is a truce.”

“A tru-?” He took it, but shook his head, not quite understanding her. “Where’s Nyx?”

“He is having a sleepover with Seph, Elain and Azriel. Elain wanted us to have a night off,” she said, sitting back down at her seat. “So I made us dinner.”

“You made us dinner?” he repeated, staring at the plates. “For the two of us to have? Together? At the same table?”

Nesta’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, unless you don’t want it.”

Cassian cleared his throat as he pulled the chair out across from her and popped open his beer. “I won’t turn down free food. Especially when it’s made by an expert.”

Nesta said nothing more as she cut into her salmon. “An expert?”

“You get paid for cooking,” Cassian said, picking up his fork and collecting a pile of green beans. “That makes you an expert. A professional.”

“This is a lot of compliments,” she said, watching him carefully as he ate.

“Maybe I’m jumping on board with this whole truce thing,” he said, mouth full of food.

Nesta wanted to chastise him about his manners, but bit her tongue. “You weren’t on board with it to begin with?”

He chewed slowly and then set his fork down. “Neither of us have…handled this very well,” he admitted, taking a drink from his beer. “And I’m willing to take a portion of the blame, but not all of it.”

Nesta weighed his words carefully. They were blunt, but not untrue. Sure, he’d acted like an ass many times, but she had only responded in kind. She knew she could be a bitch, and she knew she did it well. Sometimes too well.

“For this to be an official truce,” she began, holding her wine glass in her hand, swirling it once, twice, “there has to be terms we both agree on.” His eyebrows raised, but she pressed on before he could speak. “Mine are that we have to communicate. When you get frustrated or pissed at me, you can’t just bottle everything up until it all explodes. And when I get overwhelmed, I promise not to snap at you or act like such a…”

“A bitch?” He provided, when she stumbled over her words, smiling around the beer bottle pressed to his lips.

She wasn’t able to stop the smile growing on her own face, as she said, “Thank you, asshole. But yes. Those are my terms.”

He took a drink and nodded. “Okay. I think I can handle those.”

“And what are your terms?” She asked, cutting into the flaky fish for another bite.

He was quiet for a moment, debating. Nesta took a sip from her wine glass while she waited, watching as thought after thought passed across his face.

“I want to get to know you,” he said, finally. “I want to know who you are and I want you to know me.”

Nesta cocked her head to the side. It was a simple request, but Nesta wasn’t exactly good at allowing people to get to know rher. “And how do you suppose we do that?”

“A simple conversation will do,” he said, shrugging. “Over salmon and alcohol. Mostly alcohol.” He reached across the small table and picked up her wine bottle, filling up her wine glass to the brim.

“Getting me drunk so that I open up?” Nesta asked, sipping from that wine glass.

Cassian chuckled. “I would never.”

She watched her for a second, before taking another larger drink and setting it down. “Fine. Then it’s a truce.” He smirked, glancing over the table between them and then leaned over to look on the counter. “What?”

“I’m just looking for an official notice.” His smirk grew into an all out grin. “Something to sign. I figured you’d called up Tarquin and had some official documents written up.”

“You think you’re so funny.” She rolled her eyes and he chuckled, reaching an open hand across the table.

“Truce,” he said, taking her hand in his. They shook once, and Cassian was struck by how much smaller her hand was than his, yet by how firm her grip was. It was an impressive, professional handshake.

“So what do you want to know?” She asked, scooping some rice onto her fork and getting a bite of fish to go along with it.

His eyes narrowed as he thought about it and she began to wonder whether they should have laid down some boundaries. But he asked, “You went to the University of Velaris, right? What did you study there?”

Nesta blinked in surprise, not having expected the question. “Business and marketing.”

Chewing slowly, Cassian raised an eyebrow. “Nothing culinary?”

She shook her head. “No, I liked cooking, but I never thought it would become my career. I majored in business and marketing, with a minor in communications.”

“That sounds…” He fought for the words for a second. “Boring.”

Taking a drink of her wine, Nesta chuckled. “Oh, it was,” she admitted. “The longest four years of my life, but I’ve got the pretty, little diploma with my name written on it to show for them.”

“And how did you learn about food? How to cook?”

She shrugged. “I taught myself. I graduated college and had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. I got a data entry job at a marketing firm and spent my free time in the kitchen, trying and testing and tasting.” She paused, and her eyes fell to her plate. “Before my dad died, he listened to my idea about starting a small restaurant, with a few of my favorite recipes on the menu. He left me the money to do it in his will.”

“And now?” he pressed, although his voice held a certain gentleness. “Are you successful and thriving?”

Nesta snorted. “I make enough to live and pay the few of servers I have. If that’s successful, then I suppose.”

Cassian nodded in appreciation. “I’d say it is. What about the future? Bigger restaurant? Multiple restaurants?”

“Someday,” Nesta said, with a longing in her voice. “And what about you? And your guitars? Surely you don’t want to be a bartender forever.”

Cassian shrugged. “I don’t mind the bartending. Good tips and I meet a lot of interesting people.”

“But?” Nesta asked.

“But,” Cassian repeated, huffing a laugh. “I don’t know. I wouldn’t exactly say that managing a bar is my passion.”

“So, guitars then?” Nesta asked, brow raised. “You’re really talented. Your guitars are beautiful.”

Cassian’s eyes shot to hers, wide as he slowly set down his fork. “Holy shit, did you just compliment me?”

Nesta’s lips pursed as she kicked his shin under the table.

“I’ve always been good with my hands. Not like that,” he said, pointing at her when he saw the smirk growing. “I mean, creating things, playing instruments, even something as mundane as making drinks. If it’s something I can do with my hands, I typically love it and nine times out of ten, I’m good at it.” There was none of the cockiness she’d come to know in his voice. Just pure explanation, and a bit of devotion. “I’ve tried my hand at making furniture and little knickknacks, but there’s nothing that compares to building an instrument from scratch.”

“And you do it all? Yourself?” She asked, taking another bite.

He nodded. “I start with a few rough pieces of wood. Sand it, stain it, and boom, brand new guitar.”

Snorting, she lifted her wine glass to her lips. “I think you may have missed a few steps in there.”

“Well, I didn’t want to bore you,” he chuckled.

“How long have you been playing guitar?” Nesta asked, finishing off the last of her food.

Cassian took a minute to think about it, then shrugged, finishing off his beer. “As long as I can remember. I grew up with my mom in Illyria. They live simply up there. Music is…a way of life. It grew on me quickly. Mom bought me my first guitar that a friend of hers had made before I could even walk.”

Nesta chuckled, quietly. “Just like you did for Nyx.”

Cassian nodded. “Yeah, I guess so. Another drink?” he asked, nodding toward her emptied glass.

“Sure,” she said. “But, wine is gone. I think there’s some tequila in the cabinet.”

Cassian lifted a brow as he rose. “Tequila?”

Nesta grinned as he went to the cabinet. “Make me a drink, bartender?”

Cassian laughed as he grabbed the glass bottle from the cabinet. “I can. What’ll it be? Tequila sunrise? Margarita? Pretty sure we have some lime juice, somewhere.”

“I’m not picky,” Nesta promised.

She heard him laugh. “Somehow, I have a hard time believing that, Archeron.”

“Only where it counts,” she replied, smiling at him. She picked up their empty plates and rinsed them off, loading them into the dishwasher. Turning, she found him setting a shot glass with salt on the rim down on the counter. She chuckled. “That’s not what I asked for.”

“First of all, you technically didn’t ask for anything in particular,” he said, pointing at her as he crossed the kitchen and opened the fridge. “Secondly, this is the most classic drink I can make you with tequila. It’s the oldest recipe in the books.”

She outright laughed. “That’s cause it’s just straight tequila.”

“Exactly,” he grinned and damn it, if her heart didn’t skip a beat. “I lied, no lime juice.”

“Fine,” she said, crossing her arms. “But if I’m doing sloppy shots, you’re joining me.”

“Oh, I never say no to shots,” he said, grabbing another from the cabinet.

He filled them up, and slid one to Nesta, who took the glass in her hand and held it up.

Cassian clinked his against hers, and they tossed them back.

Nesta’s face didn’t change a bit, and Cassian met her steady eyes. “Impressive.”

“Not my first tequila shot, Nazari,” she said, hopping up to sit on the counter. “What else do you want to ask me?”

He leaned down on the countertop, letting his arms lay flat. “Hmm.” He let his fingers drum quietly. “What did you want to be when you grew up? Or was it always a chef?”

She scrunched up her nose. “I was convinced I was going to be a doctor, I wanted to help people. But then I found out how many years of school was required to be a doctor. So I decided I wanted to be a nurse.”

Cassian carefully poured a couple more shots. “And what happened to that dream?”

“I found out that the sight of blood makes me queasy. Sometimes I throw up, sometimes I pass out.”

He laughed. “That seems like enough to throw off a career plan.”

“Yep,” she admitted, picking her wine glass up.

Cassian filled up the shot glasses, once more, and slid hers back to her. She set down her wine glass and snorted as she tossed it back.

“You know what we should do?” Nesta asked, and Cassian lifted a brow in question. “Go for a swim. We’ve been here over a month and have yet to use the pool that I’ve been cleaning, daily.”

Cassian took his shot before watching her, closely. “Last one in has to share their deepest, darkest secret.”

Nesta scoffed. “What are we, children?”

Cassian grinned as he pushed himself back from the counter. “Scared of a little competition? Afraid to lose?”

They stared at each other in silence for a minute before Nesta jumped off the counter, and ran up the stairs to throw on her swimsuit.

Cassian and his heavy footsteps were close behind.

It took her a few minutes to remember where her swimsuits had been packed, and from the slamming of drawers down the hall, it seemed Cassian was in a similar predicament. She finally found a two piece stuffed in the back of her underwear drawer, not exactly what she had been looking for, and hesitated before stripping down and pulling the bottoms on. Nesta was out her bedroom door before she even had the top fully tied, pulling it into a hastily tied bow behind her back. Her feet carried her as she flew down the stairs, but she froze when she opened the sliding glass door and found him already in the water.

He grinned from where he had his muscular arms resting on the side of the pool, and his hair was soaked, pushed back off of his face. With the wide smile on his face, he looked so much younger, almost boyish.

With a sigh, Nesta turned and walked back into the kitchen, grabbing a couple beers in each hand and made her way back onto the lit up patio.

“I win,” he said, smirking up at her.

The tongue she stuck out at him wasn’t her most quick witted response, but she was trying not to let her eyes drift beneath the water. When she suggested the pool, she hadn’t been thinking of how much skin would be on display, for either of them.

“That’s because you only had one piece to put on,” Nesta said, sitting near him by the edge and handing him a drink.

“Hey, if you only wanted to put on one of those pieces, I wouldn’t have stopped you,” he protested, and Nesta had to hide the way his suggestive tone, those words, made her blush.

He didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he popped open his beer and took a long, slow drink.

“So how about that secret?” He asked, voice lowering.

“Hmmm,” she crooned, tapping her chin. “Which to share when I have so many to choose from?”

Cassian chuckled. “You would have an endless string of secrets. Come on, what skeletons are in your closet? Something you’ve never told anyone else.”

Nesta had a lot of those, too. She wasn’t exactly the “open” type.

There was one true secret she kept though. One that no one else had known, not even Feyre or Elain. Just her and…

She hesitated and he looked up at her, caught the look on her face. “What?”

Shaking her head, she said, “I don’t want to kill the mood.”

The hand holding the bottle was right next to her thigh, and he let his pinky skim over her skin. “That kind of secret, huh?”

She gnawed into her lip, nodding.

“I’ll tell you mine, if it helps,” Cassian said, looking up into her face.

She slipped into the pool, thankful the water was warm, and shook her head. “That wasn’t our agreement.”

He stayed quiet, letting her process her own thoughts.

Sinking beneath the water, Nesta re-emerged, slicking her hair back. After a steadying breath, she said, “I’m sure you remember Tomas, my ex who interrupted our date?”

The mention of their date surprised Cassian, after so many weeks of them dancing around it. He nodded.

“We were together for a long time, you know? All through college.” She wasn’t looking at him, wouldn’t meet his eye. “I got pregnant just after our senior year. I had never wanted kids, you know? Wasn't the family type, at all. Never saw myself having a family. Anyway,” she continued, shaking her head. “It didn’t matter. I miscarried.”

Cassian continued to look at her, continued to watch as she stared blankly ahead.

“I got excited about it, too, which is ridiculous,” she went on. “For a moment, for those few weeks that I thought Tomas and I would be starting a family… I actually got excited.”

“How far along were you?” He asked, gently.

She answered immediately, with no hesitation. “Thirteen weeks. It was like one day I was pregnant, carrying our child and the next… The baby was gone.” She was quiet for a moment. “I woke up one morning and there was blood, so much blood. Tom was already at work, so I drove myself to the hospital, but there was nothing they could do.”

Cassian recognized the slow blinking, knew she was reliving those slow, sad moments again.

“I was dying inside, trying to come to terms with the fact that our baby was gone, and Tomas got home and-.” She took a deep breath and looked over at him. “He asked what I was making for dinner. He didn’t even acknowledge that our child was gone and… l guess that’s when I decided to do the same. To pretend nothing happened. We didn’t really talk much about it. We never told our families, I never told Feyre or Elain. Our father died about a month later and it all seemed so insignificant at that point. But Tom and I never recovered, our relationship at least. We broke up a few months later and…” Nesta shrugged. “Life kept going. I decided to open my restaurant and never looked back.”

“I’m sorry,” Cassian said, quietly.

She finally looked at him and shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”

“That doesn’t make it any less painful of a memory,” he countered.

She just nodded. “It’s how it was supposed to be though, right? Wasn't meant to be.”

Cassian took another drink as he nodded, slowly.

“Anyway,” she began, clearing her throat before dunking herself back down under the water.

“Would you like my secret?” He asked, when she turned and rested her arms on the edge of the pool.

She shrugged. “If you feel so inclined. You didn’t lose the bet.”

He leaned back, letting his arms drape across the edge of the pool as well. “When I was eighteen, I broke my back. I decided to take a year off before I started school, and was working construction over the summer to save money. I wanted to travel for a while. But then I took a bad fall off a roof. I spent two weeks in the hospital and then was stuck in my bed for another ten. And Rhys and Az stayed by my side the whole time. They put off their last hoorah vacations before they went off to college to stay with me.”

Nesta’s eyes drifted to Cassian, drops falling from her lashes. “Doesn’t seem like a secret if people know about it.”

“You didn’t know,” he shot back.

Nesta smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Fair. That sounds awful.”

“It was,” he agreed. “I don’t know if you know this about me, but I don’t like to stay still for very long.”

“Oh, I’ve noticed,” Nesta said, a little spark returning to her eye. “It was torture,” he followed, finishing off his drink. “Not being able to move. I played so many damn board games that I never want to look at one ever again.”

“Even if Nyx asks?” Nesta inquired.

Cassian gave her a lopsided grin. “Well, he’s the exception.” Nesta laughed, and Cassian shook his head. “I’d do anything for that kid. I think Rhys knew that, when he named me godfather.”

She understood that, related to it completely. Especially considering they had been named godparents together, regardless of their mutual distaste for the other. Their love for Nyx, for Rhys and Feyre, had been evident to everyone.

“I miss him,” she admitted, resting her cheek on the concrete. “I know it’s only one night, and I’m beyond appreciative, but… It’s weird not having him right inside.”

He nodded. “I get it. I do, too. I know Az and Elain can take care of him, and I’m sure he had a blast with Seph before they went to bed, but it hasn’t stopped me worrying about him.”

Nesta nodded, stretching her back. She took a drink from her beer. “Did you ever want kids of your own?”

He blew out a harsh breath and drained his own bottle before answering. “I never really considered it much, when I was younger. After my back healed, I was so focused on getting back to life that relationships and dating weren’t high on my priority list-.”

“But fucking was?” Nesta asked, smirking.

He rolled his eyes, nudging her slightly with a shoulder. “Maybe I was interested in sex more than relationships, I’ll admit. But before I knew it, my early twenties had come and gone. Everyone I knew was getting married and had babies on the way and… I was still the one living the bachelor life and decided to just run with it.”

“I get that,” Nesta agreed. “After…everything that happened with Tomas, I never wanted that again. My date with you and my date with Balthazar are the only two proper dates I’ve been on since college.”

Cassian lifted a brow. “And have you been on any improper dates?”

Nesta didn’t answer. Instead, her cheeks turned a soft shade of pink as she finished off her beer.

Cassian’s grin widened. “I never knew you were such a freak, Archeron.”

“Oh, fuck off,” she muttered, which just made him laugh harder.

“I must admit, it’s nice to hear you talking about our infamous date so often tonight,” Cassian said, pulling himself out of the pool.

Nesta couldn’t help but notice the way his muscles flexed, how the drops of water streamed down his back, between his shoulders, down to his waistline and the swim trunks, which rode low on his hips. She cleared her throat. “I didn’t say anything nice about that date, did I?”

“Absolutely not, but is there really anything nice to say?” he asked, sliding the screen door open. “I mean, you were an absolute nightmare.”

She gawked after him as he went inside, and once he came back with a small pyramid of beer cans, Nesta said, “I was a nightmare? You were a complete disaster!”

He scoffed, setting the cans down and cannon balling back into the pool. Even though she was already in the water, Nesta couldn’t help the squeal that left her. Cassian was grinning when he came up for air. “I forgot my wallet. I fully intended to pay you back, both monetarily and with the best sex you’d ever had in your life, but you decided to get huffy, stomp back to your front door and slam it in my face.”

“Oh, please,” Nesta said, reaching for a can and popping it’s top. Foam erupted from the opening and she put her mouth to it before it could drip into the pool. “You were over twenty minutes late, you wore work boots and a leather jacket to the nicest restaurant in Velaris, and we ran into your fuck buddy.” She drank deeply from the can, emptying it in one go. “As for the best sex I’ve ever had in my life, I’ve become very accustomed to and am just fine with my own hand, so you’re going to have to try pretty hard to do better than I myself can.”

She wiggled her fingers in his face and before she could register what was happening, his hand was wrapped around her own. As if he didn’t already know that. Cassian had caught her getting herself off in the bathtub, a memory that was seared into both of their heads. He tugged her closer and the empty can fell from her hands, floating on top of the water.

“I was talking about the past, sweetheart, but you seem to be talking about the present,” he breathed as her chest brushed against his own. “Who says my offer still stands all these years later?”

“You’d be a fool not to make that offer,” she breathed, and she knew the scent of beer was all he was breathing in.

“And would you accept it if I were?” he asked, one hand still wrapped around hers, the other snaking its way around her waist. “Still offering?”

Nesta’s breath hitched as their mouths grew so close, too close, close enough to reach out and taste his lips with a brush of her tongue.

It was tempting.

It would be stupid. Alcohol fogging her brain or not, Nesta knew it would be stupid.

But it was tempting, and in that moment, there were very few things Nesta could think about other than his hands against her skin, his lips a breadth width away from her own, and his cock she could very prominently feel twitching against her thigh.

Nesta’s lips brushed softly against his as she said, “Try and find out.”

#nessian #snacmc #snacmc lawki #modern au #lawki #fanfic #fanfiction #sjm #acotar #acosf

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doctorstethoscope · 3 years

Text

Moment || Aaron Hotchner x gn Reader

A/N: hiiii besties expanding on a lil prompt from the weekend due to popular demand! Thank you to @the-modernmary for helping me with it!! If u liked this teeny bit of angst u will love her fics!!

just a little note for those of you who read The Right: I am going on vacation this coming Saturday-Wednesday. I will have the chapters queued to post for y’all, but I will not be able to respond to taglist requests or update the masterlist until I come back! Still let me know what you think about the chapters though, they’re some good ones! ok onto this fic.

contains: slight cursing, alcohol consumption

wc: 1.7k

You take a deep breath as you walk out of Strauss’s office, taking exactly one beat to regain your composure before hastily making your way over to Hotch’s office, letting yourself in without knocking.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” you said by way of greeting as you crossed his office and settled into one of the chairs across from his desk.

“Tell you what?” Hotch asks, looking up from his paperwork with confusion knit across his brow.

“That Strauss was going to harangue me the second I walked into the building this morning. I seriously didn’t even make it past security before she nabbed me.” You told him, disgruntled.

“I didn’t know. What did she want?” Aaron asks, and you look up and see that he’s telling the truth-- he really didn’t know.

“Oh… I assumed she would have cleared it with you before she asked me.” You said, your boisterous energy deflating the longer you sat in the chair.

“Is she pulling you for undercover work? She always does that, and she never asks if we have anything coming up or what your consult workload is--”

“No, Hotch. She’s, uh, she’s not pulling me for undercover work.”

“What is it?”

“She said the director tapped me to lead the field office in Vegas.” You confessed, looking up and seeing the air leave Aaron’s chest.

“Wow.” Aaron says, blinking.

“Yeah,” you agreed.

“And you’re going to take it?” He asked.

“I told her that I needed some time to think about it.” You answer him.

“What’s there to think about?” He wonders.

There’s a moment where you think you might actually roll your eyes at him. There’s a moment where you consider begging him to give you a reason to stay. There’s a moment where you consider crossing the desk and depositing yourself in his lap, kissing him with the weight of all of the feelings that had you wanting to stay.

But, after a moment, you realize that none of that’s happening. He’s sitting across from you, looking at you like you’d be the biggest fool in the world not to take advantage of this opportunity, and maybe he was right. Maybe you would spend the rest of your life wanting him one-sidedly, wondering what good you could have done for the world if you had simply accepted that he’d never love you back.

“Nothing,” you answered, after a moment. “There’s absolutely nothing to think about at all.”

****************************

Aaron’s barely even distracted when you swing his door open and plop yourself into one of his chairs first thing in the morning. He’s used to it, by now. He may have been a less-than-willing participant in your friendship at the beginning of your relationship, but now he was glad to call you someone he was close to. His closest friend, really.

His ears perk up when you mention Strauss. “Is she pulling you for undercover work?’ He starts to rant, already planning the tirade he’s going to deliver to Erin when he notices your demeanor change. You’re… shy, all of a sudden. You’ve never hidden from him before. He doesn’t like it.

“She said the director tapped me for the field director position in Vegas,” You revealed. The sentence hit him like a punch in the gut.

“Wow,” is all he can manage to get out, fighting the way his throat threatens to close up. “And you’re going to take it?” He asks, although he knows the answer will break his heart.

“I told her I needed some time to think about it.”

“What’s there to think about?’ He asked, allowing himself to hope for a moment that you’ll make some grand confession, to imagine for a moment that you might possibly feel the same way he does, to believe for a moment that he’s worthy of your love. But he’s not.

“Nothing. There’s absolutely nothing to think about at all,” you tell him, standing up and leaving with a forced casualness.

Aaron had been married long enough to know that that tone and those words together mean the exact opposite of what they are supposed to mean-- but he was still confused. What could possibly make you stay? And how could he find it before you left?

*****************

The following days between you and Aaron had been chilly, to say the least. You didn’t bounce ideas off of each other on cases like you normally would. You came to the opposite conclusions at every turn. You were out of sync, and everyone felt it. So when the case wrapped up on a Friday afternoon, you were more than happy to rush home to a bottle of wine, a pint of ice cream, your moving boxes and some trashy reality television.

You’d given up on packing after about an hour. Your heart just wasn’t in it. So instead, you lounged in your pajamas, sipping at your wine in the hopes that it would guide you to your first full night of sleep since you’d spoken with Strauss. You’re just about to head to bed when there’s a knock at your door. You swing it open, revealing Aaron, holding a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a bottle of champagne in the other.

“I was an asshole.” He offers. “Am I interrupting anything, or?”

“Just packing,” you say, wanting to twist the knife a little bit even if it wasn’t truthful. Aaron is undeterred, and steps inside anyways.

“I didn’t want you to leave with us still in the middle of the fight. You can be as mad as you want in the morning, but have a glass of champagne with me?” He asks, with those big brown eyes you could never refuse.

“Fine,” you sighed, still easily won over by him, even when you were heartbroken and mad.

“Here, you open it. Congratulations,” he tells you, handing over the bottle. You start picking at the foil, and he speaks up in the silence. “Things are going to be different without you, you know. I like that our team is structured the way it is… as a team, but you know, in a lot of ways, it was nice to have a partner in you.”

“You know, come to think of it, I’m not sure if I even have cups. They might be packed away,” you say, still picking at the foil and decidedly not looking Aaron in the eye. He chuckles a little at your comment.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do when you’re gone. I mean, who else can rein in Derek, or get to see me the big picture, or talk Emily off the ledge when I’m sure she’s about to go rogue?’

“It’s going to be okay,” you tell him, setting the bottle on the counter, still unopened. Aaron heaves a sigh.

“You should stay.” He says, after a moment.

“What?” You say, blinking, because surely you must be drunk or dreaming or something else.

“You should stay here. You don’t have to take the job in Vegas.”

“Haha, very funny,” you joked, bringing your attention back to the bottle to avoid looking him in the eye.

“I’m serious. Listen, I know I said there was nothing to think about, but I changed my mind.”

“Oh, did you? And what if I haven’t changed mine?” You asked, getting angry now.

Not able to hold back for another second, he takes your face in both of his hands and kisses you. “Just, think about that before you board a plane. Okay?” He says, and before you can even speak, you hear the door swing shut behind him.

Damn you, Hotchner.

You don’t sleep a wink. When 8am finally rolls around, you pull yourself out of bed and get dressed, heading over to Aaron’s. As you buckle your seatbelt, you realize that you know you have to go over there but you have no clue what it is you even want to say to him. You hope you’ll figure it out without sounding completely insane as you knock on Aaron’s door, and he swings it open, still in his sweatpants and incredibly surprised to find you on his doorstep.

“I’m even more mad at you right now than I was last night,” you tell him by way of greeting.

“That’s understandable. I haven’t been very fair to you,” he agrees, and the fact that he’s being so reasonable only makes you angrier. You slip past him and step inside the apartment.

“I don’t get it. You couldn’t just let me move on, start a new life and forget about the torch I’ve been burning for my boss the entire time I’ve worked here? You had to have the last word, even if I was leaving forever.”

“No,” Aaron says, and you bite your tongue, trying to allow him a moment to respond even if you weren’t feeling all that gracious. “No, I couldn’t let you move on thinking the torch you were carrying ws unrequited.”

You’re struck by his words. “What are you trying to say?”

“I’m sorry, it doesn’t matter. It’s a great opportunity for you in Vegas. I’m happy for you, and you shouldn’t let this--”

“Hotch, what are you trying to say?”

“Just that I’m proud of you, and I know that you’ll do excellent work, and--”

“I don’t understand what you’re trying to hide from me.” You call him out, and he looks at you for a moment. This time, you don’t break his glance.

“I’m not trying to hide. I’m just too late.” He tells you, looking down at the floor.

“Tell me, Hotchner. Tell me, please.” You beg of him, shifting to try to get him to look you in the eye.

“I love you, and I figured it out too late.”

You draw in a sharp breath, and he’s sure he’s ruined any vestiges of friendship that still existed between the two of you in this moment, and that you’ll board your plane to Las Vegas and he’ll become a creepy old boss that you never think about again. He takes a moment to look at you, a moment to mourn what might have been, a moment to remember the way your laugh made him smile while the memories were still fresh. He takes a moment, and then you speak up.

“No,” you correct him. “You figured it out just in time.”

tagging: @choppa-style @wanniiieeee @zheezs14 @torykjamie @maureen4y

@ssavanessa22 @isthatme-thatsme @g-l-pierce @ssahotchie @infinite-tides

@itsmytimetoodream @averyhotchner @msmarvelsmain @hotforhotchner11 @hotchinkevlar

hi besties I tried to tag everyone who said they wanted to be on my regular hotch list and a few of y’all who regularly interact with the right but if i made a mistake/u want to be removed u can lmk I will not be offended!!!

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #hotch x y/n #aaron hotchner x you #hotch x you #aaron hotchner one shot #criminal minds #criminal minds fic

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lightsovermonaco · 3 years

Text

His Good Sweater: Chapter 16

Masterlist

Thanks to @acollectionofficsandshit for being my bestie and beta reading! This would have never happened without her ❤ Make sure you read Roman Profile, set in the same universe!

Word Count: 6.3k

Recommended song: “The Thrill” by Wiz Khalifa & Empire of the Sun

Your Saturday gets off to a great start when you spot Sylvie lurking in the corner of the garage. The woman pointedly raises an eyebrow at you when she notices you, the simple action setting you on edge. You glare at her in return, having none of it while Pierre suits up.

"Take care of this for me, will you?" Pierre places his cap backwards on your head. You smile, adjusting it so it's out of your eyes.

"I will." You glance over his shoulder before chastely kissing his cheek. You'd deal with Sylvie later; Pierre didn't need any distractions when he was about to get out on track.

"Nope, not acceptable." Pierre kisses your lips, completely unaware of the shit you'd likely catch as soon as he was gone because of it.

You sigh and take half a step back. Having none of it, Pierre places a knuckle under your chin, tipping your face towards him.

"Sylvie making you nervous?" The pad of his thumb sweeping over your jaw gives you something solid to focus on. "I can ask her to leave if she is."

You shake your head. "Not nervous, no. But she's getting under my skin."

Pierre sets down his helmet and waves off Pyry who tries to shove it back in his hands, prepared to address the matter and hash out a solution immediately. "What's going on?"

"It's not a big deal," you try, "I can tell you after practice. You've only got a few minutes until lights out."

"I want to know now, mon amour."

Fighting was pointless. He would stand here until you spilled the beans so you might as well get it over with so he could get out on track. "Fine. Sylvie cornered me Thursday and asked me to lay low this weekend because of some interview you did. She gave me a copy of it but I didn't read it. She said it's bad for your image to be seen doting on me when you've got races to win."

Pierre blinks, head swiveling in slow motion. Sylvie watches your interaction like a hawk, waiting for either of you to slip up. "And you kept this to yourself?"

"I didn't want to distract you. You've got a job to do." A blush creeps up your neck and settles on the apples of your cheeks. "Sylvie was mad enough at me, I didn't want her in your face too."

A muscle in his jaw ticks. "That's bullshit. I stood up for you. That's why she's pissed. I told them you were just as important to me as racing."

Your heart somersaults in your chest. "You said that in an interview? Pierre, that's-"

Pierre drops Sylvie's stare and meets yours. "I love you and I won't apologize for it. I don't have time to talk to her now though- are you okay being here with her until after practice?"

"I'll be okay as long as you top the time charts," you tell him, a smile playing on your lips. When you'd gotten back together you had told yourself nothing would come between the two of you again, up to and including nosy PR agents who couldn't keep their hands out of your business.

"I will, just for you." Helmet in hand, he pecks your cheek before heading to the car. Pierre shoots Sylvie a glare and says something to Pyry before clambering into the car.

Pyry doesn't leave your side for the entirety of practice, chasing off Sylvie each time she tries to approach you. Pierre nearly tops the charts, sitting second fastest on the famed street circuit. Only Max clocked a faster time, which didn't surprise anyone. Pierre's side of the garage erupts when he is wheeled inside and is met with claps on the back and wide smiles from his team.

Confidence radiates from him as he peels off his helmet and thanks his team. A grin from ear to ear splits his face as he makes his way to you before he even bothers to unzip his suit. Before you know it he's swept you in his arms and planted a kiss on your lips.

"It's not first, but I'll take second if you're waiting here when I get back."

"It's only practice," you remind him, swiping away a bead of sweat from his neck with the pad of your thumb. "But you drive like that for quali in a few hours and you might get your first pole."

"What did I tell you?" Sylvie hisses, ruining the moment and sending you crashing back to earth.

Instead of falling into line, Pierre's grip on your waist tightens. "Leave her alone, Sylvie."

"This isn't good for you," the woman insists. "People are saying you've gone soft-"

"I don't care what they say. My results speak for themselves." And they did. Second fastest today in practice, despite Monaco being a track that Pierre generally had a poor record at. "When I start slipping to the back of the pack you can talk to me about it. But even then it's out of your wheelhouse. I don't care what the gossip columns have to say about me-"

Pierre breaks off and you can see the pieces clicking in his head. "You've never cared either, not even when I got demoted. Horner put you up to this, didn't he?"

Sylvie straightens under the weight of Pierre's question, good enough as giving him an answer. "I have a job to do."

"And so do I." His words freeze over, his attitude icy. "How about you back off and let me do it? I don't need another person breathing down my neck. And she certainly doesn't either. And you know what? I'll make you a deal. If I win tomorrow, you leave us alone and keep your nose out of my personal life."

"You'll thank me when your name is out of the tabloids." Bewildered, you stare after her until Pierre's lips meet your temple, the simple gesture sending a tingle down your spine.

"I wish it was easier for us," you murmur, placing a hand on his broad chest as if you were the only two in the garage. "But as long as I have you, it's worth the fight."

"Don't let it get to you. You make me a better racer, no matter what anyone says. You taught me that I have something to fight for. You're the one that picks me up when I don't think I can make it. Without you, I probably would've blown my chance at taking seventh in the championship."

"And I'm the one that tells you when it's time to get your ass back in the car and race your heart out." You grin up at him, not caring for a second who was watching this time when you kiss him. "I expect you to be a pole sitter next time you're back in this garage. I might have already told my mom it was happening, so don't make me a liar."

"If I take pole, will you wear my cap again tonight? Just my cap?"

"That could be arranged."

**********

Pierre may not have taken pole, but qualifying fifth was more than enough reason to treat him to fulfilling his request. With only the Red Bulls, Charles and Hamilton ahead of him, you were confident he could at minimum hold his position, and at best his team would come up with a strategy that saw him undercut one or two of the guys ahead and put him on the podium.

As usual, Pierre gets to the circuit a few hours early to clear his head and walk the track one last time. Since it’s not a mandatory part of his race preparation, you take the opportunity to walk with him. The clouds part just enough for the sun to shine down on him, practically glowing in the light. Apparently not even the celestial bodies were immune to his beauty, coming out solely to appease him. Your gaze eats up the curve of his throat as he tips his head back to enjoy the golden rays warming his skin.

“Beau Rivage,” he murmurs as you come up to the right hand bend. “One of the few spots for overtaking, if you’re lucky.” Pierre studies the pavement, noting where patches of gravel had built up and toeing them with his shoe. His commitment was something to behold; not even Max could be bothered with a track walk on Wednesday, and forget about waking up with the dawn to participate in an optional one on race day.

Pierre was different though, throwing himself into the sport and refusing to commit anything less than a hundred percent. That commitment was one of the things that had drawn you to him in the first place and continued to be something you admired. You missed him when you were apart, but hearing the thrill in his voice when he spoke about racing lines or braking points never failed to remind you that he was living his dream and you would never stand in his way.

You thread your fingers through his, soaking it in as he walks you through the track. This wasn’t an opportunity you had often and you were determined to embrace and enjoy it.

“Massenette and Casino Square. This braking zone is tricky, if you go too wide you’ll lose seconds of time and probably a good chunk of your front wing, unless by some miracle you miss the barrier.”

Having little to offer to his assessment, you rest your head on his shoulder as you walk. You try to see the track through his eyes, picturing the cockpit around you as you attempt to pick out an adequate braking point.

You continue on in amiable silence, stopping once or twice so Pierre can take pictures with fans and chat with them. Eventually you come to a corner you recognize, one of the most infamous.

“I know this one.” You puff out your chest, holding an imaginary microphone to your lips. “The Lowes hairpin. Slowest corner on the calendar. The cars decelerate to 65 kph, a feat achieved nowhere else.”

Pierre throws his head back and laughs, making your heart stutter. You never wanted to go another day without hearing the full-bellied sound, rich and rife with more happiness than should be humanly possible. “You only know that because Crofty and Brundle bring that up every race, don’t you?”

“Maybe.” You beam back at him when he shakes his head, the action more to say I knew it than to express disappointment. Because he could never be disappointed in you, especially not for taking an interest in what he loved. You tended to queue up archived races to listen to in the background as you studied, meaning it was inevitable that some of the quips from the commentators rubbed off on you sooner or later.

“Now this is my favorite,” Pierre says, adjusting his cap to keep the sun out of his eyes.

“The swimming pool chicaines? Why?” They were considered boring by most racers, flat out but navigable by muscle memory if you’d had enough practice.

Pierre’s self assured grin leaves you in a puddle on the pavement. “Cause I’ll be jumping in that pool today, and I’m taking you with me.”

"I don't think so." You point to the hoodie you wore, one that you had stolen from his closet ages ago and since refused to give back under any circumstances. "I'm in irreplaceable gear. I don't want to ruin it."

Pierre rolls his eyes, dropping your hand in favor of slinging an arm around your shoulders. "I love it when you wear my clothes. My hat yesterday, my hoodie today, anything really. I love having that claim on you."

"If only I could get you to wear some of mine," you muse as the pit boxes come into view.

"If you ask nicely, I'd consider it."

The garage is thrumming with anticipation before Pierre even enters. Checo’s engine penalty is all anyone can talk about, his subsequent start from the pit lane meant Pierre would effectively move up a place and start fourth.

Pierre is whisked away as soon as Tost spots him, the warm old man greeting you before stealing your boyfriend away. You know your way around well enough to be comfortable, staking out your spot along the back wall to observe the team's preparations. The early wake up call was quickly catching up with you however, your lack of movement causing you to stifle a yawn with the back of your hand.

"You look like you could use a coffee."

A young woman about your age steps into your line of sight and holds out a steaming foam cup. "Er, sure, thanks."

"Alana," she says, sticking her hand out for you to shake. "I'm one of the junior engineers for the team. I've seen you around once or twice, I figured it was about time I introduced myself."

"Thank you for the coffee, Alana." You lift the cup in mock salute and take a sip, the contents rich and flavorful. "I swear, I don't know what you guys lace this with, but it's addictive as hell."

The two of you share a laugh that earns you a few confused glances. "I think we're gonna be great friends," she says, tapping her own cup against yours. "It's nice to see another woman around the paddock. Sometimes it gets a little testosterone heavy."

You nod, taking another swig. You can practically feel the caffeine working, already a little more alert than you were minutes ago.

"It's great luck."

"Pierre moving up a place?"

Alana laughs, her ponytail swaying as she shakes her head. "No, I meant you being able to attend the race. You picked the best weekend to be trackside, the podium celebrations are the best."

Pierre startles you by snaking an arm around your waist and planting a kiss on your cheek.

"There's our star," Alana says, her smile bright and optimistic. "Better bring your team another trophy! The next one is going in the engineering department, they already have a little plaque made up and everything. I can see it right from my desk."

"Oh I'll bring one home," he replies, his hand casually grazing your ass as he moves to stand beside you. "I already promised her I would and I'm a man of my word."

"I know you will."

"You have those time tables I asked about?"

"They're in the engineering suite." Alana hooks a thumb over her shoulder and smiles at you. "You're welcome to come back with us. He concentrates better when you're around anyway."

"Are you sure?" Red Bull never let you anywhere near proprietary data. You and any of Max's guests had always been corralled into the vip suite with the occasional venture down into the garage when they were wrapping up.

"You're part of the family," Alana explains as if it was obvious. "Of course I'm sure."

Pierre grins and gives your hand an encouraging squeeze. His team knew he wanted you near and they were willing to bend the rules to make it happen. "We'll try not to bore you to death."

You sit through a half hour worth of numbers and codes you didn't understand, your arm slung around the back of Pierre's chair. He offers tidbits and asks questions while Alana and the other engineers walk him through scenarios, ensuring he has everything down. The way he spoke was quite possibly the hottest thing you've ever had the pleasure of witnessing, aside from post race Pierre with his sweaty hair sticking up in every direction and an adrenaline infused smile on his red cheeks.

Before you know it the two of you are ushered off to his driver's room, Pierre changing into his fireproofs and suit while you treat yourself to some of the snacks lying about. Pyry knocks just as Pierre zips his suit up to his chin.

"Hunt 'em down," you say, resting your forehead to his and stealing a moment for the two of you.

"Always do."

And god, does he ever.

Ten laps in, Hamilton is complaining about the balance of his Mercedes, the gap between himself and Max is only a few seconds and rapidly decreasing. The headphones you wear allow you to catch snips of driver radio and team communications, and you gather that Hamilton is slowly losing power. No one is sure if it's an electronics issue or an engine issue but they aren't complaining either.

Flawless pit stops from most teams see little shift in track positions, Pierre still holding fast to P4 a little over halfway through the seventy eight laps. Alpha's stellar strategy sees him rejoin fifth after sliding into the pits for a set of mediums to take him to the end of the race.

"Gap to Norris three seconds ahead," comes the voice in your ear.

Pierre clings tight to the rear of Lando's papaya McLaren ahead, using DRS to his advantage and practically toying with the younger racer, waiting for the opportunity to strike.

Three short laps later, Pierre skirts around the McLaren at Beau Rivage and reclaims fourth.

Hamilton's ability to stretch tire performance to the maximum means he gets ten more laps before he's in the pits, Max closing in on his track position. The Mercedes crew stumbles, the pit stop more than twice as long as it should be, and Hamilton rejoins fourth.

"In the podium places," Pierre's engineer states.

Seconds later, white smoke pours from Max's Red Bull and he pulls off, causing a yellow flag and bunching up the pack.

P2, with only the Ferrari standing between Pierre and a win.

"Easy pickings Pierre, choose your moment."

Your heart pounds and your nails bite into your palms as Pierre goes around the outside at the hairpin, the entire garage shouting when he somehow gets away clean and the Monegasque backs off enough for Pierre to take the lead.

"P1 mate, two laps to go, two laps."

Pierre's brisk copy tells you all you need to know. He wasn't about to let this win slip through his fingers. Neck craned up at the screen, you watch as Pierre fights tooth and nail to fend off his friend, gasping audibly when a slight lockup nearly causes the two to collide around a chicane.

When he crosses the line, all you hear is a staticy scream.

Pierre Gasly, you are a Monaco Grand Prix winner!

It almost doesn't feel real how everyone around you begins jostling for the podium, their momentum carrying you along. A combination of luck and skill had seen him skyrocket to the top.

When you finally catch a glimpse of him in parc ferme, he stands atop the halo, arms spread wide amongst the deafening cheers of both Red Bull sister teams. Pressed between sweaty bodies, his team all push to the front to be the ones to congratulate him.

You blink back hot tears. Pierre had fought incredibly hard to be on that top step, not just today but the entire season. Being demoted from Red Bull last year had been a backhanded blow, one that when coupled with his insistence on going back to the team in the future had warranted a feeding frenzy of media that ebbed and flowed as rumors surfaced. He'd been under the microscope ever since, struggling to keep his head above water but managing to come out on top.

Someone pushes you forward just as he takes off his helmet, his grin wild and unrestrained. Your mouth is open, his name on the tip of your tongue when a hand closes around your arm.

"This isn't your moment," Sylive says, near shouting to be heard over the roar. "No one wants to see you up there in the frame. This is his podium, let the media see that."

This woman really wanted to be knocked out, didn't she?

"He just won the prix." Dumbfounded at her audacity, you shake your head. "Leave us alone, he won."

"He could win the championship and I would still tell you to back off. There's hundreds of cameras out there, do you even have it in you to hold yourself together when they're all flashing at you?"

If she had asked you that question a few months ago, the answer would have been no, absolutely not. Now that you'd been to hell and back it was an entirely different story. You could walk through the throng and come out the other side unscathed if you had your best friend and partner at your side. He would shield you for the worst of it, be their punching back in order to make the burden bearable.

"Sylvie, if you don't get your hands off me-"

"Oh, sure," she says, releasing you with a smile. "He's already gone anyway. I only needed a minute."

Brow furrowed, you investigate her claim to find the truth of it. Pierre was already being herded away towards the podium, toweling off the residual sweat and setting his helmet on the provided stand. He throws one last glance over his shoulder before climbing the steps to the podium, his baby blue eyes cloudy when they should have been sunny.

Pierre's team principal calls your name as the boys take their places on the steps, gesturing for you to join him at the barriers. "Where were you? He was looking for you."

"No, I know," you start, shaking your head and gazing up at your racer. "Sylvie has it in her head that I shouldn't be photographed with him-"

"Say no more," Tost says, then pauses as the crowd claps. "I've never liked her."

"You and me both," you say under your breath as the anthems play.

Pierre's hungry gaze scours the crowd for you, hands folded neatly behind his back while he bounces on his feet. When he finally spots you in Tost's shadow his shoulders straighten the tiniest bit, like he had been half expecting you to be absent. The pride in his posture is reflected in your smile, a fact that he picks up on and leverages to shine even brighter.

Absently, you register the shutter of a camera going off as you beam up at Pierre. Your winner locks eyes with you before popping the cork of his champagne and spraying his fellow podium sitters, Daniel and Charles, before taking a long swig. Daniel blows a kiss to his girlfriend who mimes catching it and tucking it away while Pierre simply wraps Charles in an embrace, marveling in their first shared Formula 1 podium.

Pierre is surprisingly the first to leave, stalking off with his trophy and bottle in hand before the cameras have even stopped rolling. You track his progress, the crowd slowing him like he was a marble trying to sink through molasses. His thanks are short, his smile tight as he makes his way to you, eyes locked on his target and utterly unwilling to yield.

You meet him at the barrier which you still haven't been allowed to cross thanks to security taking their job far too seriously. Pierre doesn't care, tucking his trophy under his arm and unhooking a section so that you can slip through.

A laugh bubbles out of you when he wraps you in a bone crushing hug, lifting you off your feet and spinning in circles. Taking his face in your hands you kiss him passionately, wholly aware of the cameras on you. This was your moment to share with him; your universe had narrowed to his arms around you and the sweat-slick skin beneath your fingers.

"Congratulations," you murmur against his lips. "How's it feel to be a Monaco grand prix winner?"

"Better now that I've gotten to hear you say it." The brim of his Pirelli cap gets in the way when he tries to kiss you again and he turns it around.

"You gonna celebrate tonight, race winner?" The endearment works just as you had wanted it to, pride and something more primal flashing in his eyes.

His voice drops, his wicked grin already causing heat to pool in your core. "I have a few ideas."

"Me too." Now that the crowd has disappeared somewhat, you grow bold and nip at his lower lip. It sends a thrill through you to rile him up so publicly, his fingers tightening on your hips in surprise.

"Mon amour, you stop that right now." The slight shake in his voice betrays his true feelings. "I still have to weigh in and debrief."

"Maybe I want you thinking of me while you're there." You wrap your arms around his neck, grinning when he gulps. "Thinking of all the things I'll let you do when you get back to the apartment. Charles will be gone all night partying with Ferrari, I'm sure. We'll have the place to ourselves."

"We've got a full night ahead of us." He grins, tongue darting out over his lips. "We've got the winners dinner too."

You tip your head to the side. "Winners dinner? I don't-"

Someone calls his name and you both look in their direction. A race official, clearly fed up with your little display of love, waves Pierre over.

"Duty calls." Reluctantly, Pierre sets you back on your feet and passes off the champagne before he retreats to answer questions or whatever it was the official needed from him.

Watching him walk away, all you can think about is getting him back to the apartment. But first, you'd drag it out as much as he'd let you.

*********

Pierre spends the entirety of the debrief locked in an unending battle between thinking of you in compromising positions and actually giving feedback to his team. It wasn't his fault that you planted the seed in his mind; he couldn't help but expand on what your dirty little lips had whispered in his ear once he finally found you after the podium.

"Okay, I think that's all we have. See you all at the pool in an hour," Alina says, and Pierre practically rips off his headset and sprints back to his driver's room. He bursts in without stopping to knock, earning him a yelp as you drop your phone on your face.

"Ow. A warning would be nice."

"I don't care," Pierre breathes, locking the door behind him and crossing to where you lay on the couch in a few long strides. "I've got an hour till I'm due to make an appearance for the cameras at the pool, care to make it memorable?"

"Oh, I don't know." You pick your phone back up and continue scrolling through it after giving him a once over. Leaving his race suit on and half undone served dual purposes: he didn't have to change again before the photo op at the pool and it drove you crazy. Apparently, his plan hadn't worked as well as he had hoped. "I kinda like seeing you all worked up."

"Come on," he practically whines, dropping to his knees to meet your glinting eyes. "Please?"

"I think you can wait." The corners of your mouth tug up and it's all he can do to resist leaning forward dragging your full bottom lip between his teeth. Energy still thrums through him, the adrenaline not yet faded.

Noting his stare, you roll your eyes. "Okay, one kiss-"

He doesn't let you finish, leaping on the opportunity to get a tiny sliver of what he wants. His tongue prods your lip and he groans when you open and allow him to explore. Hands glide over your hips while yours find his shoulders, nails digging in through the thin material of his fireproofs. Without breaking the kiss Pierre slots himself above you, a leg on either side of yours and caging your head between his forearms where they rest on the arm of the couch.

When he grinds his hips against yours in search of any sort of relief, you turn your head to the side. Pierre doesn't care, simply trailing hot, open mouthed kisses down your neck. The building could be burning to the ground around him and he wouldn't move, too enraptured by you to be bothered.

"Pierre, my love, be patient." You push lightly at his chest and he finally breaks away, chest heaving. God, he needed you. Hadn’t stopped thinking about you once since he crossed that finish line in first. "Where's that unwavering self restraint you show on the track?"

"I'm not racing." He possessed no self restraint when it came to you. In your presence every sane thought flew out the window, replaced by the sound of your laugh and the shape your mouth made when you said his name.

"Waiting makes it sweeter," you tease, the phrase jangling something loose in his brain. He had said the same thing months ago when your roles had been reversed. If he could go back in time and slap himself upside the head for uttering those words, he would.

Pierre sits up with a huff and pulls you into his lap. "No fair. I just won a race, at Monaco no less, and you're gonna tell me I have to wait when you're sitting here looking perfectly edible?"

You tip your head back and laugh. "I am, because I know you'll enjoy it more tonight."

"But we have the drivers dinner too-"

You put a finger to his lips, which he immediately bites softly. "Be patient. I know you can do it, big boy."

Pierre groans, squeezing his eyes shut and letting his head fall forward to rest on your sternum. "I'm going to remember this."

Your traitorous fingers wind in his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. "How about a massage while you wait, hmm? Would that calm some of this energy you've got built up?"

"No," he grumbles, pressing a kiss to your chest. "That'll make it worse."

"Well then I think it's a perfect idea." Pierre makes you work for it, forcing you to peel his hands off your hips one at a time before you can stand. "Fireproofs off and on your tummy, come on then."

Pierre obeys, eagerly tossing his shirt across the room. He knew he'd regret it and your teasing would leave his head spinning, but anything that got him closer to you was acceptable.

"Lay down."

The command stirs something in his chest. He kisses you once before pillowing his arms under his head and allowing you to straddle his thighs. Your knuckles work at the stiff cords of muscle along his spine and he doesn't tamp down on the small noises of pleasure that start in the back of his throat. Once in a while you lean forward to press a kiss to his bare back, each one setting off a chain reaction in him that goes straight to his cock.

When you reach the base of his spine, he goes completely limp under your fingers. "Merde," he whispers, both a plea and a praise. "Right there, baby."

Something had been digging into his back during the race and it caused a knot to form by his left hip. A low moan escapes him before he can stop it and you hum in approval.

"Feels good, doesn't it?"

"So good," is all he manages to get out around the noise in his brain. His head is filled with your touch, reducing him to ash beneath you. You work at the spot until it's pliable, sweeping your thumb over it once more for good measure. You finish up with his back and move to his arms, dancing over the swells of muscle like you'd been a masseuse your entire life.

"God, where did you even learn this? You're better than Pyry."

"YouTube. And that's because it's different when it's someone you love versus your trainer. I can drag it out and let you enjoy it more."

He's completely lost track of time when the alarm on his phone goes off, signaling the end of this current round of torture.

"You know you're coming with me to the pool," Pierre says matter of factly as you climb off him. He stands and rolls his shoulders, bouncing on his toes. "I feel like a brand new man."

You guide his fireproof shirt back over his head after retrieving it from wherever you'd tossed it earlier. You zip his race suit up with a wink that almost makes hims say fuck it and miss the event entirely. "Glad I could be of assistance."

Hand in hand, Pierre leads you through the paddock and falls in with the Alpha team as they head for the swimming pool. Being around his crew again brings the excitement of his win back to the surface and he's practically buzzing with it by the time they arrive at the gate. Journalists, photographers and a few of his fellow drivers mingle about the packed space, some of them clapping him on the back and offering praise. None of it truly registers until Max, usually hot-headed after a DNF like he had suffered today, pulls him in for a hug.

"Great racing, mate. You deserved that one, that's for sure."

"You better play nice with him next year Max." You wag your finger at the Dutchman, earning you a chuckle. "Or I'll have to take matters into my own hands."

"Now that's something I'd pay to see: you versus Christian Horner. A mighty fight."

Not wanting to jinx it, Pierre doesn’t comment on your confidence that he’ll be on Max’s team next year. His win today had seen him move up comfortably into eighth, and he was closing in on Lando quickly. As long as he played his cards right and finished higher up in the points, he was starting to think he could pull it off.

Pierre doesn't note Sylvie's approach until she clears her throat and all three of you turn in tandem. Pierre picks up on the way your demeanor instantly shifts from light and playful to defensive and he puts himself between the two of you.

"Photo op time."

"Right yeah." Pierre squeezes your hand in farewell and follows Sylvie to where a spot has been cleared at the head end. Standing there before the water, Daniel's dramatic belly flop comes to mind and Pierre knows he has to top that celebration or he'll never hear the end of it.

Someone- maybe you, he couldn't quite tell- starts a chant of his name, growing louder and louder until it reaches a fever pitch. His cheeks hurt from smiling so wide and he spreads his arms, his head falling back and eyes sliding shut as he lets the chant wash over him. Letting it sink in that he stood on the top step of the podium at the most legendary track in Formula 1, his name now joining the likes of Senna and Schumacher as Monaco grand prix winners.

He's drunk on it, on the screams and the shouts and the general feeling of being on top of the world and being untouchable.

Head dizzy, he searches for you, shooting you a wink when he spots you crouched right on the edge of the pool. God, you were gorgeous, wearing his hoodie with his logo splashed across the front and your cheeks flushed from the height of the moment.

Pierre takes a few steps back and gets a running start to leap into the pool, tucking his knees to his chest and cannonballing in. The water closes over his head and everything is dull for a split second before he pushes off the bottom and surfaces, cheers assaulting his senses in the best way.

Laughing, he shakes out his hair and poses for a few of the cameras pointed at him. In that moment he doesn't care what Sylvie or Christian or anyone for that matter thinks, all he wants is to share this euphoria with you, for you to be enthralled by it as he is.

The waterlogged suit makes it hard to swim but he manages, crossing to you and pushing off the concrete lip of the pool to capture your lips. Your hands immediately fly to cup his jaw as hoots and hollers surround the two of you as he irrevocably tells the world that you're his.

Alpha crew members take the kiss as their cue to jump in, splashing you with water as you laugh. Pierre doesn't give you a chance to protest, rising up and wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you in with him.

You squeal in his arms, shoving against his chest as you both laugh. "Pierre!" His name on your tongue does nothing to dampen the feel of your waterlogged body against his, nowhere near as chastising as he knew you'd tried to sound. He loves you more than ever at that moment, wants to live here on this Sunday forever, replaying the past twelve hours for the rest of his life.

Celebrations continue around him, but he has eyes only for you. He studies the way your nose scrunches up when Alana splashes you and how droplets of water catch on your eyelashes.

Reaching out, he tucks a wet lock of hair behind your ear, garnering your attention. You ruffle Pierre's hair and he knows that you're just as caught up as he is.

Placing a hand on the back of your neck, he draws you in for another long, drawn out kiss. “You’re my trophy.”

@seasidetom @flashcal @limp-wrist-max @sunshinesewis @lifeofzoemichael @ninuffi @perfectfantasies22 @lamboleglerg @ladyperceval @0forgottenparadise0 @evie-pr @avsensio @ninuffi @lu-morningstar @ggaslyp1 @swiftyhowlz @xeniarocks @teenwaywardasgardian @saintandrea-droidsmuggler

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hunflowers · 4 years

Text

Skating Lessons

Word Count: 15k

Requested? Nope, but you always can here :)

Mood board

A/N: She is here! She was a doozy to write but I love her so much and I hope you do too <3 Enjoy babydaddy!Harry, and if you do (or if you don’t) throw some feedback my way, really helps a girl out y’know. *nose boops*

“Y/N!”

It was the voice she hated hearing. The voice she despised. The voice that brought her stress more than anything else in her life.

The voice of her landlord. Old Man Chris as she likes to call him. He was the typical stingy, grumpy old man that owned a small little apartment and hardly gave the young girl room to breathe when it came to rent money.

She always gave her money, albeit sometimes a day or two late, but that didn’t change the fact that she still gave him his expected money. This time was a little different however, seeing how she was already a week late, and at this rate going on to be two weeks late.

But, she was so close to giving him the money, plus a little extra to hold her over for next month. All Y/N needed was a few more days. Money had been very tight this past month for reasons she’d rather not discuss with Chris, and she knows she’s in the wrong, but she will get him that money.

Flipping onto her stomach in bed, Y/N holds her pillow over her head to try and drown out the incessant pounding on her front door. It was most likely just past seven in the morning, and Y/N had a very long day yesterday, so all she wanted to do was sleep away her worries for just a little while longer. Clearly, Old Man Chris had different intentions.

Y/N let out a very guttural groan as she threw off her blanket, slid her feet into her fluffy slippers, and wrapped her robe around her body before stomping to the door with a faux smile plastered across her face.

“Morning Chris,” she chirped, looking eye to eye with the man who looked like he was ready to stab her. Although he seemed like a miserable old man, he wasn’t always so bad. When the two met, Y/N was in a much darker place than she is now. Chris has children of his own so when he saw how desperate she was for help, his heart yearned for her.

It was a love-hate relationship the two shared.

“Is there something I can do for you, so early in the morning?”

He gave Y/N that knowing look that she had seen every month that she’s lived here. The look that said you know why I’m here, now hand it over. And in return, every time, she gave him that sheepish smile.

“Y/N, I can’t let this go on any further.”

“Chris, please, you don’t understand. I promise just a few more days,” she begged, clasping her hands together and bringing them up to her chin. He sighed, shaking his head and placing his hands on his hips as he looked down to the floor. She had a soft spot in his heart, so it was always so difficult for him to put his foot down, but he couldn’t let this go on any further.

He looked back up at her, noticing the way she pouted her bottom lip just like how his daughter does when she wants something. It’s hard for him to say no. “You have until Sunday, Y/N. I mean it. I can’t accept this anymore. Don’t pay your rent on the fifteenth, and I’m kicking you out.”

Y/N nodded her head graciously, not knowing whether or not to hug her landlord. He wasn’t too keen on human contact so she just gave him her brightest smile as he walked back down the stairs that led to her apartment.

It was Thursday, meaning she had two days plus the rest of today to gather up as much money as possible. One of her jobs pays tomorrow, and despite other bills she has to take out of that money, she should still have enough to get her that rent money.

Closing the door behind her, Y/N looked around at her apartment, taking in a deep breath and deciding to make herself some coffee since there was no chance she was going to be able to fall back asleep. Not that she had the choice to anyway, because she had to get downstairs as soon as possible if she wanted to keep her apartment.

By the time she managed to get the tiredness out of her system, it was a little past eight-thirty. Y/N locked her door behind her, hurriedly running downstairs and to her day job.

From nine to six, Y/N ran her ice skating lessons down at the local ice rink. And although there weren’t a lot of people that came to her for lessons, by the time six o’clock rolls around, Y/N is beyond exhausted.

But then seven comes, and she’s running to her night job as a waitress to one of the more popular restaurants in town. And by more popular, it’s a nonstop rotating door of people walking inside until it closes at midnight. But, even though it closes at midnight, that doesn’t stop the people already inside from taking their sweet time in leaving. Last night, the last group of people left at one-thirty, and they didn’t even leave a good tip. She survives off minimum wage there, and even though she’s been working there for nearly a year, a raise was out of the question. The owners hardly ever pay more than what they’re supposed to. But they’re the only ones who’ve given her a job and at this point, she had no choice but to stay.

Ann and her daughter Olivia were the first to stroll in once it was nine in the morning. They always book the first slots every Tuesday and Thursday because they both claimed to be early birds. And it was good for them, because being the first ones means they get Y/N when she’s not completely wiped out.

“Good morning, Y/N,” Olivia said happily, running up to her skate teacher and giving her a big hug. Olivia had just turned six last Thursday, and she was the most exuberant six year old Y/N had ever met. She gets it from Ann, because like Olivia, Ann always seemed to have a smile on her face.

Returning the hug, Y/N squeezed the little girl, standing up and twirling her around before placing her back down onto her tiny feet. “Good morning, Livie! Let’s get started shall we?”

❊ ❊

It was almost five, and no one had booked a lesson within the last hour. Usually after school gets a bit busier, but of course, when Y/N really needs it to get busy, it doesn’t, leaving her to sulk around for an hour as she thinks of what she has to cut from her budget for the upcoming months.

As the sun sets, Y/N decides to cut time early, to give herself that extra ten minutes to herself in bed before she heads off to her second job. When she sits on a bench to unlace her skates, she hears the door to the rink open. Turning around to see whoever walked in, for a split second, the breath is taken out of Y/N’s lungs as she sees the most handsome man standing before her and the small girl clinging to his leg.

But, just for a split second.

Gaining her composure, Y/N puts on her best smile as they made eye contact, yanking the skate off her foot. “Are you Y/N?”

A little taken aback by the question, since she didn’t expect this fine man to be there for her, she could only nod her head in response. “Great! I was uh – wondering if I could sign my daughter up for lessons?”

Y/N looked at the little girl, noticing the shyness as she stood mostly behind her father. She had cute, big brown eyes that matched her dark brown hair. She had a bit of pudge to her rosy cheeks and it took everything in Y/N to not reach down and give them a pinch.

Y/N was a sucker for children. Well, other people’s children. She wasn’t so sure she wanted any herself. Too many things were bound to go wrong if she had a child of her own and she’d rather not give that human being a fucked up life like her own if she had any say in the matter.

“Uh, yeah, of course! I always love teaching someone new. Especially if they’re as cute as her,” she gushed, making the little girl’s cheeks redden even more, and a small smile wormed its way onto her lips. Y/N took notice of the girl’s missing front tooth.

“Well,” the man looked down to his daughter, a smile of his own on his face as he reached down and picked her up into his arms, “that’s great news! Isn’t it, Abby?”

Abby nodded her head quickly but then soon stuck her head into the crevice between her father’s neck and shoulder, looking away from the woman. Soon, with enough of Y/N’s charm, Abby won’t be too shy to even look at her. That’ll be one of Y/N’s missions, as well as teaching her how to ice skate.

“I’m Harry,” the man stated when he realized he hadn’t introduced himself properly yet. He stuck out his hand, waiting for Y/N to grasp it in a friendly shake.

“Y/N. Do you want to sign her up for private lessons? Or group ones? Or both?”

Then they worked out the logistics of when Abby was going to come in for her lessons, the answer being at noon every Monday, Wednesday for her private lessons, and Saturday with a group around her same beginner level.

When everything was settled, including the pricing for the private and group lessons, Y/N took notice of the time and that twenty minutes had passed. She cursed herself mentally, because instead of gaining an extra ten minutes of rest, she now lost ten. She lost time as her and Harry made small conversation over Abby’s sudden need to figure skate and how they had to go searching immediately. The entire time Abby stayed quiet though, hardly lifting her head from her father’s shoulder.

When Y/N escorted the pair out of the rink, Abby quickly glanced at her before ducking her head back out of sight. For some reason, Y/N found the little girl very interesting - not to mention adorable - so she couldn’t wait for Saturday to see her again and hopefully work the girl into warming up to her. Also wouldn’t mind seeing her father again. Although, Y/N did have this lingering thought in the back of her mind that he surely was off limits, because he has a daughter who has a mother, and that mother is probably his wife or fiancee or girlfriend, whatever the case may be. But, Y/N did take notice that he wasn’t wearing a wedding band. Again, not that that means anything, because he could have a girlfriend, or maybe he forgot to put it on today.

So, Y/N pushed all intimate thoughts to the back of her mind because she deemed it useless, and didn’t want to get her hopes up.

Plus, she had a lot bigger, more pressing issues to think about.

When they finally started to separate, their small talk diminishing, a new voice spoke up for the first time that evening. “Daddy?”

Harry quickly looked to his daughter who squeaked out the soft call, raising his eyebrows in surprise, not expecting her to say anything in front of the stranger. “Yes, baby?”

“We get food now?”

Even her voice had Y/N swooning and wanting to coo at the girl. Abby was just that cute.

Then they officially parted ways, not before Harry spoke the words We’ll see you Saturday that had Y/N’s heart pick up pace for whatever reason. We’ll see you Saturday. We’ll see you.

We’ll.

Y/N can’t remember the last time something so trivial made her happy to see the next day. It was stupid, honestly, because why would something so small from someone so irrelevant in her life, make her this excited?

Only time would tell.

And clearly it made a bigger impact on her than she had intended. Because the moment she stepped into her restaurant for the night, her coworker, Kelly, who she likes to think of as her closest friend, immediately picked up on her brighter mood. Y/N was questioned without hesitation, because ever since Kelly met Y/N, she couldn’t help but feel bad for her because Y/N was always on the quieter side, keeping to herself and finding it difficult to open herself up to anyone who was interested. It was rare finding a genuine smile on her face, and so the fact she walked in actually happy something must’ve happened.

Y/N clearly denied because nothing did happen. All that happened was she met an extremely good looking dad with an adorable daughter and she was probably going to keep seeing them for at least a little while. It was just nice having something to look forward to lately.

“Make a move then!” Kelly continued on with their last conversation that had been interrupted.

Y/N rolled her eyes at the statement, finishing up making the bill for her last table. “That’s not gonna happen.”

“And why not?”

“He has a daughter which means there’s a mother who could be his wife or fiancée or girlfriend,” she stresses, turning to her friend with a bored look.

Kelly scoffed, “Or she’s not in the picture. Won’t know until you try.”

“Or I could save myself the embarrassment.”

“You’re the most stubborn person I’ve ever met, y’know that?”

Y/N shrugs, her chin turning towards her shoulder in a mocking manner as if to say she’s proud to hold that title. She was being stubborn but for good reason. She didn’t feel this need to want to make a move and in the end she knew nothing good would come out of it because that tended to be her luck, so she was protecting herself and saving herself from any unwarranted feelings and such.

And the idea of Harry made her sad the more she thought about it. Because being in a relationship was something she couldn’t have. It just wasn’t in her future and over the years she’s grown to get used to that. So it was best she admired from afar, because that would be the only way she could stay… happy.

❊ ❊

Saturday rolled around a lot faster than usual. During a normal week it felt like years until the weekend rolled around – not that the weekend even really mattered because it wasn’t like Y/N got to go out and have fun anymore, but the idea of it being the weekend settled her mind because that was another week down the hatch.

It was also time to finally see Harry again. Maybe she was being dramatic because she only saw him two days ago so really it wasn’t that long of a wait, but Friday’s tended to be her most crucial day and it zipped by no problem.

Her normal Saturday crowd rolled around, and so far there had been no sign of Harry strolling in with Abby. Everyone else in her beginner group had arrived and she couldn’t prolong class any longer, so with a clap of her hands and an instruction to begin the basic maneuvers she had taught them, she tried not to focus on his absence. Why sign your daughter up and not show up? If anything that was more rude than anything, but maybe something important came up and all harsh thoughts flew out of Y/N’s head.

Around fifteen minutes after class started, the familiar clanky bang to the entrance of the rink sounded as someone threw open the door, causing Y/N to glance up, seeing an out of breath father and daughter with looks of nervousness etched across their features. Y/N excused herself for a moment to greet them, giving the pair a warm smile despite all of the negativity swarming her brain.

“I’m so sorry we’re late. Something came up and I– it’s not too late right?” Harry asked worriedly as his daughter just looked up to her new teacher with the same amount of shyness as Thursday.

Y/N dismissed his worry with a simple hand gesture to reassure him, beckoning Abby to sit down so she could help her tie her skates to her feet. She was clad in these pink patterned leggings and a white sweater to keep out the cold matching with little white skates that had pink laces. Y/N could sense the excited energy emitting from her little body the moment her second skate was fastened to her foot. Standing up with Abby’s hand in her own, the two looked back to Harry as he looked beyond nervous for his daughter to touch down on the ice.

“Try not to worry, she’s in good hands. You can go and wait with the other moms over there – and by the looks of it, they seem really excited to meet you,” Y/N paused as her and Harry looked over his shoulder to the mom’s who were ogling him without even trying to hide it. Y/N couldn’t help but giggle at their overt staring, causing Harry’s cheeks to redden and for him to nervously wave at them. “Or you could always leave and come back at one-thirty.”

Harry nodded to her suggestions, taking a glance again at the woman standing around a table and still watching him. “I think… I’ll stay this time. See how her first day goes. I also don’t know how comfortable I am leaving her on her own for the first time just yet,” he rambled, running his fingers through his hair.

Y/N tried her best to hide her smile at how endearing it was to see him be so nervous for Abby, because it genuinely seemed like she was his life even if she’s only known him for a total of thirty minutes. It’s adorable. He’s adorable.

Leaving him to do as he pleases, Y/N led Abby to the rink, hand in hand, introducing her to the other children and going extra slow with her since she already missed a few lessons in regards to the other kids and what they could do already. And for her first day, Abby was doing a pretty job in getting the hang of feeling the ice and letting it glide her along. The little girl had skating in her blood, and Y/N prayed that she stuck with it because she could very easily have an inclination to the sport.

Every once in a while Y/N would look at Harry, seeing him avoiding the flock of mother’s and their constant whispering and staring at him as he stood against the edge of the rink, sometimes looking at his phone, sometimes looking at his daughter and standing upright every time she had a misstep.

That was maybe the most tumultuous and excruciatingly nerve wracking hour and fifteen minutes for Harry to ever have to sit through, even worse than medical school and interning and residency and everything else he’s gone through to get to the point he is now. Watching his daughter, his precious little girl fall on hard ice and trip over her own two feet countless times while he was helpless because he was off on the sides, was the absolute worst and he doesn’t know how he’s gonna manage this for however long she wants to do it.

When he finally got his hands on her again, he hugged her close and congratulated her on her good work for her first day, kissing her face a whole bunch of times to express how worried he was. After what seemed to be fifty kisses, Abby was shoving him away and giggling at how his stubble was scratching her face.

Y/N couldn’t help but stare at how relieved Harry was for the safe return of his daughter into her arms, all but cooing as he planted many pecks of kisses to her cheeks and nose and forehead. She also couldn’t help but wish he’d give her love and affection like that but she laughed to herself at her wishful thinking. Bidding her goodbyes to her beginner group and welcoming her more advanced, Y/N realized at the last moment that Harry and Abby had stayed behind, hoping to get one final word in before she had to go to her next group of kids. Telling her kids to get some laps in around the rink, Y/N made her way over to Harry and could immediately see how relaxed he was now.

This time, it was actually Abby to say something first. Unbeknownst to Y/N, Abby actually really liked her and couldn’t wait to see her again on Monday for her private lesson. “That was s’much fun! I’m g’na be so good my daddy thinks,” she gushed, hugging her father’s leg as she muffled her giggles against his jeans.

“You’re going to be an amazing figure skater,” Y/N responded, reaching her hand down for a high five from the little girl.

“Thank you for… not letting her get extremely hurt or anything. I’m sure my anxiety will go away soon enough,” Harry chimed in, his heart slightly fluttering at the sight of his daughter actually talking to someone without him encouraging her to do so.

“It would be strange if you weren’t nervous,” she shrugged, standing to her full height in her skates, which reached to just below his eyebrows. Turning around to see a few of the girls in their normal bickering fest, Y/N had to excuse herself to tend to her class, bidding her goodbye for the day to Harry and Abby.

And when Harry wasn’t the one to show up on Monday to drop Abby off but her nanny, Y/N couldn’t help but be disappointed. She can’t say she’s surprised since he’s an adult and probably has his own job to tend to at noon on a Monday, but as she guided Abby around the rink with simple skating motions, she wished he was standing against the rink watching them. Though it did spark a question in her, if the nanny was dropping Abby off, was it because there was no one else to look after her meaning he didn’t have a wife or at least someone who lived with him unless she too also worked which wasn’t an odd thing, but Y/N was an overthinker and maybe if she did grow the balls to ask she’d have an answer for herself and get rid of all of this underlying anxiety.

When their time was done for the day, Abby cheerfully said her goodbye, hand in hand with Natalie her nanny. And for the rest of the day, all Y/N could think about was something Abby said to her on the ice, something that sent chills down her spine that weren’t caused by the cool atmosphere of the arena. “My daddy thinks you’re pretty. I think he likes you, but y’can’t tell him I told you.”

❊ ❊

He didn’t come Wednesday either. And she was convinced he wasn’t showing up Saturday because that was just her luck. But, when he did ten minutes before the group lesson started, Y/N couldn’t suppress the smile and this overwhelming sense of relief. Relief about what? She couldn’t quite put her finger on. She figures it because she has a crush on him, and whenever anyone sees their crush it’s hard not to be happy. But that doesn’t settle well in her brain. She doesn’t like the fact that she’s happy to even see someone’s face, she shouldn’t feel this sense of relief that he’s here again, she shouldn’t be focusing on anything other than her jobs and how she was going to afford going grocery shopping this week.

Yet, she happily waved to Abby and blushed at Harry’s genuine smile towards her, immediately thinking of Abby’s declaration from Monday. She internally scolded herself for acting like a little teenager, urging her skin to make itself feel less heated.

It also didn’t help that she told Kelly about this and she had her nagging words playing in her head to just ask the poor guy if he has a girlfriend or a whoever. Abby ran to the nearest bench to remove her boots and tie her skates, which per usual she needed help from Y/N, which Y/N didn’t mind. Harry bent down near her, his hand a few inches from her knee as he picked up his daughter’s boots, their eyes quickly meeting before just as quickly disbanding, before he stood up and quickly shoved her things into an open locker.

And also as per usual, Harry’s heart couldn’t help but flutter as he watched Y/N act so domestically with his daughter, asking her about her day and tying up her skates. His eyes slowly scanned over the features over her face, taking in each little blemish that made her face hers, subconsciously smiling the moment she smiled at something Abby said. He found himself enticed by the way she held her hair back from her face with a bandana wrapped into the ponytail, and couldn’t stop himself from dragging his eyes over her sweater covered shoulders and the curves of her breasts in her shirt, stopping at where her hips sat tucked beneath her leggings.

“Daddy?” A small voice snapped him out of his daze, his face turning red in an instant at the prospect that he had just been caught staring; and he doesn’t even know for how long.

Licking his lips and darting his eyes to his feet then to his daughters face then to anywhere but her he stuttered, “Uh- yeah, love?”

“We going now,” she spoke, her eyebrows furrowing as to why he seemed so nervous.

All he could do was nod his head and purse his lips, sitting himself down on the bench to collect his thoughts. He repeatedly questioned to himself why he had to be so fucking obvious, all but smacking his forehead in embarrassment.

When she turned to walk with Abby, Y/N couldn’t help but smirk to herself as the image of Harry staring at her so intently was now permanently imprinted into her mind. He was checking her out, no doubt about it, and again that sense of relief flooded her body as she relived it over and over again. It was probably a mistake and it was probably one of those things when he just so happened to look at her when he went into deep thought about something totally not related to her, so she can’t hope it’ll happen again, but boy was it nice while it lasted.

When she was instructing everyone on today’s task and glanced over to him leaning against the outside of the rink, she noticed his eyes on her again, but told herself he was too far away to clearly depict what he was looking at and honestly he was probably only keeping his eyes on his daughter.

Because he wasn’t interested in her. Men like him don’t have interest in women like her; broken and unfixable.

It was a load of bullshit, because Y/N knew she deserved something good after all of the bad she’s faced and still currently facing, but he was just too good and someone like him could never settle for someone like her. He wore expensive clothing and his daughter was wearing one of the nicest brands of skates. He most likely had a very stable and successful career and there was no way he could settle for her, a girl who was always days late on her rent.

The unsettling reality made her jaw clench, her throat tighten up, and caused her gut to twist painfully.

If she hadn’t been put through this scenario before she’d say she would’ve broken out into sobs, but she held herself together for the time being, knowing she was going to let a few tears escape her tonight in bed. And, she’d never forgive herself for crying in front of anyone, especially the man that was the root of it.

Yet, her thoughts didn’t stop him from staring. And when she lapped around the ice, passing in front of him and watching his eyes look anywhere but her, it made her believe that maybe he was actually looking when he thought she wouldn’t notice. And suddenly she was back to rethinking before and how his light eyes fixated on her chest before trailing down the curve of her waist and stopping at her hips. It was a sight that would’ve made her knees buckle if she were standing.

When time was up for the day, Y/N let out a sigh at the thought of waiting another week to see Harry. Even if she didn’t let herself imagine a future with him, she still loved seeing his handsome face for the hour and a half they had together. She sounded so pathetic to herself, but when she saw him talking to one of the other mother’s, admiring the movement of his jawline and the dimple that would appear every once in a while on his cheek, it was safe to say she was utterly infatuated with the sight of him and she didn’t care.

Abby all but ran to her father for a hug, hobbling and struggling a little to balance herself on the blades, urging him to pick her up. Harry walked them over to the same bench from before, helping to untie the laces and hand her her boots and jacket. He was quick to notice that Y/N didn’t walk her out of the rink today, seeing her slowly gliding around in circles as she waited for her next batch of skaters to join her. His stomach dropped a little, his mind immediately wondering if he had done something wrong to warrant her unusual absence this time around. It wasn’t possible for him to have upset her anyway, he doesn’t think, so he stood up with Abby in his arms and neared the edge of the rink again, standing to where she was absentmindedly approaching as she was lost in thought.

She didn’t even realize she was about to slam into the wall if it weren’t for Harry sticking his arm out and preventing her body from colliding against the surface. Y/N quickly snapped herself back to the present, eyes going wide in shock as she put at least a foot of distance between herself and the wall, which also unlatched Harry’s arm from her waist.

“I’m – wow, I’m sorry I didn’t realize how close I was to the wall,” she apologized, scrunching her eyebrows at how she could’ve gotten so lost in her own head to not notice a wall that was approaching.

“Have nothing to be sorry for,” he shrugged in response. “Just wanted to say thanks again for watching after her,” he ticked his head at Abby.

“And to say I’ll see you next Saturday. I’m not able during the week to drop her off but I tend to have off on Saturdays. So,” he pauses for a moment, “I, uh – yeah.”

Y/N nodded her head with a small smile, opening her mouth to say she’ll see him next week but he spoke again before she had a chance to push the words up her throat. “Unless I can see you before that.”

Her eyebrows shot up to her forehead, her head slightly cocking to the side at his sentence, wondering if he was asking what she thought he was asking. And again before she had a chance to question him, he beat her to the punch again.

“That was supposed to come out a lot smoother,” he grimaced, nervously laughing to himself as even his daughter looked at him with embarrassment for him. Y/N let out a small chuckle, trying to overlook the fact he just asked her out.

Guess that answers the question if he has a girlfriend.

“Well, I don’t know. Tonight’s my only night off and tomorrow is my only morning off and I think that’s a, uh, little short notice,” her words coming out a lot more sad than she intended. But, maybe at this news he’d say forget about it and just leave her to lonesome because that’s what was best. She needed him to turn it down himself so she wouldn’t feel guilty and so neither of them would harbor any feelings they didn’t need. It would certainly become too messy and Y/N didn’t need more of a mess in her already disorganized life.

But, he didn’t take the bait.

“Tonight works!” He rushed out, hitting himself over and over again mentally as he basically radiated desperateness. “What I meant to say was, I’m available tonight if you are.”

Y/N mulled it over as quickly as she could while on the spot. She couldn’t say no, she never said no, it wasn’t her to say no but there was no way she could possibly say yes. She had to maintain her level of normalcy and that included not going on a date with Harry.

“Yeah… tonight works.”

Well shit.

❊ ❊

“Wear the blue one,” Kelly muffled through the crunch of her chips.

“You think? My boobs kind of,” she paused, aiming the camera of her phone to the shirt on the bed, toying with the dip that sat on her breasts, “Spill out of this one.”

Kelly tilted her head, not blinking at her friend, slowly nodding her head and saying, “That’s kind of the point.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, tossing her phone onto her comforter to use both hands to hook her fancier bra on and slip on the long sleeve blue cotton shirt that tied around the front in a nice bow nestled between her breasts. It felt a bit much for a first date.

But maybe he would be intimidated and put off to how she was showing herself off and wouldn’t want to be seen out with her again. She could only hope.

He insisted he pick her up for the night, and even though he was only going to see the outside of her building, she was nervous he would just smell the poor that stunk up the area. It made her gut wrench and her heart to sink at the idea of him not liking her for her money – or lack thereof, but she really was going to try and enjoy the night.

She deserves one good night.

Her black flare jeans sat snugly on her legs, reaching just up past her belly button, leaving only a sliver of stomach visible between the shirt and jeans. The skin of her chest was a whole different story seeing as how there was basically nothing there to cover her up.

Picking up her friend again to show her final look, Kelly let out a squeal again through her chips, thoroughly agreeing with the choice of attire. “He’s gonna eat you up.”

“Well, I hope not. That’d be an awkward night,” Y/N snickered, tying a black bandana into her usual ponytail.

“Well if you’re lucky he will. In the good way of course,” Kelly winked, eliciting a groan of displease from Y/N.

“Do we know where he’s taking you?”

“Mm, no, he just said to dress casual,” Y/N shrugged, slipping her feet into her flat mules. She actually was pretty satisfied with how she looked for the night, hoping it wouldn’t turn out so horrible. It’d be a shame to waste a nice outfit.

A text notification sent to her phone, alerting her that Harry would be at hers in approximately five minutes. Quick to say goodbye to Kelly and promise to tell her everything, Y/N shut her phone and took the remainder of her alone time to really sit and mentally prepare herself for what was to come.

Trying to navigate how she feels about the entire situation was a lot to take in because it’d probably been close to a year since the last time she even interacted with a male let alone go on any sort of date. She was nervous and intimidated and her anxiety was sky high. She wanted this to go right she really did, but she couldn’t push away those doubts that she would ever meet someone who actually cared about her and properly had their head on their shoulders.

When her phone sounded another notification, Y/N was quick to gather herself and run out of her apartment, giving Harry no time to come to her door even if he wanted. Spotting him standing next to a very nice Mercedes, she had this flashing image of him grimacing at just the sight of her battered front door. But, she smiled at him nonetheless, appreciating the sight of him clad in a nice pinstripe button down shirt with the first two buttons undone, and nearly salivating at the sliver of chest being exposed to her.

And to make everything just so much better, he was holding onto a bouquet of various flowers, looking nervous as ever. Especially when he saw what she was wearing. His eyes nearly popped out of his skull at the sight of her exposed chest and he hates that his cock throbbed under his jeans. “You look… stunning.”

Y/N’s cheeks heated at the compliment, her head bowing down to look at her shoes before looking back up and taking the flowers from his outstretched hands. “Not too shabby yourself, Mr. Styles. These are beautiful, thank you. I don’t even know if I have a vase,” she nervously laughed, sniffing the flowers now in her hands.

“Just, uh- give me a second to put these inside.” And then she was turning on her heel and running back upstairs to toss these on the table by her front door. She made a mental note to buy a vase the next day, all while also keeping Kelly updated on what’s going on through texting.

When she came back downstairs, Harry was still next to his car, hands in his pockets as he looked around at nothing in particular. At the sight of her returning presence, he perked up, opening his passenger door for her. Even the inside of his beautiful car, the smooth tan leather practically calling to her as she neared closer. “This is a beautiful car,” she blurted, sliding into the passenger side.

He closed the door, quickly walking to his side and hopping in, “Thank you, she’s my baby. Aside from my actual baby, that is,” he chuckled, checking his blind spot before heading out onto the road.

The car ride to wherever they were going wasn’t exactly awkward but it also wasn’t the smoothest experience of their lives. It mostly was a consistent bickering back and forth of Y/N asking where they were going. He only had a couple hours in advance to plan something if he planned anything so how much could he have possibly planned for? But, she was excited anyway because this was nice being able to go out even if it were for just one night.

After around twenty minutes of constant back and forth of laughing and stubbornness, Y/N finally saw where on earth he was driving to. And it was the fair from a few towns over that was held this time of year every year. She’d never actually been herself, but she’s heard stories about how lovely it is and her nerves suddenly started to deplete and were replaced by growing bubbles of excitement.

Y/N can’t remember the last time she had been to a fair, if ever in her life and she sort of felt like a little kid in a candy shop. The moment he parked the car and turned it off, she was quick to unlatch her seat belt and jump out of the car, eagerly hopping on the balls of her feet, waiting to get further into the fair. Harry laughed at her giddiness, holding his hand out for her to take - which she easily slid her hand into his - and led her to the ticket booth to purchase a few rounds of tickets for the rows of games and maybe a ride or two.

“I don’t even think Abby was this excited when I took her,” Harry noted, admiring how happy his date was at the sight of cotton candy and the various stuffed animals kids were holding or were still being hung up.

Y/N hardly heard Harry, silently routing for the young boy trying to win his own date a stuffed animal at the ring toss. “Sorry… I just - I don’t think I’ve ever been to a fair, so this is really nice,” she responded softly, looking up to see Harry with furrowed brows before she retracted her gaze and focused on anything but his saddened eyes.

She didn’t mean to sound so depressing. Thinking about her shitty childhood was the last thing she wanted on this night, and she certainly didn’t want whatever pity was brewing inside that head of his. But little to her knowledge, all he was thinking was how badly he wanted to make this night unforgettable for her. And how badly he wanted to get to know her.

“What do you say we start with mini golf then?” He questioned, pointing towards the miniature mini golf that only had nine holes. “Up for a little competition?”

“Up for a little loss?”

“Oh, oh, so that’s how it’s gonna be? Fine, don’t come crying to me when y’lose, darling,” he shrugged, giving the worker the desired amount of tickets before being handed two clubs and two balls, one yellow and one red.

He lost.

Quite badly too.

And Y/N was smug the entire time. But in a completely endearing way, because ultimately she felt bad at how bad he was at mini golf. It was a makeshift set up so all of the holes weren’t even difficult yet somehow Harry managed to never get below a two on his shots. And the entire time Y/N was smiling at him and poking fun, and even though the night had just begun, she didn’t want it to ever end.

And to think she almost said no.

“I should’ve figured you’d be competitive,” he scoffed, mindlessly grabbing her hand back in his as they walked to their next stop. And she didn’t mind.

“That was not me being competitive,” she laughed, pushing his shoulder gently with hers. “Trust me, you’d know when I’m being competitive.”

“If that wasn’t you being competitive, then what is?”

Y/N thought about it for a moment, wondering if it were worth opening up to him even if about this. She just knew the moment she opened her mouth he would have questions and they were all questions she never wanted to answer. But, against her better judgement, she tore down her walls just a little bit. “I’m a figure skater - or was a figure skater. I don’t take anything less than winning. But back there, I maybe messed up a few shots so you could catch up.”

“Oh, how sweet,” he feigned appreciation, bringing his free hand up to his chest as if he was deeply touched. He was about to ask her a follow up question, wondering what she meant by was a figure skater, but she pulled him to the balloon dart booth, geeking out at the little rainbow bear that was hanging above the worker.

“You should get that for Abby! Told me she doesn’t have a favorite color, and I think she’d love a rainbow bear from her daddy,” Y/N insisted, taking the correct amount of tickets from Harry and giving them to the very bored teenage girl.

“Shouldn’t I be winning you the bear?”

“You can win me another one if you want. This one is for your daughter.”

Harry knew Y/N for a total of three days essentially. And he’s spoken maybe a few sentences to her before tonight. Yet, despite the logistics, he so liked her. There was something about the girl next to him that was adamant he win the prize for his baby girl instead of her that made his heart flutter and made his mind swirl. He hardly knew her, yet he could just tell she had a heart made of gold. Every other woman he’s been on dates with over the years were always immediately turned off to the idea of him having a daughter, begging his attention to be solely on them. But not Y/N. She was embracing Abby with open arms both physically and mentally, and that was an automatic yes in his book.

Abby was his everything, his light at the end of the tunnel, his eternal sunshine. They were a package deal, and have been for the past four years. That much was clear to Y/N whenever Harry talked about her, or how his face basically lit up at any question revolving around her. He didn’t go into much detail, but Abby’s mom wasn’t particularly in the picture anymore, so it was just her and him. They were best friends and Harry wouldn’t change that for anything or anyone. And Y/N respected that a lot, absolutely loving how close they were and how much she meant to him. It was sweet and deep down made her envious, wishing she had a relationship like this with her parents.

When he finally won the little bear, he was so proud of himself and agreed that it was the perfect gift for Abby, holding onto it as they walked over to the food concession for something to eat. “I bet she’ll never get rid of it. When she’s eighty and reminiscing, she’ll pull out the bear and immediately think of you.”

“Please don’t say that; I don’t even want to think of her being five,” he shuddered, letting out fake weeps at the thought of his daughter growing up.

“What about her dating? Hm? Wanna think about that?” She teased poking his side causing him to look at her with the nastiest glare he could muster before promptly turning his head away with a huff, his chin sticking high in the air.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry. No talk about her dating or growing up, I swear on it,” she held up her three fingers in scout honor, making him chuckle at her gesture.

“Can I say how good she’s doing in her lessons though? She has a real talent for skating, I think she should go somewhere with it,” Y/N mentioned, grabbing their drinks they ordered as he held their food and walked over to a clear table nearby. “A lot of kids her age or at her beginner level can hardly keep their balance on the ice but, Abby doesn’t need to hold the wall or my hand and that’s only after three lessons. I’m not kidding, Harry, I think she’s meant for this.”

He nodded at her words, surprised at the revelation that Abby actually liked something and was good at it. This wasn’t the first time his daughter gained interest in some hobby before turning on it just a week later. “We’ll have to see if she sticks with it.”

“Maybe you should tell her to. I just don’t want to see something potential be wasted,” she disclosed, dipping a french fry into her little cup of ketchup. Harry picked up on how strongly she felt about this, seeing her get lost in her own thoughts for a few moments before regaining her hold on reality and locking eyes on her date.

“When did you start?” He questioned, biting into the straw of his drink.

She swallowed her fry, twirling the ends of her ponytail around the pads of her fingers. “Started when I was six. It’s good that Abby started early, gives her more time to practice,” she nodded with a smile, and it was so obvious that it was a pained smile as she thought about whatever was going on in her head. And it was hard for him to not notice the obvious deflections every time he tried to ask her about herself.

“Practice for what?”

“Well… What if she can be in the Olympics one day? She’ll need as much experience as possible,” she shrugged back, her voice seeming to grow softer the more they talk about this.

“I assume the Olympics is the ultimate goal?” He wondered, his eyes dancing over the way her face slightly twitched into a frown before being masked by a laugh and bright smile.

“Uh, yeah! It’s every skater’s dream. It’s what we fight so hard for, or maybe that was just me, I don’t know, but wouldn’t it be cool to say your daughter is an Olympic skater or an Olympic medalist? Automatic dad points,” she joked lightly, her eyes hardly meeting her smile.

“Y/N did you ever… make it to the Olympics?” He wanted to ask, he felt he needed to ask, yet at the same time he knew he shouldn’t have. Immediately her fake smile dropped and a layer of sadness washed over her features, something dark flashing across her eyes as her gaze dropped to the table between them.

It’s every skater’s dream. It was her dream, her ultimate endgame, it was everything she wanted and it was within reach of her fingertips. She could practically hold the gold medal in her hand, could see the camera’s flashing, could hear the people cheering, and could feel the adrenaline pumping through her veins as she skated along the prestigious ice.

But it never came true. And it never will.

Instead she’s a part time trainer, and a part time waitress. She can hardly afford her apartment and is just barely getting by. She was just within reach of Heaven, but then she plummeted straight to Hell.

Y/N shook her head softly, eyes glossing over with a light sheen of tears, her teeth nibbling on her bottom lip to help her prevent the pesky tears from falling down her face. Her hands instinctively started tugging on the ends of her hair a little harder as she mentally beat herself up for her lost opportunity. “I, uh - had an accident,” she murmured, finally looking up to meet his stare again. There was something about him that made opening up so much easier than it usually is. Maybe it’s because he genuinely seemed curious and cared to know more about her. Y/N couldn’t exactly tell but for some reason she broke down her walls just the tiniest bit more.

“I fell on a landing at Nationals, which was my entrance to the Olympics if I ranked third or higher. I dislocated my hip and twisted my ankle and that was the end. It happened a long time ago though, I’m over it now, I’ve moved on,” she reassured with that same fake smile, taking a small bite from her burger that she’d barely had touched.

It was clear she hadn’t, but they didn’t touch upon the subject anymore.

“Anyway, what about you? What do you do?”

Harry’s main flaw - at least to him - was that he was such a nosey person. The way their conversation around her sort of just terminated abruptly did not sit well with him and that was because there was so much more to the story that she wasn’t letting on. He figures though that since this is only a first date, he can’t pry too much into her life because he doesn’t want to drive her away. Despite her being closed off about herself, he really liked her and he really didn’t want to mess this up.

“I’m a pediatric surgeon,” he spoke nonchalantly, as if it weren’t an actual big deal. But, when he looked up to see Y/N’s eyes bulging out of her head, he guessed he was wrong, it is a big deal.

“You’re a surgeon? Like Alex Karev from Grey’s Anatomy, pediatric surgeon?”

Harry laughed at the comparison. It wasn’t the first time someone brought it up. “Yeah, but a little more real.”

“That’s… Wow, that’s so cool. What made you want to do pediatrics?” She hummed, swallowing her final fry, and chasing it down with the last of her soda.

“Abby. When she was born she had a small abnormal murmur in her heart and I knew that from that moment I wanted to do everything I could for parents and their children.”

As if he wasn’t perfect enough, he just had to be a children’s doctor. It was as if he took Y/N’s heart and strangled it in love and admiration, then stomped on it and left it lying in the dirt beneath their feet. She didn’t match him on any level. She was far from successful and he was so far past it.

All Y/N could continuously think was how could this possibly work out? She was trying her best to look on the bright side, to think positive thoughts, but she just… couldn’t. Him and Abby deserved good, not broken.

The rest of their time at the fair went fairly smooth. They were happy and joyous aside from their little chat when eating and if Y/N didn’t overthink too much, she’d want to see Harry again. She was free in the morning and was tempted to ask him to breakfast or brunch or something. She didn’t want this to end, she wanted to live in this happy bubble for the rest of her life. But, she couldn’t be selfish and needed it to end. It would be good for both of them if they just put this behind them.

When Harry pulled up to the curb in front of her building, he put the car in park and was quick to run around to the other side to open her door before she could get the chance. He took her hand and helped her out leading her to the door that led to the stairway. And if it were being selfish, Y/N didn’t care as she asked him to walk her to her door.

They stood in the small hallway, right outside the old wood of apartment 2, neither of them knowing what to say. But, then in an instant, nothing needed to be said as Harry leaned forward slotting his lips against hers in a quick kiss, his hands coming to rest on the sides of her face as her hands held onto his firm shoulders.

It only lasted a few seconds, maybe five at best, but those five seconds said so much more than anything they actually spoke the entire night. Y/N knew there was no way she was going to be able to let him go, because he was the best thing to happen to her in a long time, and why should she have to give it up? Despite all of the negativity swarming around in her brain she still wanted to get to know him, and she definitely wanted to kiss him more. Maybe it would turn out to be a mistake, but what’s life without a little risk?

The moment Harry touched his lips to hers, feeling the soft plushy texture of her mouth that he had been dreaming of kissing since the moment he first laid his eyes on her hours ago, he knew he was whipped. He knew her for three days and he couldn’t imagine not being able to kiss. And maybe he was desperate or pathetic, but what’s life without a little leap of faith?

“Goodnight Harry.”

“Goodnight Y/N.”

❊ ❊

Saturday’s became their day. It was Harry’s only full day off and Y/N’s only night off, so it became convenient for their dates that have now been on every Saturday for the past two months. And ever since that first date, it was easy for them to say they’ve never been happier.

Y/N’s still trying to find her footing in this whole relationship thing, still finding it hard to believe that some like Harry could possibly like her. She was coming around though. Abby made it a point to tell her every time she saw her when her father wasn’t with her that he says hello and wishes he could be there. Then Y/N would ask her the same every time she left.

The first week after their original date, Harry had walked in with Abby, and without even thinking about it, walked up to Y/N and planted a soft kiss to her right cheek, despite the gawking eyes of the mother’s behind him. They could practically feel everyone’s eyes on them, but it was okay, because it was just a little price to pay for happiness.

That same night he took her out to dinner - at her restaurant of all places, and the entire night was a mess of embarrassment as her coworkers sent her coy looks every now and again that Harry could also very obviously see. Y/N tried to pretend that she didn’t know any of them, but when their waitress also just so happened to be Kelly of all people, it was hard to ignore. And it made for quite the conversation when she had to tell him she worked two jobs and that’s why she hardly had time to even breathe during the week.

What surprised her most when she told him of her misfortunes, was how well he listened. He didn’t seem turned off to the fact she didn’t have one singular stable job, like other men have in the past, and rather he seemed like he didn’t care at all. It was a nice change of pace for Y/N to have someone who seemed interested in her rather than just sex.

Two months had passed and the topic of sex hadn’t really been brought up either. Which again was a total shocker to Y/N since she’s so used to guys asking as soon as they meet her. Yet, the only time she and Harry had mentioned it was when they had been in his car one Saturday night, things getting a little heated as she climbed onto his lap, their mouths dancing together as their tongues lapped over one another.

The make out session wasn’t even meant to get as intense as it did, the gentle rocking of their hips together and the sloppy kisses placed on each other’s necks while her fingers tangled into the curls of his hair and his palms rested gently on her hips right over the swell of her butt, all of it wasn’t even supposed to get that far. But it felt way too good to stop.

Y/N always put her romantic life on the back burner in regards to trying to navigate her actual life instead. Having sex or finding love was something she hardly let herself think about, but when she could feel Harry’s growing erection beneath her center, she forgot how badly she wanted this. It took everything in her to separate their mouths, a trail of spit connecting their swollen lips. It was too much too fast and she wanted to take it slow. She needed to take it slow in order for it to not end just as quick as it started.

And Harry respected her wishes. He didn’t want to mess things up just as badly as her, if not more, and if she didn’t want things to go further, he had no choice but to abide by that.

That didn’t stop him from thrusting his cock into his fist that very same night as he remembered the way she slowly grinded her center against his, the texture of her velvety tongue sliding against his. Those thoughts led him to imagine how her warm mouth would feel against his bright red tip, slowly sinking down further and further until he was grazing the back of her throat.

Since that night the topic of sex hadn’t been mentioned.

When this Saturday rolled around, Y/N was beyond excited for their weekly date night. With their busy schedules it is always hard to see each other during the week no matter how hard they try to fit in some time, so the weekend was always built on a bit of excitement to see one another. And this Saturday was no different, especially since it was Y/N’s turn to plan their night.

After he and Abby left from the usual Saturday lesson, Y/N told him to meet her back at the rink around eight. It wasn’t an expensive date and it doesn’t need a far in advance planning, but this night was truly going to make or break their relationship, because it was easily going to be the most important for Y/N. She planned on opening up to him more than she had with anyone else, and she needed to do that in the comfort of her sanctuary, because - for lack of a better term - she was shitting bricks.

As per usual Harry had arrived right on time. Measuring time had to be their biggest difference, because Y/N always felt like she had a lot more time than she really did, which resulted in her always being late for everything. Harry on the other hand was a very organized man and scheduled himself perfectly to go about his days. Yet the more time they spent with one another, the more they started to adapt to the other, Y/N not being so late anymore and Harry not being brutally early.

Though he did arrive just a minute after eight.

It was a start though.

From the time the rink closed at six, up until the moment Harry walked in the door, Y/N had been busy decorating every inch of the place, setting up their little picnic at one of the tables, stringing lights all around the rink it self, and mastering the best playlist that would be echoing around them until they leave.

Dinner consisted of Harry’s favorite chicken parmesan from her other job that he continued to rave about up until this day because it was just that good, as well as the cookie crumble dessert that had his mouth watering every time he thought about it.

When she saw him knock at the closed entryway, she took a deep breath before scurrying over to him, letting him in from the night time chill outside. They greeted each other with a soft kiss on the lips before she all but dragged him further inside. “Can you guess what we’re doing today?”

Harry’s jaw dropped in anguish, his eyes screwing shut as he whined about the impending future of their night. “Just because my daughter is a prodigy, does not mean I am,” he sighed as Y/N giggled, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as she stood on her tiptoes to try and match his eye level.

“Try not to worry, you’re in safe hands,” she spoke cooly, recalling what she once said to him about Abby. There’s a reason Abby is learning and - not to toot her own horn or anything - she wouldn’t be anywhere without Y/N coaching her through it.

So, how hard could it be to teach Harry?

The answer was very hard.

After they finished their dinner, sitting for a few minutes to let it settle within them, Y/N had to practically rip Harry off of the bench. It didn’t help that they both also had two glasses of wine coursing around in their veins, which raised Harry’s stubborn attitude from a seven to seventeen on a scale of one-to-ten.

He was nervous, that much was obvious, but if he didn’t relax everything was going to be a lot more difficult for the both of them. “Why don’t you skate your little heart out and I’ll just stay right here,” he gestured to the wall of the rink where he usually stood during Abby’s lessons.

“Where’s the fun in that? C’mon, you can even hold onto the wall. Please?” She begged, clasping her hands together under her chin as she pouted her bottom lip and giving him her best puppy dog eyes.

How was he meant to say no to that face?

Y/N must’ve gotten a few tips from Abby on how to win over Harry’s heart, because within a few moments he was caving in and ripping the pair of skates she picked out for him right out of her hands, grumbling a few not so innocent words under his breath. He sat on the nearest bench with a very exaggerated sigh, almost like a child trying to make their point that they were not happy. Y/N wonders if he took that out of Abby’s book.

Watching him trying to even stand on the thin blades was a sight in itself, and Y/N couldn’t wait to get him out on the ice. He looked sort of like a penguin as he waddled across slowly, hand clenched tightly in Y/N’s as he tried to keep his balance. “Y/N I can hardly even bloody walk on a stable surface, how d’ya think m’gonna manage on ice? It’s hard enough to walk on ice and now I’ve got skates on! I’m g’na crack my skull open,” he rambled on, throwing in a few more curses here and there. Y/N knew it was him trying to stall, but it wasn’t going to work.

“Will you relax, I won’t let you crack your skull open,” she shook her head, pushing open the gate to the rink and stepping down easily on the ice first.

The moment his first skate touched down, he almost slipped forward and almost collapsed in a split, making Y/N try her best to not break out into a heap of laughter. He grabbed onto her arm even tighter as he eased his second foot onto the slippery surface, probably leaving bruises for the next day.

“How the hell does Abby do this? M’scared shitless, hope you know,” he grumbled, trying to scoot a little past the wall, but again nearly falling on his ass.

“Hold my hand, let me pull you so you get a feel of the ice,” she contained her giggles. He was hesitant though as he stood in his place, slightly swaying back and forth as he tried to gain the courage to move his foot an inch forward.

Y/N looked at him with soft eyes, observing all of the nerves that were dancing across his features. Lacing her fingers in his, she raised her free hand to his face, getting him to look at her rather than his feet. “You trust me right?” she murmured, looking into his vibrant eyes.

He almost immediately nodded his head in response, a slight look of confusion carving into his face as his eyebrows scrunched together and his eyes flashed between hers. “Of course, why’re you asking?”

“If you don’t want to fall, I need you to trust me,” she spoke reassuringly, leaning up to place a quick peck to his lips before joining him back at his side. Harry took a deep breath in, giving her hand a squeeze before he followed in her instructions and guided along the wall at a slow pace.

Trust was obviously the most important aspect to any sort of relationship, and especially to Y/N. Through her whole life she struggled keeping trust in anyone, and she felt she spent so much of her life getting people to entrust her, yet she can’t remember trusting anyone like she trusted Harry. And it was such a refreshing feeling to see that he trusted her just the same. That’s why this night meant a lot to her, because if he could trust her with his well being and his daughter’s, then it was only right to return the favor.

After his initial fear and trepidation, Harry finally developed a basic movement that helped him in his skating endeavors. He was beginning to gain pride in himself for not falling on his ass yet. They slowly made their way around in one lap after about twenty minutes of missteps and yelps in anxiety. The biggest thing they were going to take away from this experience though was how much fun they’re having. If anything, it’s always good to look on the bright side of things and appreciate the good amongst all of the bad.

When they made it back to the gate, Harry declared that was enough for one night on his part, and couldn’t get off the ice any faster. Y/N was about to follow him, when she mulled over an idea in her head, looking back to the ice. He noticed she wasn’t trailing behind him, and wondered why she seemed stuck in her place. She looked lost in thought, looking around her as she bit her lip in concentration before finally snapping her gaze to meet his after a few calls of her name.

“Is everything oka-”

“This has been my life, my entire life. I don’t know a world outside of this and I’ve kept myself closed off for years. Before you, I don’t think I’ve been on a genuine date… ever because I’ve always been so scared,” she rambled, pacing herself back and forth on the ice.

Harry kept quiet, standing next to the wall now, leaning his upper body down on his elbows. “I’ve been so scared of people getting to know me and my past and my fucking demons that I’ve never given myself the chance to be happy. I grew up privileged, I had - or my parents had money and I was blessed to be able to skate without having to worry about prices or anything of the sort. But, that came with a price which was my parents never letting me breathe and pushing and overworking me, telling me that since they were spending so much money on me that I couldn’t settle for less than the best.

“And I mean, I wanted to be the best anyway; everyone does. But knowing they would be disappointed if I were to get second because I was a tenth of a point behind, hurt like hell. Then, Nationals came and if I placed in the top three, I was going to the Olympics. I was the most confident I had ever been. I knew the choreography, I knew my timing, and I knew how to fucking land… but then I fell. Hard. Twisted my ankle and shattered my hip and it was safe to say I wasn’t going to Russia.”

Y/N looked to her feet and let out a mocking laugh, not even caring that a few tears managed to escape her eyes as she rehashed her past. “As soon as I was able to walk again, my parents kicked me out. Tossed me to the curb and told me to never look back. No money, no friends, no idea of what to do.”

Harry’s heart yearned for his girlfriend. He could tell she had some murky past that always kept her quiet and avoided the topic at all costs, but he never would've guessed it to be like this. He tried to butt in but she held up her hand to stop him, asking him to let her finish. He retracted himself, allowing her to continue on. Harry’s heart yearned for his girlfriend, but it also swelled in pride as she felt comfortable enough to want to share this with him.

“I find it hard to trust anyone because I’m always scared they’ll hurt me like my parents did. If my parents could treat me that way then what’s stopping anyone else?” She took a breath before inching herself closer to Harry, coming to stand right in front of him. “But… then I met you and I find it so easy to let you in, and I think that scares me more than anything. You’re the only person I’ve told this too and I’m working on opening myself up more, I am, I just - it’s gonna take some time. My heart is in your hands, Harry… and I’m begging you to please take care of it.”

Y/N finally finished, swallowing down the clump in her throat, her forehead involuntarily pressing against Harry’s as silence swarmed them. Her doors were opening and her walls were falling down and anxiety traveled up her spine as she slowly stepped out of the dark and into a world she’s never known; A world filled with comfort and happiness. If someone told her two months prior that she would be feeling like this, whatever this is, over a man that was way out of her league, she would’ve laughed in their face and tell them to kindly fuck off.

A few tortuously slow seconds passed by, tears still slowly trickling down her face that Harry took upon himself to brush away. With her doubts and self-deprecating thought process, she was sure he was going to turn around and walk out of her life, leaving her to suffer and wallow alone, just like she was used to. But, then she felt the soft press of his lips against hers, and her body broke down into a pile of tears and cries as relief flooded her.

Y/N grabbed onto his face and pulled him harder against her, their kiss filling with passion and ardor. He held her close, not letting her slip away from him as they broke apart, their foreheads resting against each other again, their noses brushing and their breaths mingling. They smiled at one another, mutually agreeing that actions speak louder than words.

“I promise, I’m gonna take care of you, Y/N.”

And then they were kissing again, this time not as intense but the adoration for one another still leaked through the seams. At this moment, right now, this is exactly where they belonged. In one another’s arms, holding on tight to that trust and pushing aside their worries.

This was all that mattered.

❊ ❊

“I know you’ve got your lavish lifestyle, so please, bear with me,” she cautioned him as she shoved the key into the lock of her apartment door. Y/N had been to his house and it was beautiful as she expected it to be. There was actual room for people to walk around and not feel like they were crowding each other.

Y/N hadn’t actually ever had anyone to her apartment, but even alone she felt crowded in the tight space. When stepping in, the door to the bathroom was on the right, and her living room / bedroom was ahead while her small kitchen and little dining table sat on the left. (this is how i imagine it to look)

The grey blue paint of the walls were chipped in certain places that Y/N has been meaning to fix but hasn’t gotten around to doing. The carpeting looked old and in a certain spot right next to the couch there was a stain from when she accidentally spilt red wine and never was able to get rid of it. A few chinese take out cartons littered her table that she never cleaned from the night before while a few random clothes were strewn about on the floor or her bed. She mentally slapped herself for not thinking ahead and cleaning up after herself, hoping he doesn’t turn around now at the pigsty of an apartment.

“I’m not always this much of a slob…” she grimaced, quickly throwing the empty cartons in the trash, smiling sheepishly at Harry.

“If I didn’t have Natalie, I’m sure my place would look a lot worse,” he brushed her off, looking around at the books she had stacked on a shelf and the small collection of CDs. “I like you, Y/N, a lot. A messy apartment won’t change that.”

Y/N took in a calming breath and nodded her head, trying not to run around and fix everything that was out of place. Instead, she walked over to him and wrapped her arms around his torso from behind, and watched as he shuffled through the CDs, wondering who piqued her interest musically. Just when he was about to tell her he admired her taste, she turned his body around to face her, her soft eyes gazing up at him, lust dancing across her irises.

“Harry?” she coaxed, a hint of flirtation laced into her voice.

“Hm?”

“Can we have sex now?” she wondered, tilting her head to the side by a fraction, like a little puppy or a curious cat.

Harry’s eyes widened slightly at her forwardness, her question making him gulp in shock. They both knew this was exactly why they came here, but just thought that this was happening was enough to send a chill down his spine. His hands came up to cradle her jaw, desire flooding his veins as various images of her naked body circled around his brain, and as he could practically hear her whiney moans filling the air.

His mouth connected to hers in a fast movement, his tongue swiping across her bottom lip to allow him access to meet hers. She greedily opened her mouth, walking them over the few feet to her bed. The back of her knees met with the mattress, her almost falling over, but Harry held her up. One of his hands wrapped itself into her hair, pulling her head back and exposing her neck to him. He peppered wet kisses along the skin of her jaw, before trailing down to the collar of her sweater.

“Can I take this off?” He mumbled, tugging on the hem of the purple sweater that adorned her torso. Y/N ushered out a small ‘yes’ bringing her arms above her head as he brought it up and tossed it to the side somewhere. His eyes fixated on her chest, her breasts nestled into a black lace bra. Harry was practically salivating at the sight, immediately his mouth pressing against her chest, and he traveled down until his lips met her navel, his knees touching the soft carpet beneath them. His hands caressed her bottom, softly kneading the flesh clad in her leggings.

His eyes met back up with hers as an unspoken agreement was shared, him pulling down the soft black material as it pooled at her ankles. Soon they too were tossed aside, leaving Y/N in her matching underwear set that had Harry seeing stars. Normally, she would be nervous about someone seeing her in such a vulnerable state, but just like everything else lately, she’s never been more comforted in the presence of her lover. The way he looked at her body as if it were heaven, his eyes roaming over every inch without a look of apprehension or disgust.

Harry pushed her to lay back on the bed, keeping her feet on the ground as her knees bent at the edge. He placed a kiss on her covered pubic mound, his mouth ghosting over her pulsing core as he bit down softly into the flesh of her thigh, just next to her core. A small whimper left her mouth as he breathed a line of cool air to her heated center before sucking on her other thigh, again going right over where she wanted him most.

His fingers hooked into her panties, bringing them down her thighs, leaving her completely exposed to him as he then spread her legs wide enough for his shoulders to fit between. “So beautiful,” he purred, eyeing her wet pussy with fervor.

Then a second later he was licking a broad stripe through her folds, the tip of his tongue circling around her clit. A moan escaped her throat as she rocked her hips gently to gain more friction against his tongue. He took her legs and draped them over his shoulders as he began to mouth away at her dripping hole, gathering up all of the wetness dripping out of her. He moaned at the taste of her, the vibrations of his noises hitting against her and causing her to shiver at the sensation before a moan of her own was let out.

He reached up to hands, bringing them to his hair, urging her to tug on his curls when he dipped his tongue inside of her cunt. Y/N’s eyes rolled to the back of her head, her hands fisting his hair and pulling on his roots harshly, the sounds of their groans mixing together.

“Harry,” she cried out, her heels digging into his back as she tried to push him impossibly closer to her heat. “Shit... you’re so go-good at this.”

She could feel him smile against her from her words before licking away at her and sucking her clit into his mouth. One hand remained on her thigh, holding on tightly while his other met her pussy, one finger dipping into her and thrusting in at a slow pace. She whined as he added another finger, quickening his pace as he could feel her walls clench around his digits.

“You’re so tight, love. Can’t imagine how y’gonna feel against m’cock,” he grinned, looking up at her through his lashes, leaving one final wet kiss to her clit before removing himself from her completely, her feet falling back to the floor with a thud. She gasped at the loss of contact, eyes rushing over his figure as she tried to coax him back to her.

He giggled at her impatience, stripping himself of jeans and sweater, the bulge in his briefs looking like it hurt as it strained against the material. He palmed himself, a whimper leaving his throat before he leaned down over her and moving themselves further up the bed. He grinded his center against hers, his precum and her wetness leaving a patch of moisture at the front of his briefs. Y/N gulped at the feeling of his covered cock, measuring in her head just how big he was. She assumed he had some length and girth to him just by his aura, but she didn’t expect this big.

When he finally kicked off his underwear, his bright red tip slapping against the underbelly of his bellybutton, Y/N’s jaw all but fell off at the sheer size of him. Immediately she wondered if he was even going to fit inside her or how badly the burn of the stretch of her walls was going to be. It had been a while since she had sex, and now she was nervous.

“Are you even sure that’ll fit inside of me?” She questioned, nibbling at her bottom lip as she looked into his eyes with a little worry.

Harry pursed his lips to contain his smile, leaning down and giving her a quick kiss before whispering, “We’ll take it slow.”

They engaged themselves into a soft make out session, the final piece of clothing being her bra thrown over his shoulder, leaving the two of them completely and utterly bare and vulnerable for the other. No part of this entire night felt rushed and neither of them had this urge to just get it over with. No, instead they took their time with each other, allowing themselves to get used to this new step in their relationship. This night solidified just how serious they were about each other, and taking things slow helped that. It wasn’t about reaching that orgasm or the amazing feeling that comes with it. It was about them and how much this meant.

After he rolled a condom down his length, he positioned himself at her entrance before lacing their hands together and settling them on either side of her head. Then slowly and tenderly, Harry pushed himself in, cries of pleasure leaving their mouths as he stretched her walls. He didn’t thrust himself all the way in at one go, instead rocking his hips slightly back and forth, pushing just a little bit further each time he reentered her allowing her time to accommodate his size. When he was finally all the way in, Harry nearly passed out as her tightness squeezed around him. He stilled himself for a moment, giving her a second to breathe before he pulled back and thrusting back in with a harsher movement.

Y/N was right when she knew there was going to be a burn as her muscles widened around him, and she felt wetness prick at the corner of her eyes before she blinked them away before he could notice. She raised her head to capture his lips in a kiss, looking to distract herself as the pain slowly dissipated into pleasure. Their tongues lapped over one another as Harry quickened his pace, his hips slapping against hers in a more feverish manner. Soon enough, all Y/N could feel was immense pleasure as her once denied orgasm began to build back up.

The tip of his dick, reached so far into her that she could feel him brush against her cervix, a hazy feeling clouding her brain. When he felt her thighs tighten around his waist, and her walls began to flutter around him, he brought one of his hands to her clit, rubbing quick circles on it with his thumb. “G’na cum for me, baby? G’na let y’self go?”

Y/N moaned in response, her eyes screwing shut as he delivered a hard thrust to her special spot, her climax flooding her body quick and hard. She’s never felt herself get off that much, not knowing that she was even capable of that grand of an orgasm. The moment her body calmed down, she felt herself go into a dreamlike state as exhaustion hit her like a train. Harry continued to pound into her, working himself to his own high. Y/N quivered at her sensitivity, but urged him to continue because she wanted to see how beautiful he looks when he comes undone.

His jaw dropped open in the slightest as his abdomen clenched and his prick twitched, the familiar feeling starting in his balls shooting up through his spine before he released into the condom. A lewd string of curses fell from his lips as he gently continued to ride out his orgasm, his body completely spent as they both panted out quick breaths.

Slowly Harry removed himself, taking off the worn condom and tossing it into the garbage before joining her back in bed. “Should get cleaned up,” he muttered, still catching his breath and calming down.

“Mm,” Y/N hummed, turning herself over so her legs tangled with his and her arm draped over his sweaty torso.

Minutes went by when neither of them said anything, and Y/N was convinced he had fallen asleep as his breaths became more steady. But there was one thought on her mind that she needed to get off of her chest, because ever since they started dating it’s been eating away at her. She wanted to get it out of the way as felt her eyes getting heavier.

“Harry?”

A few moments pass before he softly answers, “Yeah?”

“What does Abby think of me? Not as her trainer but y’know… your girlfriend? She tells me how close she is with her mother and I just - I don’t know,” she shrugged, resting her chin on his chest to look up at him.

Harry looked at her, his one hand gently pushing the hair away from her eyes. “She’s the one that told me to take you on that first date.”

Y/N was shocked at this, her eyebrows shooting up at his confession. She knew the little girl liked her as her teacher and the one showing her how to skate properly, but Y/N never knew how she felt about her being the girl her father was dating. Kids don’t always understand how relationships work and Y/N feared the little girl would end up hating her since she was with Harry and her mother wasn’t. “Really?”

He nodded, “She admires you, Y/N. Yeah, she’s close with her mother but in all fairness I think she likes you more.”

“Oh, don’t say that!”

“Why not? It’s true. She can see how happy you make me and I think that’s all that matters to her,” he surmised with a shrug of his shoulders. At this, Y/N couldn’t help but smile, connecting their lips in a gentle kiss before her eyes fluttered close as she nudged her nose against his in a little eskimo kiss.

She was convinced he was her happy ending. He was the voice she loved hearing, and the person that made her life just a little stressful. And boy, she was happy Abby decided to take up skating lessons.

“You make me happy too.”

#WOW #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles au #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfic #harry styles #one direction fanfiction

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zmediaoutlet · 3 years

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in support of Texas relief, @doilycoffin donated $100, and requested Liam & Cordell Walker. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post.

(read on AO3)

One of Liam's earliest memories is the time Cordell dropped him on his head. Not actually accurate at all to the way it went but that's how it's told in the family mythology. He was really little, three maybe or four—for some reason that part's indeterminate—and Cordell was climbing the stable and playing adventurer, or maybe just showing off and the adventurer part was a good excuse. Liam was following Cordell around like he always did and he tried to climb up, too, on the fence that kept in the horses when they were let out for their run, and Cordell told him no and that he was too little but Liam was determined to try. Cordell climbed back down and tried to steady him where he'd made it up to the top rung of the fence, and Liam lost his balance anyway, and fell straight backwards and landed headfirst on the dirt. There was a little rock and then a lot of blood, and then stitches, and Mama fussing and their dad ripping Cordi a new one—Liam doesn't even remember that it hurt—but the part that sticks it as a memory is how they all rode together in the truck back and forth from the doctor and Cordell held his hand in the backseat and he was crying, the whole way home, a silent seeping kind of crying that made his face a shiny mess. Liam thinks about that weirdly often. Cordi looking out the window and crying.

When the story gets retold for new friends, or the kids, or Cordell's buddies from the Rangers come around for coffee and Mama's pecan pie, they tell it that Cordell's so clumsy he dropped his baby brother on his head. Liam sort of hates it, every time. Cordell laughs and does the aw shucks routine he's so good at, relaxed with his beer and shrugging embarrassed apology. When Liam was about to head off to college, his eighteenth birthday dinner, Daddy told the story again as a kind of miracle survival, and Liam got up from the table real fast and went out onto the porch, annoyed for some reason beyond measure. It was Cordi who got up and came after him and said, a little cautious, "What's up, Stinker?" and Liam said to him, mad, "Why don't you ever tell people it was me? I was the one climbing up after you. It's not like you did it on purpose."

Cordell just blinked at him. "What does it matter?" he said. "You were the baby and I was a dumbass kid. So what?" He hooked his arm around Liam's neck and he smelled like sweat and Old Spice and that laundry detergent Emily bought that wasn't anything like the one they used at home. Liam pushed at his side but didn't try hard to get away. Not that it would've worked. "It's how we figured out how hard that head was, right? Come on. Mama's gonna wonder if you didn't like the brisket."

Liam let himself be dragged back into the house, and Cordi pushed him down into his chair right between him and Emily, and Emily smiled at him easy, and passed him the potatoes. "One month 'til the dorms," she said, very quiet so no one else could hear under Cordell telling some awful lie about Liam having gas, and Liam laughed, surprised, and it just happened that it was the same time everyone else laughed so that was okay. He always liked Emily. Cordell punched his thigh lightly on his other side, and gave him a warmer more real smile, and Liam dropped it, and he didn't complain about the story again.

Seven years between them. Liam always wondered if he was an accident, even if Mama said that with Cordell going to school she was ready to have another baby around the house. Cordell was always the one who was getting into trouble. Rambunctious, loud, falling headfirst into things and getting dragged out covered in mud. Liam learned from his example what not to do. Do not: run along the bleachers at the football stadium and vault the handrails until your foot gets caught and you fall and snap your wrist clean in two. Do not: get caught drinking beer with your high school girlfriend behind the horsebarn, and make Daddy give the most mortifying sex talk in the world afterward. Do not: make friends with the most delinquent-ass kid in the whole hill country and wind up explaining every other week why, really, he wasn't that bad, give him a chance—

Somehow even then he was the golden child. Not the best grades, not the most obedient. That wasn't what their dad cared about. Cordell was good on a horse, good on his feet. Respectful when it mattered and devil-may-care when it didn't. In high school he was the quarterback, of course he was, and Liam was right there in the stands with their parents every Friday night, cheering his lungs out. Weirdly boastful with his fourth-grade friends: his older brother was the star of the football team. His older brother could ride a bull for ten seconds and get off hardly winded. Bookish, kind of short, he needed the borrowed glory of Cordell's success to be proud of. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it got him pushed over on the soccer field while some bigger boy went, gawd, William, who cares?

Liam never got in trouble. Never broke a bone. After bringing Cordell back from the hospital with a fresh new cast on his ankle and a dopey slightly-drugged smile on his face, Mama settled him in bed with Liam's help and turned off the light and then, in the kitchen, sighed and said, "Liam, you are a real relief to the mind, do you know that?" He was proud of that, too, in that moment. It wasn't until later that it nagged at him. A therapist asked him, much later in a sleek Manhattan office that smelled faintly of sage, "Do you think your predilection for being contrarian results from that time?" He went home annoyed with her, and was more annoyed when he told Bret the story and Bret didn't even turn around from the carbonara he was making and said, "Babe, you're the most contrary person I know."

He wasn't. He didn't—think he was. He… was, he realized, after a week of sitting with it, and a week after that it made sense. He didn't pick fights, and he didn't make waves. His rebellion was quiet. His hard head, forcing him to make his own space in the world. Not able to live up to Cordell and knowing instinctively that it would be awful even to try—and so taking the opposite turn, every time. It was better than being compared, even if he knew there was no chance but to be compared.

He studied hard. He read, all the time. He liked math and literature equally and did equally well in both. He hated P.E. but he did what he could there, too, and he learned to ride even if he didn't actually love horses the way the rest of the family did, and when Daddy asked if he wanted to join up with the little league baseball Liam asked to play soccer, instead, and Daddy frowned but Mama said, "Why not, I've seen enough boys drop foul balls for a lifetime." So, soccer, and most of his games were during the day or on Saturday mornings, but Cordi came to a lot of them anyway, and when Liam's team won Cordi would jump down onto the field and grab him up by the waist and crow David Beckham, right here! Little David Beckham for sale! Liam would struggle and then he'd be slung headfirst over Cordell's shoulder like a potato sack and his face would get so red from laughing that it hurt.

On September 12, 2001, Mama and Daddy were gone from the house when Liam got home from school and he was glad for it. That was a Wednesday. He was in sixth grade. The teachers weren't even trying to hold normal lessons and everyone was talking about what had happened the day before. Melissa Kettering was out that day and the rumor was that her dad had been on a business trip in New York. Liam had raised his hand and asked the social studies teacher if there was going to be a war, like there was after Pearl Harbor, and she sat down on her desk and shook her head and didn't answer.

He was trying to read his book for English when the phone rang. Cordell, calling from his apartment in town. Hey, buddy, he said, over the line, and Liam sat down on the floor by the phone table and closed his eyes, unaccountably almost about to cry. Is Daddy there? Liam told him he was home alone. Lucky, Cordi said, you can totally throw a rager, and Liam didn't laugh, and neither did Cordell, even though he always laughed at his own stupid jokes. Hey, um. I shouldn't—I don't know if I should tell you this but I've gotta tell someone, and Em's in class, and I just have to—I did something, and I need to—

He interrupted himself and Liam could hear him breathing over the line. He didn't want Cordell to say anything. If he didn't say anything then Liam could pretend that he was going to tell a story about some party they'd gone to at Emily's sorority, or that Hoyt had come back into town and they'd seen a show at ACL, or that he was gonna come stay that weekend, and maybe he and Liam would go riding. Anything but what he was about to say. Liam could hear it, in his head. He could hear it like it had already been said and it was echoing, now, inside, like a verse from a song he'd always, always remember.

Cordell graduated from the Marine boot camp on a Saturday in the middle of December. Liam went along even if he wasn't allowed to attend the actual ceremony and Daddy complained about the cost of the plane tickets until Mama told him to shut up. Liam sat between them on the flight and it was the first time he was ever in the air. Over the top of Mama's crossword book he watched the clouds go by over New Mexico, Arizona, with complete wonder. San Diego, then, different to Austin—palm trees, and the air so wet, and even the parking lot at their hotel smelling like warm flowers.

Mama gave him fifty dollars before they left for the graduation. They were bringing Cordell back, after, because they got one night with him before they had to give him back to the military. "Order a pizza," she said, "at 4:30 exactly, and we should get back at the same time the pizza comes so we can all eat together." Liam watched American Pie on the hotel tv while he waited, something he would never have been allowed at home. He made the call when he was supposed to, and when the girl on the phone asked him what toppings his mind went completely blank because he was never allowed to make that decision. Cordi liked ham and pineapple and none of the rest of them did. Liam ordered it with extra pineapple.

When a knock came on the hotel room door Liam jumped up to open it, cash in hand. The one holding the pizzas was Cordell, grinning at him with Mama and Daddy standing behind. "Pizza delivery," Cordell said, and Liam crashed into him for a hug so hard that Cordi almost dropped the boxes and said whoa, Stinker, soft and laughing.

His hair was cut off, an inch on top and shorter on the sides, so he looked like those pictures of their grandpa when he was in Korea. He was skinny, too, which Liam didn't get, because he thought boot camp was all about building up muscles. "Mostly running," Cordi said. He was tired, dark circles under his eyes. He was stretched out on one bed with his strange starched blue pants and the awful khaki shirt that made him look washed-out pale even if he'd been running around San Diego for thirteen weeks, and Mama was sat next to him squeezing his arm like he'd evaporate if she looked away for a minute, and even Daddy was hovering. Proud but worried. Liam sat by Cordell's boots and tugged on the laces, wanting to ask more questions but not daring to.

Cordi fell asleep before six o'clock. Daddy turned on the television real quiet to the news. More stuff about the invasion. Liam hoped it'd be all over by the time Cordi got there. Mama boxed up the remaining pizza, shaking her head. "Don't know why you picked pineapple, kiddo," she said, and Liam shrugged, sitting at the table, watching Cordell's face, turned away a little on the pillow. Liam wanted to shake him awake but of course he didn't. For his whole life, after, he gets a little sick to his stomach when he smells pineapple.

While Cordell was in Afghanistan Mama and Daddy had Emily over to the house a lot. She was sweet. Respectful of Mama, calling her ma'am half the time, and charming to their dad even though Liam knew that she and Daddy probably disagreed on more than things than not. She liked that Liam played soccer and asked if he ever watched the Premiere League. Liam didn't even know what that was. She helped Mama cook supper and went out and took pictures of the horses which made Daddy smile, and one time when Liam went outside after dinner to read she was there crying, on the porch, quiet with her hand over her mouth, and Liam hung back and didn't know what to say. "Sorry," she said, dashing at her cheeks with the heel of her hand. She licked her lips and nodded at his book, sniffing. "That's a good one. You should read the sequel, too." He did, and told her about it, and she smiled like a sunrise, the way she always did, and he felt like—he didn't even know, what he felt like.

Liam was the best man at their wedding. He felt and looked ridiculous. Fifteen in a tux and he didn't know how to tie a bow-tie, but Cordi didn't either, so Daddy had to do it for both of them, grumbling the whole time that they should've learned this by now. "Not a lot of bowties in Kandahar, Daddy," Cordell said, winking at Liam, and Liam—blushed. Ridiculous, and embarrassing, the way the whole affair and the lead-up had felt, but Cordell didn't seem to care or notice, so—there was Liam, blushing in a bowtie.

Cordell had only been back for a year and somehow things were off. He was serving the rest of his contract out in the reserves but he wasn't finishing up his degree like he'd told Mama he would. He'd entered the training program for the state troopers and was set up to be a highway cop, of all things. He'd rented a house in Austin with Emily and they lived together the whole year before the wedding—an argument with Daddy about that one, which Liam listened to from the hallway with his heart pounding—and they weren't even going to be married in the church because Emily didn't want a wedding mass and, Liam suspected, Cordell didn't either. Daddy lost that argument, too.

The wedding was tiny. Liam the best man, Geri the maid of honor. Emily's aunt that raised her on one side and Daddy and Mama on the other, and a handful of Cordell and Emily's friends making up the numbers in the little rented hall. Afterward they had a bigger barbecue out at the ranch and in front of the crowd Emily fed Cordell a dainty forkful of the lemon cake and Cordell responded by dotting a tiny bit of frosting on her nose and kissing it off, and Mama's best friend Sue-Ellen sighed and said to Mama, where Liam could hear, "Well, Abilene, maybe they're atheists but I daresay you raised that boy right every other way," and Mama said something dry back but Liam was watching how Cordell cupped Emily's cheek in his hand, smiling down at her like she hung the moon, and he thought, yeah. Yeah, Cordell was just about perfect, wasn't he.

"High school in the fall, right?" Emily's aunt said, later. "Emily says you play soccer. Going to try out for the team?"

Cordell and Emily were dancing, swaying in the grass, the bonfire leaping up behind them. His hand still on her cheek. "I'm quitting soccer," Liam said, without even realizing he was going to. "I'm going to try out for wrestling, instead."

He figured out he was gay relatively early. His friends at school got hold of a Playboy in fifth grade and didn't really know what to do with it beyond blustering. This was before anyone but nerds was on the internet, and Liam was a nerd but did a decent job of hiding it. Scott beckoned Liam over while they were waiting for the buses and showed him the top of the magazine, the bold logo and the girl with her boobs pushing up out of her bra—the group of them snickering, saying how hot she was—and that they were going to look at it at Scott's house later if Liam wanted to come over—and Liam said, "No, my mom's making me go to the store with her." The lie came out effortlessly.

They did have a computer at home, and dial-up internet it had been very, very hard to argue Daddy into. He hardly knew how to find anything but he did some careful searches while Daddy was out with the horses and Mama was cooking, singing bad over the stove like she tended to. Made Liam's face hot to see some of what he was seeing. Hoyt came over, once, while Cordi was away in the war, and he helped Liam and Mama dig out a bunch of tomatoes that hadn't grown in right, and afterward they sat on the porch drinking lemonade while Mama asked Hoyt all about the oil field he said he'd been working in and Liam watched how Hoyt's legs sprawled out on the porch, how his jeans hugged up against his calf muscle and how the sweat had made his white shirt nearly transparent, and he had to sit very careful on the bench with his knees drawn up to hide the effect it had on him.

When Cordell came home from Afghanistan they threw a huge party. Everyone came, Daddy's friends and Mama's, and Emily and their friends from college, and even Hoyt, magicked up out of somewhere (for the promise of free beer, Daddy said), and then Liam, the youngest person there, watching from the corner of the porch as always. Cordi was very tan and finally bulky with muscle and his hair had grown out, just a little, from that military buzz, and he barely detached himself from Emily the whole time, his arm always around her shoulders or hers around his waist, and when they did step apart his eyes followed her and she watched him right back, smiling at the most random times. Liam was fourteen and a little more aware of the world and he wondered abruptly if they'd had sex yet. Cordi had only been home one day and he'd slept at the ranch and not at Emily's apartment. How would they have found the time?

He was chewing his thumbnail over it when a sweaty weight crashed down on his shoulders, arms trapping his in. Hoyt. "Hey there, Stinker," Hoyt said, and Liam shrugged fretfully and said, "Don't call me that," and Hoyt laughed at him but stood up and ruffled Liam's hair completely backwards instead.

"Still pretty shrimpy," he said. He was grinning, like he had some big secret. "You planning on growing up anytime soon, champ?"

"Don't you have a sketchy job to get to?" Liam said, annoyed. He tried to fix his hair and gave it up as a lost cause the second Hoyt's grin got bigger. Asshole.

Hoyt sipped his beer. Twenty-one—he was allowed, although Liam had noticed that Mama was being a little free with handing out drinks to Emily's college friends. "Glad big bro's home, I bet," Hoyt said.

Liam didn't dignify that with a response. Hoyt laughed, under his breath, and held out the beer for Liam to take, which he did because he didn't know what else to do. "Go on," Hoyt said, nodding at it. "I won't tell your mama. Not fair that everyone else gets to celebrate while little Liam's sober. And boring."

"I'm not boring," Liam said, although he knew he was because half the kids at school clearly thought so. He took a sip of the beer, anyway, not knowing if Hoyt would snatch it away. Nasty, and he made a face that made Hoyt hoot, and then he took a bigger gulp, determined at least to get something out of it.

"There he goes," Hoyt said, weirdly delighted, and he clapped Liam on the shoulder the same way he would Cordi when they were in high school, and the bit of warm in Liam's belly went lower. "That's a welcome home."

Liam kept the beer, curled against his chest. He felt dumb holding it and also weirdly adult. "He's not even here," he said. Sort of scoffing. "Doesn't matter."

Hoyt curled his arm around Liam's shoulders again and ignored how he went stiff, and nodded out at the party. Music playing from a radio Daddy had set up on a truck-bed. Emily and Cordell, dancing in the firelight. Same as it would be for the wedding reception a year from then, although of course Liam didn't know that at the time. "Aw, he's here," Hoyt said. He squeezed Liam's shoulders. He smelled strange, like—skunk, and Mama's compost bin. It was gross but also kind of appealing and Liam shifted, hoping his dumb body wouldn't react. "He's just with his girl, and who could blame him. No call for getting jealous."

He wasn't jealous. Not—exactly. That night after Mama and Daddy went to bed the party kept on, and Liam went to his room and watched from the dark window, the bonfire still going and all the college kids still going, too. When he finally fell asleep he had a strange, blurry dream about Hoyt—building a bonfire together, and Hoyt smiling at him and being a jackass and then touching his face, the same way Cordell touched Emily's face, and then Hoyt touching his stomach, low—and then the dream shifted, the weird way dreams shift, and it was Cordell, touching his stomach, and smiling at him, and leaning in close—with his hair longer like it was before he enlisted—but wearing for some reason the dumb khaki shirt of his uniform—and then Cordell's hand—

When he woke up he was soaked and it was bright morning. He washed his underwear out in the sink, feeling like his head was screwed on to someone else's body, and then he hid the underwear in the hamper, and showered, and tried not to think about it. He had that dream or one like it on and off for years, until he finally lost his virginity to Michael in college and it went away. He never told his therapist about it, or Bret, or anyone. He could rationalize it but he couldn't ever acknowledge it out loud because of what it—felt like, to think about it. To make it real in a place that wasn't just his stupid, crazy, dreaming head.

He had the dream again the night before he came out to his parents. January 2nd, trying out his new year's resolution of honesty. He figured in a ruthless sort of way that if his parents kicked him out or hated him or tried to change him then at least he had early acceptance at UT for the fall and a full scholarship and it was just eight months where his life would be completely over.

Cordell was at home on the ranch and Liam figured that's what triggered it. A couple days of vacation, since he'd worked over Christmas, and he and Emily and baby Stella had stayed up for ringing in the new year, and everyone had taken turns kissing Stella's forehead when midnight struck. Liam had been allowed a glass of champagne, Mama not even fussing about it since it was a holiday and the house was full—so he had two glasses—and when he went to bed he could still hear Cordell laughing from the front room, telling Daddy some story about a bust on the highway, something about stolen Santa suits, something light.

He dreamed they were swimming, up at the lake, and Cordell was naked. Laughing, that same too-loud booming laugh, but just because he was happy and not like he was making fun. Being kind to Liam. Holding him from behind with his arms around Liam's chest, their legs slipping together in the water. Liam could imagine what it would be like for a man to do something to him, he'd seen porn by that point, and he'd seen Cordell naked too because of the vagaries of living in an old house without a lock on the bathroom door, but somehow there was still a disconnect in his head. He was turned on beyond belief but nothing—happened, just the vagueness of Cordell behind him. His big hands.

Mama took Emily and the baby in to town, that day, for shopping. Daddy said they'd just bought half of Macy's and Mama shushed him so Daddy was up at the barn, checking over the new foal. Liam sat on the porch with a cup of coffee and watched birds come to the new feeder Mama had got from Emily and he tried to rehearse it, in his head. What to say. He'd seen it in movies but it didn't feel possible to come out of his mouth.

Cordell sat by him, on the bench swing. "Since when do you drink coffee?" he said. Then, less casual: "Is that my mug?"

"Yes," Liam said, and didn't protest when Cordell took it out of his hands. He rubbed his palms on his jeans. He had a hard time talking to Cordi after he had one of those dreams and so it was a relief that most of the time Cordell wasn't around, that he was in town at the house he shared with his wife. With his wife, Liam reminded himself, as though that could help. Another thing to make Liam different. Wrestling instead of football, reading books instead of riding, and now—this, on top of everything.

"Whatever's going on," Cordell said. Liam blinked, came back to the world. The cold, and the swing barely rocking from how Cordi had set his boot on the porch and pushed, and Cordell looking at him very steadily. "You know you can tell me, right?"

Liam swallowed. "Even if it's—" Bad is what came to his mouth and he shook his head. He prayed about this, he resolved. It's not bad. "Weird?"

"If it weren't weird you probably wouldn't be being so weird about it," Cordi said, frank, and Liam shoved his shoulder. The dream dissipated just like that. How could he possibly be crushing on his brother when his brother is this much of a jerk. Cordell swayed, grinning, letting Liam push him even if Cordell outweighed him then by fifty pounds, but then he set his hand on the back of Liam's neck, more serious. "Whatever it is. We can figure it out."

Liam licked his lips, and nodded. He knew then that was going to tell Cordell the one secret, if not the whole of it, before they left the porch that morning, and Cordi would—back him up, with Mama and Daddy, even if he didn't get it. "Give me back the coffee," he said, and Cordell raised his eyebrows but passed it back, so Liam could take a gulp. The caffeine probably wouldn't help but maybe it wouldn't hurt, and it felt nice to hold the mug. "Promise you won't freak," Liam said then, even if he was—mostly, ninety percent, pretty sure—and Cordell said, immediately, "I promise," and Liam believed him. That was the thing, with Cordell, in those days. It was easy to believe him.

It's Mama who calls, when Emily dies. Liam's already in bed because he's got court in the morning and Bret shoves at his shoulder, says, "Oh my god answer it and then change your ringtone, I hate that song," and Liam's still fuzzy from sleep and doesn't quite process that there's no good reason Mama would be calling him after nine o'clock in Texas because she always thought that was bad manners, it had been drilled into him all his life, and he says, mumbly, still waking up, "Hey, Mama," and there's a sharp intake of breath on the other side of the line before she says, Honey, I'm sorry, but I have real bad news.

He flies out the next day. Bret tries to dissuade him. "There's nothing you can do right now," he says, as though that's the point. JFK to Austin-Bergstrom is four and a half hours and he spends the whole time with his chest this weird achy knot. It doesn't feel real but it is. He texted Mama his flight plan and she says that Daddy will pick him up at the airport, and when he gets into the truck Daddy shakes his head and says, "Good to see you, son," but without any truth to it. Liam doesn't take it personally.

Cordell's not at the ranch when they get there but the kids are. "Hi, Uncle Liam," Stella says, remarkably clear, until he hugs her, and then she curls his hands into his shirt and cries silently, her shoulders shaking. August doesn't get up from the couch, sitting there with one arm crossed over his chest and the other over his mouth, and he looks—Liam's always shocked by it—so exactly like his mother. Stella's a copy of her grandmother, to the point that Mama set her prom picture side by side with Stella's first dance photo and the only real difference was the dress—but Auggie always took after Emily, from coloring to temperament to those long straight eyebrows, that mouth that curves up into a wide, easy smile. Not smiling now, and not for a while, and when Stella pulls away and wipes her eyes Liam sits down next to Auggie and sets his hand on the back of his neck and Auggie just folds over, quiet, like whatever was holding him up just isn't there anymore.

"Where is he?" Liam asks Mama, in the kitchen later. The sun's going down. It hasn't even been twenty-four hours.

Mama's eyes are red-rimmed. "Where do you think?" she says.

Liam takes the truck. Lady Bird Lake is officially closed at night but of course that makes no difference. He parks and walks, up to the lookout, and Cordell doesn't hear him coming. He's sitting on the steps to the gazebo, his elbows braced on his knees. The light hitting his hair. Long again. Liam doesn't know how he's always skirting regs and getting away with it, except of course Cordi gets away with everything. Golden child.

He regrets the thought as soon as he has it. "Cordi," he says, and Cordell looks up in complete surprise. Liam smiles at him, as much as he can, and comes and sits on the step. He tries to think of what to say and can't come up with anything.

"Aren't you in court tomorrow?" Cordell says, after they sit there for thirty seconds. His voice sounds thick and distant.

Liam shakes his head. "Today," he says, and Cordell nods and huffs and says, "Right," and then looks down at his hands again. They're twisted together, his thumb rubbing hard and repeatedly at the mount of his other palm. Liam reaches over and puts his hand over the knot of Cordell's fingers and Cordell's jaw flexes but he lets Liam do it. "I'm sorry," Liam says.

"Everyone is," Cordell says, halfway bitter. Liam squeezes his hands and Cordell makes a rough low noise, some sound Liam has never heard him make. "Jesus. They won't let me go in to work."

"Of course they won't," Liam says, and Cordell pulls his hands away, pushes them into his hair. "Cordi, they have to—they're going to be looking for who did it and it has to be by the books so it'll stick. They're not going to risk screwing it up."

"I just want to—" Cordell cuts himself off but Liam can imagine what goes there. He touches Cordell's back instead and the muscle flinches. Set to fly off the handle any second. Fight or flight, but Cordell never used to run from anything and Liam can't imagine he's going to start now.

He stands up. "Wrestle me," he says.

Cordell looks up. "What?"

Genuine surprise. At least it's not misery. "Come on," Liam says. "See if you can pin me." These jeans are nice, were a gift from Bret, but he'll sacrifice them. He holds out a hand and Cordell lets himself be pulled upright, and it's a shock like it always is when Liam's been too long away, how much taller Cordi still is. Liam always was the shrimp. He pushes Cordell's chest, lightly, and Cordell slaps his hands away. "Cordi," Liam says, coaxing, and pulls at Cordell's wrist. "Let me take your mind off it."

Stupid thing to say and he knows it as soon as he says it. Cordell gives him an ugly look and shoves him for real. "Take my mind off it?" he says, while Liam's staggering backwards. Liam sets his boots in the dirt and braces, and when Cordell pushes him again Liam grapples, and they are wrestling, then. It's sloppy, bad holds, both of them in too-slick boots for this ground. Liam manages to swing Cordell around and get his back on the ground but Cordi's always been stronger and shoves him off, and then they're just—flat-out scrambling, Liam's hand sinking into a patch of mud and both of them breathing hard, Cordell twisting out of his grip and getting an arm over his chest, tight, before Liam eels over and flips them—gets Cordell on his back on the dirt—his leg over Cordell's—and then Cordi drops his head back against the ground and taps out, panting.

"You been practicing?" Cordell says. His eyes are closed.

Liam sits up, says, "Class at my gym." Cordi nods and Liam gets off him, kneels next to him in the dirt. The gazebo's bright and the skyline's pretty, on the other side of the lake. Liam looks at that instead of at his brother, so he won't have to see the tears seeping down Cordell's temples, wetting his hair.

"It's not okay," Liam says. He sets a hand on Cordell's chest. At the DA's office in Manhattan he's comforted widows, widowers, orphans. Some of them seeking justice but most of them knowing it won't really be found. Cordell, he thinks, is one of the latter type, but Liam tries out the lines he's learned anyway. "It's not okay and it's not fair. I can't pretend I know what you're going through but I'm sorry." He swallows, his throat trying to close without his say-so. "Jesus. I'm so sorry, Cordi."

"Yeah," Cordell says, rough, and grips Liam's wrist. When Liam looks down Cordell's eyes are still closed. They stay there for a while, by the lake, long past when it's uncomfortable.

When they finally get up, Liam's knees creak like an old man's but Cordell doesn't make the joke he should. He leaves Cordell's truck and drives them both back into town, and gets drive-through Whataburger that Cordell picks at instead of eating, and says, "Do you want to go back to the ranch?" and isn't surprised when Cordell shakes his head, no. They get a hotel instead, two queens and a respectable mini-bar, and Liam calls Mama from next to the ice machine in the hall and says that he's got Cordell, and they're fine, and they'll be back in the morning. She clearly wants to object but doesn't know how and Liam hangs up before she can figure it out.

He gets back, with the ice. Cordell's sitting on the end of the bed watching the news like it's the Superbowl. "I was thinking about the funeral," Cordell says, when the door closes behind Liam. "I have to plan the funeral and I don't even have her body."

Liam sets the bucket on the bar and sits on the other bed. "We'll help," Liam says. Cordell's cheek sucks in on one side. "You don't have to do any of this alone."

"Yeah," Cordell says, remote, and Liam looks at him. Weird hollowness in his stomach and he realizes only after a second why: it's the first time, all his life, that he can remember Cordell lying to him.

The Rodeo Kings operation is supposed to be quick. Three months, is the estimate: to get in, to learn the operation, to get out. They need an agent who can be convincingly skilled as a traveling rider, who knows a ranch operation, who can act. There's a depressingly short list and one name at the top of it. Everyone thinks it's a bad idea except for Graves, and Cordell.

"It'll give me something to think about that's not this," Cordell says, when Liam's trying to talk him out of it. They're on the back patio of his and Emily's house in town. The kids are still staying out at the ranch. It's two weeks after the funeral and they haven't gone back to school. Cordell hasn't shaved in a few days and the sound as he scratches his jaw is loud. There's no music playing from the kitchen window, like there used to be. The plants out here are already dying. Liam wants to grip Cordell's shoulders, get in his face and yell, but doesn't dare to. He gets a deep sigh, instead, and Cordell flipping a poker chip between his fingers like a restless card shark, and then a smile, fake as fake. "Anyway, who do you know who can ride a bull better than me?"

"No one," Liam says, and Cordell nods, like damn straight, and in the morning Liam goes in to the Travis County DA and announces he'd like to transfer offices, due to a family emergency that's going to keep him here in Texas, and it's only afterward when some calls are made and the paperwork's signed that he calls Bret, back in Manhattan, and leaves a voicemail that he's going to be staying a lot longer than he thought.

It isn't three months. As the operation drags on, Liam sweet-talks his way into being one of the assistant attorneys on the case and he tries to alleviate how Graves is getting more and more suspicious. Cordell's old partner James gets promoted to captain, six months in, and he vouches for Cordell, too, not that it seems to matter either way. Cordell's the one who's embedded with the rodeo and he'll either finish the job or he won't. They don't have another agent to send in, not without compromising the work that's been done so far, and nothing else will do but to wait.

The kids ask Liam for updates every week when he comes for dinner at the ranch. "I can't tell you everything," he says, like he does every time, and Daddy's quiet at the head of the table, and Mama quieter on the opposite side. Cordell has a rendezvous every Monday when the rodeo takes the day off with a burner cell phone and an agent waiting impatiently for his call, and his reports are terse: still trying to get them to trust me. They're suspicious of newcomers. The ring seems really tight and I can't figure out an opening. Give me time. He's allowed to call Liam the same day and Liam answers every unknown number on Mondays, giving hope to spam callers nationwide. Cordell usually sounds tired but he still calls and they have a dumb, simple conversation—about how the Rangers beat the Angels, how he's breaking in some new boots and has a blister the size of Indiana, how he's craving, inexplicably, sushi. "Sushi?" Liam asks, trying to imagine when Cordell ever tried it, and Cordi says, with rare humor, "Hey, I'm not a big fancy New York lawyer but I've had my share of raw fish," and when Liam hands the phone over to the kids they lean over the speakerphone and talk over the top of each other about a class project Stella did, and a history paper Auggie got an A+ on, and Liam watches with his hand over his mouth for the moment when Cordell has to interrupt and say, tired-sounding still, "Sorry, guys, I have to go," and the goodbyes have to be quick, and then that's it, for another week.

The first time Liam sees him when he's Duke it's a shock to the system. Seven months in and the reporting agent says that Walker missed his check-in. Walker—that's what they all call him, even when Liam's in the room with them. There's a small frenzy in the operation office. Graves calls for Cordell's head, predictably at this point. James, trying again to calm her down, but looking a little like he agrees. Liam leaves the office unnoticed and walks outside to feel cold air on his face and feel less—how he feels—and there's a text, on his phone, from an unknown number. The Alibi, Driskill ST, thirty minutes. Come alone.

Ridiculously illicit. Liam takes off his suit-jacket and tie and ruffles his hair into something unprofessional and goes. It's hard to park—Monday night football—and inside is the opposite of his scene but he finds a seat at the bar. A girl in a too-tight orange t-shirt gives him a once-over and he smiles tightly, ignores her, drinks a watery beer, and almost exactly on the thirty-minute mark someone sits down next to him and it's—not his brother.

Duke Culpepper was the fake name they picked. Originally from Texas but had some misdemeanors that made Texas unfriendly so he'd been hiding out in Tucson for a few years, working the rodeo there. Not dangerous but willing to get up to something that was, and he looks the part. He smells like sweat and horse manure and hay and some shitty, awful aftershave, and there's a bruise on his jaw like someone suckerpunched him, and he doesn't look at Liam but smiles sweet at the bartender and says, with a fake low drawl, "Darlin', I wouldn't mind a shot of bourbon, when you have a chance."

Jesus, Liam thinks. The bartender has an expression like Cordell slid a hand down the front of her jeans and made her the happiest woman alive—the shot takes about ten seconds to arrive, when Liam's been waiting for a second beer for five minutes. Cordell knocks it back in one motion and says, "Again, and—" and he turns, like he noticed Liam for the first time, "another round for my friend, here. We're celebratin'."

She blinks, notices Liam's empty glass. While the next round's being prepared Liam raises his eyebrows and plays his part. "What are we celebrating?"

"Got a new job," Cordell says—but no—it's Duke, who's saying it, Duke who's drawling lazy and has his hat cocked at an off-angle and who's got a bandana tied around his wrist which for some goddamn reason is working the whole, hot-ass look.

"Congrats," the bartender says, and Duke grins wide and winks at her and downs the second shot, letting out a little whoop. "Another?"

"Better make it a double this time, sweetheart," Duke says, and Liam puts his hand on the warm lean stretch of thigh knocking against his under the bar and squeezes, very lightly, a warning, and sees Cordell's eyes tighten just slightly, and sees how his shoulders round out, like he's ready to get in a fight. Cordell takes a deep breath and toasts the bartender, but turns to look at Liam, face a grinning glad mask. "Got a new girl, too. Real pretty."

The bartender's disappointment would be funny, any other time. "Your lucky day, then, huh?" Liam says. Cordell's knee presses hard into his under the bar. "Girl got a name?"

"Miss Twyla Jean," Cordell says, almost crooning it, and Liam raises his eyebrows—he thought they had embarrassing Texas names—and then Cordell downs the double-shot, grimacing at the sting, and then says, much quieter so that only Liam can hear: "All it took was me making it eleven seconds on a bull and she took me straight to bed."

Liam takes a deep breath. Cordell's jaw flexes, in the silence, and he puts the empty shot glass on the bar. "Thanks for celebrating with me," he says, and slides off the barstool, backwards. He grips Liam's shoulder so hard that it actually hurts. "Gotta get back. Job won't do itself."

"Godspeed," Liam says, toasting with his beer, and Cordell gives him a tight smile and tugs his cap and walks out of the bar, taking with him the smell of the stables and his too-tight jeans and this sensation under Liam's gut that's murky and dangerous, unsettled. His shoulder hurts. It's only after he's written down Twyla Jean's name and texted it to James, and gone home to the apartment where Bret's still bitching about the décor, and taken a shower, and pressed his forehead against the cold tile, that he realizes that Cordell was wearing a fucking Texas Rangers cap. The absolute bastard.

The night he hears from Cordell again he has a fight with Bret. The same fight, worked over the same way. Bret hates Texas. He hates being away from his friends. He hates the politics and the food and how Liam's always with his family. He doesn't want to go to family dinner at the ranch because he's sure Liam's dad hates him. "He doesn't hate you," Liam says, for the fifth time, but to be honest he's not sure. Daddy never seems to like Bret that much, either. Cordi's never met him and Liam wonders, like he's wondered many times, if they'd get along, at all. Wonders if that'd be a dealbreaker and then wonders, washing dishes while Bret watches MSNBC in chilly silence, if the fact that he's wondering if it would be a dealbreaker makes it a dealbreaker, after all.

The text comes as a relief. Annunziata's. He dresses down more carefully than the first time. It's a weird spot, on the outskirts of town where it feels less like Austin than like a suburb. Karaoke and Italian food and mostly-fake cowboys slapping their knees to the absolutely horrific song being sung—very suburb. And there, at a table right by what passes for a stage: Cordell. But, no: Duke, Duke Culpepper, with his arm slung around the shoulders of Twyla Jean and his lips on her ear, grinning, wild. It catches Liam's breath like it did the first time. Duke, confident in his body and happy and having a good time, easy. Hot. Jesus, Liam doesn't get how it's so hot.

He waits in the backroom and watches Cordell shoves his face into the water. It's disturbing how panicked he is, once he's Cordell again and not Duke. "You have to," he's saying—babbling—"You have to tell them, they're going to kill people, you can't let them go through with it—" but of course that's not either of their decision and Liam can't help. It's awful, an awful awful feeling. His big brother looking to him for an answer he can't give. Cordell pushes his hair back from his face and puts his hat back on and looks miserable but he goes back, he sits right back down with that girl and lets her slide her hand down his thigh up the inseam of his jeans and Liam watches from the corner of the bar, where he won't be seen, drinking a beer he doesn't want, seeing his brother be someone who's not his brother. Maybe someone his brother could have been. They're going to sleep together, tonight. Liam knows it. They've been fucking for three months. Is it easy, he wonders. It shouldn't be, for Cordell, but maybe for Duke it is.

He goes home to Bret and wakes him up, and apologizes for the earlier fight, and kisses him, and gets Bret on his belly, and fucks him that way, a little hard, kissing the back of his neck, making Bret gasp and flinch and groan, delighted. "Where did that come from," Bret says, lazy and satisfied, and when he falls asleep Liam takes a shower and then only then calls James, from the hall outside their apartment door, leaning with his forehead against the wall. The bank location has been obvious since Cordell reported about Twyla Jean; the only thing that wasn't certain was the time. It'll be fine, James says, firm, and hangs up on Liam to coordinate with the rest of the team now that Agent Walker has finally come back in from the cold, and Liam stands there with his eyes closed in the hall and thinks, yes. Yes, it'll be fine.

After the bank—after the clean-up—Graves debriefs Cordell for a long time. It borders on unlawful interrogation at a certain point but Liam doesn't dare intervene when she's this furious—he can't risk being taken off the case. It takes James making a call to her supervisor at the field office, who then calls her and pulls her out of the room, for Cordell to be given a reprieve, and Liam goes in to the conference room and finds Cordell still in the stupid black hoodie stained with Crystal West's blood, his head in his hands, breathing with his mouth open like he can't get enough air.

"Cordi," Liam says, and Cordell shakes his head. Liam licks his lips and checks the hall. No one's guarding them—they wouldn't, because Walker's one of their own—and he says, "Get up." Cordell looks up at him, finally. "Come on, quick before she gets back. Come with me."

Cordell follows him. Down the hall, left to go through the atrium instead of the bullpen, then through the glass doors to the hall to, at last, the men's room, and Cordell stands in the middle of the tile blinking until Liam nods at the sinks and says, "Do it."

He's sloppier about it, this time. His hair hangs dripping in front of his face. He pushes it off his forehead and looks up at himself, in the mirror, panting a little. Water drips off his nose.

Liam brings him paper towels and he dries his face. "You should take that off," Liam says, and Cordell looks down at his clothes like he has no idea what he's wearing and only just realized, and tears off the hoodie in an awkward tangle. Underneath his t-shirt is black so Liam can't tell if it's stained. The big silver cross swings from his neck.

"What happened," Cordell says. A croak.

"Graves didn't tell you?" Liam says, and then bites his tongue. Obviously not. "Clint and Crystal are both dead. Clint at the bank. Crystal crashed the car. They think she passed out. Blood loss." Cordell nods, tight, looking away. These are his friends, Liam reminds himself. These are the people he knew, the only people he really talked to, for almost a year. "Two more people died at the bank. Twyla wasn't there and we don't have information to tie her to the job. I don't know where Jaxon is but we have people looking. They're still trying to recover the stolen money."

"Graves did tell me that much," Cordell says, and turns around, leaning his ass against the sink. It's slowly draining, behind him. "I think she wants to arrest me since she can't arrest them."

"I think so, too," Liam says, and Cordell smiles a little. He looks like he hasn't slept all year. "You did your job. It's over."

"It's not over," Cordell says, immediately. He drags his hand through his hair. "Graves made that clear. The money's still missing and Twyla and Jax are in the wind."

"And Duke's being sent to jail," Liam says. "So his part in the Rodeo Kings gang is over."

Cordell wipes his fingers over his mouth. He's still wearing that bandana around his wrist. Liam wants to take it off of him. Throw it away, burn it. "Duke Culpepper, common criminal," Cordell says, drawling it a little.

"Never liked him anyway," Liam says, and Cordell smiles, dropping his head. Liam touches his shoulder, grips his neck. "Hey. Means you get to come home. The kids will be over the moon."

"Yeah," Cordell says. He brackets a loose hand around Liam's wrist and nods. "Yeah. Can't wait."

His smile faded, as soon as Liam said it. Liam thinks about that, for that whole night, and for the whole next day, after, when James tells him that Cordell put in for one week's leave. "You talked to him?" Liam says, and James shakes his head, says, "He called Connie. I think he still doesn't even know I'm the captain."

He tells Mama and Daddy that Cordell will be home next Wednesday. Stella's frowning, not eating her dinner. "I saw that bank robbery on the news," she says. Auggie's big-eyed, watching, next to her. "Was that Dad's big case?"

"It was," Liam says, and Auggie's eyes get bigger. "But there's a debriefing period. We need to make sure his undercover identity doesn't have any loose ends that'll tie him back to his real one."

Daddy's eyes narrow and Mama's quiet. Liam got pretty good at lying, over the years, but he never was quite able to fool them.

He calls Cordell the next day. "Tell me where you are," he says, and Cordell doesn't answer for a long moment, letting the silence stretch out over the cell line. Liam considers it a victory that he even answered the phone.

He has a room at the Fairmont, on the fifteenth floor. Liam knocks and it's a minute before the door opens. Cordell's in bare feet, jeans, an ACL t-shirt. Liam follows him in and the room is—nicer than Liam's current apartment, that's for sure. King bed, outstanding view. "Wow," Liam says, and Cordell says, "Better than the Super 8 in Kermit," sort of sarcastic, and then sits down on the bed like he can't stand up anymore.

Liam doesn't sit. He doesn't think he's really invited, even if Cordell let him in the door. "I told them next Wednesday," he said. "Mom and Dad, and the kids. A week. Do you think that'll be enough time?"

"Honestly?" Cordell says, and doesn't elaborate.

There's a table, with four chairs, like a dining area. On it a box, like one of the evidence boxes from the office. Liam walks over and tips back the lid and: there's Duke Culpepper. The striped shirt he wore when Liam met him at Annunziata's. That was—god, only three days ago. A plastic bottle of aftershave. The cross necklace. The gun. Liam picks it up and checks the revolving chamber—that one bullet, still ready. It makes him nauseous just like it did the first time.

"I know you're probably not okay," Liam says. Understatement, he thinks, of the century. He closes the box and pushes it away, toward the center of the table. When he turns around Cordell's holding the beer in one hand and playing with a poker chip, in the other. "I know you're going to need some time. But when you're done, we need you back. The kids, and Mom and Dad. And me."

"C'mon, you don't need anybody, Stinker," Cordell says, with the barest thread of levity. "You climb right up to the top of the barn all by yourself, when no one's around to stop you."

Liam pauses, confused by the subject change. Surprised, then. "You were there for that?" he says, and Cordell shrugs, one corner of his mouth lifting.

When Liam was eleven, and Cordell was at college, and the world hadn't yet turned over on its head. It was early August and his school hadn't started, and Daddy and Mama had gone over to the feed store to pick up a truckload for the horses. He was bored, and tired of reading, and he'd gone out to the barn and looked up at it and thought about how Cordell had done it, at his age or maybe even younger, and if Cordell could then Liam could, too, if he set his mind to it. It wasn't even all that hard, once he was looking careful for the places to set his feet. He sat down on the top of the barn and looked out over the ranch—and further, over the where the road into the ranch pushed out into the hills, down toward the town. He wondered how far he could really see, to the horizon.

"Swung by to pick up my football stuff," Cordell says, now. "Em parked on the other side of the house and I didn't think anyone was home, until I looked out the back. You were up there just—taller than anything." He shrugs. "See? Didn't need my help after all."

"I wouldn't have climbed it if you hadn't dropped me on my head," Liam says, and Cordell snorts, shakes his head. Liam bites the inside of his cheek and crouches, and Cordell's forced to look at him or be ridiculous and so Cordell looks at him. Liam reaches out and gets his hand, the hand with the poker chip, and squeezes it, and Cordell swallows and squeezes back. The edges of the plastic bite into Liam's hand. "Come back," he says.

Cordell takes a deep breath. "I will," he says. "I promise, Liam."

Liam stands up and hugs him, around the shoulders, and walks out of the room. He takes the elevator back to the lobby and steps out into the sunshine, and takes a deep breath, and calls Bret to arrange lunch. Cordell's promises. Fifty-fifty, anymore, that it ends up being true. Liam decides to believe him. He's hardheaded. He might as well be hardheaded and optimistic about it.

#ffcc #walker #walker texas ranger #walker fic #my writing #if anyone ever needed an in-depth character study of liam #...here it is

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voiceless-terror · 4 years

Note

prompt request: JMart angst/hurt/comfort "you're not broken" + "i love you, no matter what your brain tells you"

Hey there friend! As requested, here is your prompt. I made it into a sort of season one/two au where Jon and Martin have already been dating. Hope you like! It can be a stand alone piece, but it is also the second in a series, the first of which is here: The Art of Conversation

“I was thinking…”

“As you do.”

Jon fixed Martin with a scowl. “Perhaps we could- that is, if you want-wouldyouliketospendthenightatmine?”

“You’ll have to try again, love. Didn’t quite catch that.”

Jon sighed in the face of Martin’s open fondness as they strolled down the street, making their way back from lunch. Martin brought a happiness to his life that he never thought possible- a companionship built on mutual respect and love. He enjoyed every night he spent in Martin’s cozy flat, curled up on the couch drinking tea and talking about everything and nothing at all. That’s not to say they didn’t have their troubles- Martin was rather inexperienced with intimate relationships, and Jon didn’t have the greatest track record when it came to communication. But Martin held his hand the night he stuttered out his asexuality, patient and loving and kind. Jon wasn’t ashamed of who he was, never had been- but he knew that for others it was considered a deal breaker. He’d heard stories. But Martin nodded, thanked him for trusting him with his boundaries, and let him curl back into his side, as if it changed nothing.

If he could handle that, than why, for fuck’s sake, was he so worried about having Martin over?

His flat wasn’t that bad. In actuality, it was quite a bit bigger than Martin’s. He wasn’t dirty, he usually kept up with chores, kept it relatively tidy.

But there was something so intimate about it- there was a reason he never hosted any events. Martin saw glimpses of it when he picked him up for things, but he’d never actually been inside. It was just so...barren. Void of anything Jon-like. Sure, it housed his possessions, his favorite books, his grandmother’s salvageable furniture. But it was a peek into his mind that he didn’t like others seeing. What if the way he lived was wrong? What if he didn’t have the right things? Like the little things that Martin had- a proper strainer for loose-leaf tea, little jars of spices for cooking, a towel-rack instead of a plastic hook on the wall. A nice bed frame and headboard, a worn but cozy duvet. In comparison, Jon lived like a freshly-graduated college student. He should have his shit together by now, right?

But every time he thought of making it a bit more homey and lived-in, his mind blanked. Where were the lists of all the things you need to make a home yours? What would look best on the walls? And what if he bought all of those things and it just looked awkward, like puzzle pieces forced in the wrong place? So he kept his mismatched furniture and odd little piles of books. It’s easier to stick with what you know.

But it was about time he had Martin over- the man had accepted him in every possible way, this couldn’t be the thing that would make or break their relationship. That didn’t make it any easier, though.

“Would you like,” he started again, taking a deeper breath. “To spend the night at mine on Saturday?” That would give him enough time to prepare, it was only Wednesday. “I could- I dunno, fix dinner, we could watch that movie you wanted to see? Or whatever, really. I don’t mind.”

Martin beamed a bright, shining smile that always made Jon’s heart flutter when it was aimed his way. “I’d love that, Jon! I’ll bring over some wine, we’ll make a night of it.” His arm wound around Jon’s waist, bringing him closer. “Fix you an omelette in the morning.”

“With the green peppers?”

“Of course. Oh! We could go for a morning stroll; you’ve got that lovely park by your house, yeah?”

“Mhm.” It was nice seeing Martin so excited. His anxiety eased, though he still felt the need to qualify. “It’s- well, it’s not the nicest place, but I keep it clean and-”

“Jon,” Martin’s elbow nudged his side, and he bent down to give him a quick peck on the cheek. “Any place is nice if it’s got you in it.”

“Sap,” Jon rolled his eyes even as his face flushed red.

He could probably do this. Right?

______

Wrong. Wrong wrong wrong.

Jon was twitchy and nervous the rest of the week, his mind spiraling as he considered every situation, even the most ridiculous. Martin’s not going to care if your flat is ugly. Martin’s going to take one look inside and suggest going back to his. Martin will like your cooking. It’s perfectly serviceable. Martin’s going to spit it out and-

“You alright there, boss?”

Jon jumped at the sound of Tim’s voice, almost dropping the mug he’d been preparing to wash. “Christ, Tim! Announce yourself next time, please.”

“That was me announcing myself,” he hopped up on the counter, giving him an easy smile. “What’s going on? You’ve been in your head all week.”

“I have not.”

“You asked me about the Ling statement twice today. It’s Friday. I finished researching it on Monday.”

Well then.

Jon sighed, putting the mug in the sink and turning to face Tim’s friendly concern. “It’s- hm. I’m having Martin at mine tomorrow, and- well, I’m a bit nervous.”

“Aw, that’s sweet.” Jon dodged the condescending pat to the back. “Seriously, that’s adorable. What’s there to be nervous about? You’ve been dating for three months, and pining for much more besides that.”

Jon’s hands gripped the counter with a renewed force. “I just want everything to be okay. I want him to think I’m a fully-functional human being, not someone who panics over having his boyfriend over. We’re always at his place, he’s always cooking for me. He deserves- he deserves everything.”

Tim hopped off the counter, face suddenly serious. “Jon, you’re quite literally Martin’s everything. It’s sickening with you two, honestly. You’ll be fine.” He threw an arm around his shoulder and Jon allowed it, just this once. “Now, what’re you cooking?”

“Well, there’s this pasta dish he loves at the Italian place on Third,” Jon began, his hands fidgeting nervously. “But it’s a bit...difficult to cook. I found a few recipes and I think I can recreate it, it’s just going to take some time and I’ve never worked with some of the ingredients and I might not have the right dishes for it and I don’t want to just substitute things-”

Tim cut off his rant. “That all sounds really lovely, but why don’t you just stick with something you know? That penne you brought to Sasha’s potluck last year- now that was good. And Martin liked it, right?”

“Well, yes,” Jon bristled. “But you think I can’t do it? It’s just a recipe, I should be able to follow basic instructions, I’m not stupid-”

“I didn’t say that, Jon,” Tim grabbed his shoulders and steered him into a seat. “I just think if you’re already this nervous about having him over, maybe you should minimize the stress, yeah? Lighten the load.”

“I can’t,” Jon argued. “I already bought all of the ingredients- I can’t just let them go to waste. I can do this.”

“Well, that’s the spirit!” Tim put a hand on his shoulder as Jon slumped over, leaning into the table. “Look, it’ll go over fine. Stop worrying. Martin will love whatever you make because you made it, alright? And if you need help, just give me a call. I’m not so bad in the kitchen myself, y’know.”

“Tim, you once set the toaster oven on fire because you left a cheese toastie in there for two hours.”

“Fuck’s sake, you set an oven on fire one time and no one lets you forget it-”

_______

The day arrives without much fanfare, besides a text from both Sasha and Tim declaring that “he had this!” and to “relax, it’ll go great!” Tim wasn’t very good at keeping secrets.

And of course, a text from Martin.

Looking forward to tonight :) Love you!

He straightens up his apartment and then un-straightens it when it looks too clean. He moves furniture to make it more centered, he studies the recipe a couple more times so when four o’clock hits he’ll be ready to start cooking. It’ll be on the table by six, right when Martin’s supposed to arrive. And everything will be fine. Everything will be fine.

But his books look wrong today. Messy, ugly, no sort of order. There are little piles and big piles. Even the ones on the bookshelf look bad somehow. He’s got authors and genres all mixed up. It looks stupid, laughable. Jon’s got to fix this.

He starts unloading them one by one, first in alphabetical order then later by genre, because that makes more sense, right? He switches them back to alphabetical after much consideration- that’s the easier one, of course. But then he gets online, sees all of these nice color-coded displays and wouldn’t that look nice on his bookshelf? He grabs the older, leather-bound books he keeps in his bedroom and brings them out to the sitting area. Now these should be displayed, these look nice. But then there’s no room left over and he’s surrounded by paperbacks he couldn’t find room for and Christ the place is a mess-

And then the doorbell rings.

Fuck. Fuck!

Of course Martin would get here early. Martin always shows up at least fifteen minutes early, but two hours is kind of pushing it. Maybe he wanted to surprise Jon with something, Martin’s very kind like that. Jon opens the door, hands shaking.

Martin’s standing there, looking flustered and harried. “Sorry I’m late!” he begins, giving Jon a kiss on the cheek and a quick hug. Late? “The trains were running slow again and I practically sprinted down the street- hope I didn’t mess up your plans, love!”

Jon looks down at his phone, dumbfounded. It’s six thirty.

It’s six thirty and there’s no dinner on the table. It’s six thirty and his living room’s a mess, books everywhere. It’s six thirty and Martin’s going to be so, so disappointed.

“Jon? Is everything alright?” He can barely make out Martin’s voice as his head swims; his arms wrap around his torso and dig into his body and all he can mumble is apologies.

“Sorry- I’m- fuck, I’m so stupid, I’m-”

“Hey, hey,” Martin’s voice immediately goes into that low, soothing tone that he uses whenever Jon’s upset. Whenever Jon makes everything about him when it should be about Martin for once. “None of that, now. Let’s go sit down, yeah?’ Martin immediately sets down his bag and his- oh God, he’s brought flowers and now Jon’s crying and everything’s wrong.

Martin’s steering him over to the couch with infinite care sits beside him, putting a hand on his knee and the other on his cheek, wiping his tears. It’s a gesture Jon loves but doesn’t deserve today. “It’s alright love, don’t cry. I’m here.”

“You’re- you’re here and I didn’t - I didn’t fix anything and nothing’s right, I’m so sorry-” Jon is well aware his words are barely intelligible, but that hardly matters now. Not five seconds in and he’s already ruined the night with his stupid, broken brain that just can’t fucking focus.

“You’re not broken, Jon,” He must have said the words aloud because now Martin’s got his face in his hands and is trying to make eye contact with him. “Don’t say that about yourself. You know it’s not true.”

“But it is,” Martin has to see that. What grown man can’t keep a schedule? What kind of adult loses three hours to a failed attempt at organizing books? Martin’s going to realize how messed up he is and he’s going to leave and Jon’s going to be alone again. “You- you deserve so much more than someone who can’t e-even make you dinner, can’t do one simple thing-”

“Jon, don’t- don’t say things like that. I know what I deserve, alright?” Martin pulls Jon to his chest and the pressure is good, stabilizing. “I love you, no matter what that brain of yours tells you. Okay?” He can only nod as the words bring on a fresh round of tears and he buries his face in Martin’s jumper.

It feels like hours before he calms down under Martin’s soothing hands and warm voice. He reluctantly pulls away to look the man in the eye. He deserves an apology that isn’t a breakdown. “I’m- I’m really sorry, though,” he sniffs, trying to keep his emotions in check. “It’s just- you’re always cooking for me and doing nice things and I wanted to pay you back.”

Martin’s brow furrows and Jon’s afraid he’s said the wrong words. “It’s not about paying me back, Jon. I cook for you because I want to, not because I have to. I like- well, it’s nice to finally have someone who appreciates it.”

Jon’s aware of Martin’s tempestuous relationship with his mother- he’s never brought Jon along on his visits, though he says that’s more to spare Jon than it is any judgment on their relationship. “She’s absolutely horrid sometimes, Jon. You don’t deserve that,” he said.

“Well, neither do you, Martin.” Jon never liked seeing Martin cry, though he insisted these were happy tears.

“You’ve got a lot of ingredients over there,” Martin murmurs, casting an appreciative eye over at the counter. “What were you planning on making?”

He pulls up the recipe on his phone, reluctantly handing it over to Martin. “I don’t think it would’ve turned out well, but I know how much you loved it when we-”

“When we went there on our first date,” Martin finishes. His eyes are watering- is he crying? “I’m sorry, it’s just- that’s so thoughtful, I think that might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

“Martin,” Jon says incredulously as he winds his arms around the man’s neck. “I didn’t even make it.”

“It’s the thought that counts, Jon!” His voice is nasally and tight.

“Don’t- don’t cry Martin-”

“I can’t help it!”

“You’re going to make me cry again-” Martin chuckles at this and leans back on the couch, taking Jon with him in a mess of tears and laughter. “What a pair we make.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, love. Maybe we can make it together, yeah? Bond n’ all that.”

“That sounds nice,” Jon’s response is muffled by Martin’s jumper. “Would require getting up, though.”

“We’ve got some time. This couch is heavenly- you’ve been holding out on me, Sims.”

Later that night, after a few mishaps but an all-around good dinner, he’s back on the couch and back in Martin’s arms. He runs his fingers through Jon’s hair, a touch that quiets his brain for the first time all week.

As it turns out, the only thing his flat was missing was someone to share it with.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27354958

Next in Series:

My Dearest

The Weight of Love

#prompts #my writing #tma #jonmartin #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #hurt/comfort #jon has ADHD #martin deserves the world and is a good boyfriend #hope you like anon!#Anonymous #adhd jon au

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retrievablememories · 4 years

Text

why don’t you love me | taeyong

title: why don’t you love me pairing: taeyong x black!reader genre: angst, some fluff request: “Taeyong is dating a black girl who SM doesn’t know about and they get into an argument because they’ve been dating for 2 years and he hasn’t told any of the members of NCT . She wants to break up but he doesn’t want to let her go. She accidentally meets Jaehyun and they become friends(Taeyong doesn’t know) and he wants to introduce her to the members so she decides to use this as an opportunity to meet them so Taeyong can crack and tell them about her which he still won’t do out of fear. ❤️” word count: 3.3k warnings: unhealthy relationship dynamic, one tiny mention of sex a/n: i’m not sure if reader meeting jaehyun is realistic, but i wasn’t sure how else to do it since no one at SM knows she exists...don’t clown the music choices plz, i had to look thru my own playlists for this 💀 the ending of this fic has me so shook tbh, i’d have to fight

When you open the door, Taeyong stands before you looking sheepish. “Hi, Y/N. I’m sorry I’m late. I was with the guys today.” You immediately roll your eyes at that and walk away from the entrance, throwing your hands up. Taeyong closes the door behind him and trails in behind you to the kitchen.

“On one of your very few days off? You’re with them everyday. You couldn’t tell them you had other plans? Or even that you have a girlfriend to see?” You turn to look at Taeyong again, crossing your arms. Your body language is already telling him you don’t want to hear more of his excuses. He tries to reach out to you, though you step away from his touch.

He sighs, his shoulders slumping with the knowledge that you’re not going to let this go easily. “They don’t know about us, I can’t exactly—”

“Yes, because you’ve never told them. Or anyone. I’m getting tired of this.” You lean back against the kitchen island, giving him an unimpressed look. “Do you think I enjoy living like some shameful secret?”

“I’m not ashamed of you, and you know it.” You’re not sure about that, actually. “If SM finds out, they’re not going to be happy, and going public is out of the question.” You suck your teeth at that.

“I’ve never asked you about going public; I don’t need or want that. However, I don’t think it’s too much to ask to meet the other men you spend 95% of your time with. God forbid I want to meet the people you refer to as your family.”

Taeyong chews his lips, mulling over your words but feeling too powerless and afraid to do anything about them. Then he sighs and shakes his head, running his hands through his hair. “I just...if gets out, somehow...my career…you know there’s already been so much. A dating scandal would be…”

“I think it’s clearly about more than that,” you argue, your eyebrows drawing together. “You just don’t want anyone to know about me because I’m black.”

“Stop saying that! If I cared about that, I wouldn’t be with you in the first place.”

“Because that’s such a reassurance? Instead, I get to sit up here like the woman in the attic and be hidden away from your friends and family. What a life! Maybe we shouldn’t be together.”

At this, Taeyong’s anxiety becomes almost palpable. “I—what are you saying? You can’t—”

“I can do whatever I want, Taeyong.”

“I don’t want us to break up,” Taeyong argues, his tone becoming more desperate. “I—I can find a way to tell the guys, just...please don’t leave me.”

You give him a long stare. “Quit with the last-ditch attempts to get me to stay. I don’t want you to say that just because you think it’s what I want to hear.”

“What else can I say? I want you in my life. I need you here. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Taeyong’s eyes become shiny with tears, which you wish you could ignore, but there is still a part of you that loves him and doesn’t want to see him hurt. Even if it’s hurting you too.

Taeyong gets closer to you, and you allow him to pull you into something of a hug. His head slumps to your shoulder, leaning heavily on you, and you can smell the scent of his shampoo in his hair.

“Do you really still love me?” you ask him softly, next to his ear. “Really love me. Don’t tell me you want me next to you just because you’re afraid to be alone.”

He squeezes you more tightly around the waist and lifts his head back up to look you in the eyes. “I love you,” he says quietly. “You have to trust me…”

“Then show me,” you respond. Your patience has been steadily wearing thin, and you are past the point where nice words can get you to be complacent. You wonder if Taeyong has even noticed that—how close you are to the breaking point.

He nods slightly to your words, his lips drawing into a thin line and his eyes heavy with stress. He tries his luck with a kiss, but you turn your head and his lips land on your cheek. “Maybe you should just leave,” you say quietly. The words make you feel cold and alone, but you’re sure you’d still feel that way even if Taeyong stayed. He sags a little but doesn’t fight you on it, instead letting you go and stepping backwards.

He seems unsure what to say for a few moments, and then he nods to himself. “I’ll leave. But please don’t give up on me.” He leaves you with those words lingering in the air—words you’d like to put your belief in.

It’s been a week since you and Taeyong last met up in person. You’ve texted sporadically in the time between then, but you haven’t wanted to say much to him, and he already knows he can’t force you to do anything you don’t want to.

You decide to head out for a day all to yourself as a way to de-stress, though it doesn’t really help. Everywhere you go there are couples, out and about and holding hands without a care in the world. You only wish you could do the same. You haven’t known what that’s like since your last relationship before Taeyong, and the thought of going without that kind of open and unafraid affection for 2 whole years makes you more angry and sad.

You end up in a nearby clothing store, looking through the racks of outfits and subconsciously wondering which ones Taeyong would like. You roll your eyes at this, still unable to get him completely off your mind even though you don’t want to be thinking about him right now.

You end up leaving that store and going to another one nearby—which is a tiny record shop that sells vinyls all the way up from the 1940s to now. You’ve been here a handful of times before, though it’s been a while since your last visit. To your surprise, the clerk still remembers you, waving happily when you enter.

Besides the cashier, you don’t pay much attention to anyone else in the store, only concerned about getting what you want so you can get out and go back home. Your mind is endlessly stressed about Taeyong and his lack of action. Even though you still love him, you don’t know how much more of this you can take. Your resentment only grows, which propels you to want to call things off before they get worse for the both of you.

Worse, indeed. You’re not sure how it can get much worse than your boyfriend acting like you don’t exist, though you’re not willing to try and find out.

You leave the store after making your purchase, ready to go back home and wallow some more, but before you’re fully out the door, someone hurriedly taps you on the shoulder.

“Sorry to bother you, but you dropped this.” You turn around to see a guy holding your sunglasses out to you, which surprises you because you hadn’t even heard them fall off your bag. But more importantly, you’re shocked to see that the guy is Jaehyun, Taeyong’s groupmate. Though he’s wearing the classic kpop idol disguise, you can still tell it’s him.

“Oh—thank you…” You take the glasses from his grasp, still looking at him with a bit of incredulity. You weren’t expecting to see him in this place. You didn’t even notice him in the store.

Jaehyun sees your recognition of him and gives an embarrassed smile, which makes his eyes crinkle above the mask. “Let’s keep this between us, yeah? Better not to draw attention here…”

“Oh, no, I was just surprised you would even be into...” you glance at the store’s sign, which is just above you, “...vinyls?” You say this somewhat sarcastically, not wanting him to think you’re some starstruck fan.

“Do I not seem like that kind of person?” Jaehyun smiles politely and glances to the bag in your hands, the cover of the vinyl album showing through the translucent material. “I just recently heard that one; it’s really good.”

“Really?” You look at the album, which is the record Through Water from Låpsley. “This one’s kind of obscure…”

“Obscure is good too. You find lots of hidden gems in places you didn’t expect.” You nod at that, but the way he’s looking at you makes you think he isn’t entirely talking about the music, and that makes the back of your neck sweat.

“Uh...no, of course. I get it. I was going to get something from The Internet but this caught my eye so…”

“Seems we have similar taste...I wouldn’t mind if you showed me some more of your favorites. I’m always looking for new music. Maybe next time?”

“Next time…?”

Jaehyun nods. “Whenever I swing back around here...who knows. Tuesday? Wednesday? Maybe I’ll come by on a Saturday afternoon and see you here.” It’s an invitation. Maybe not a direct one—he says it like a suggestion—but he is making it known he’d like to meet up again.

Still a bit confused by this sudden encounter, you simply nod. “I’ll keep that in mind, then?” He flashes you a thumbs up before heading off in the other direction, shooting you another quick look over his shoulder before going off on his way.

You walk back to your own place feeling bewildered at the coincidence of it all, and wondering if you should mention it to Taeyong. But what for? You’re still mad with him, and you don’t even know what would come of it. Maybe more of the same—nothing at all.

To your surprise, Jaehyun is actually at the record shop when he said he would be—that Saturday around 2 p.m., flipping through the different albums. You’d managed to talk yourself into thinking he was just playing around, but here he is.

“So you were serious,” you say, walking up behind him. He turns around to meet your eyes, smiling beneath his mask at the sound of your voice.

“Nice to see you again, stranger.” That reminds you; he still doesn’t know your name.

“It’s Y/N.” You stand beside him, looking at the section of records he’s browsing through. All of them are more modern picks, released within the last 5 years. “What are you looking for today?”

He hums throughtfully. “Not sure. I didn’t have anything specific in mind, but if you know anything…”

“Maybe.” You look through the records for something interesting before pulling out one from Toni Braxton, Spell My Name. “Have you heard this one?” Jaehyun looks up to see what you’ve picked, then shakes his head no. You pass it to him and he looks over the cover, then turns it over to read the tracklist. “I like it. Might wanna save it for when you wanna get in your feelings, though.”

He laughs at that. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Also, if you like more indie rock stuff, this is pretty good too.” You hold up a vinyl of The Driver Era’s album, X.

Jaehyun’s eyes light up at that suggestion. “Ah, I’ve wanted to get into this group but it keeps slipping my mind.” He takes that record too.

“What about you? Show me something you like.” Jaehyun nods and walks further into the aisles, and you follow. You notice he’s heading for the section of older albums. “Oh, the oldies, I see. A man of refined taste,” you say, laughing to yourself.

“This one’s the best.” Jaehyun points to one album that’s displayed on the shop wall along with a collection of other records—Chet Baker Sings. Below each album is a rack stacked with copies of the vinyls, and you pull one out to look at it more closely.

“Jazz, huh? I’m not too familiar with this artist, but I’ll trust your judgement; you’re the singer here, after all.”

You and Jaehyun go around the store looking at a few more things before buying your chosen albums. You end up getting more than you expected, but Jaehyun offers to pay—which you’re flustered and surprised by. The cashier giggles at your reluctance to accept, but you end up allowing him to pay for half.

“Well...that was fun!” You let out a breath after you’ve both left the store, lingering around the front of it.

Jaehyun nods his agreement, then hesitates before saying, “Would you like to stay in touch?”

You raise your eyebrows at that, the corner of your mouth lifting in something of a smirk. “I have a boyfriend, so if you’re looking for a romantic prospect…”

Jaehyun shakes his head, his cheeks coloring pink. “No, not like that! I just thought it’d be nice to get to know each other, you know, since we like the same music and all…”

“If you insist!” You tell him your number so he can put it into his phone. He texts you to make sure he’s got the right number, and so you can add his number to your own phone. “So, I guess I’ll talk to you later?”

He grins, and you can imagine how his dimples must appear under the mask. “Of course.”

You and Jaehyun get closer over the next few weeks, though he still doesn’t know you’re Taeyong’s girlfriend, and Taeyong remains equally clueless about your developing friendship with his groupmate. You’ve scarcely seen Taeyong’s face within that same timeframe, other than a few video calls—and one night when he showed up at your place tipsy and managed to talk his way into your bed.

You haven’t directly lied about anything, but you also haven’t felt the need to tell Jaehyun who you really are—not if Taeyong seems to think it doesn’t matter. Besides, you still want Taeyong to say it for himself.

You don’t consider yourself as cheating on him and have no intentions of doing so, but you like being around someone who doesn’t seem to be embarrassed or hesitant about going places with you.

One day when you’re hanging out with Jaehyun, he brings up an idea that makes your eyebrows rise. “Wouldn’t it be cool if you met the rest of the guys? What would you think of that?” he proposes.

This suggestion gets the gears in your head turning. Taeyong would inevitably be there, which would be an easy gateway for him to introduce you as his girlfriend. He’d have no other choice—not with you right in front of his face. Plus, you are curious about getting to know the other members, not knowing much about them other than Taeyong’s anecdotes and the few tidbits Jaehyun has mentioned in passing.

“Really? I don’t know, you're all pretty busy, so it’ll be hard to gather in one place…” You’re hoping your reverse psychology works so he’ll take the bait and come up with a solution to this apparent “dilemma.” Thankfully, he does.

“Well, you don’t have to meet all of them at once,” he suggests. “But if you want, you could come visit after practice or something…”

“I’d like that. Yes, I could do that. If that’s okay with you guys.”

Jaehyun grins, taking a sip of his drink. “Yeah, I think that would be fun.”

The day of your visit with NCT 127 comes up on you before you know it, and you’re more nervous than you can remember being in a while. You have no clue how Taeyong will react, but you can only hope things don’t go completely left. In your mind, this is the only option left for the both of you, since he refuses to take the initiative himself.

What you do know, though, is that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. You can’t go wrong with bringing food to a bunch of hungry men who’ve just finished dance practice.

In the practice room, the boys hang out huddled together in little groups, taking a break from practicing for their upcoming comeback. They usually would’ve called out for food at this point, but Jaehyun has already let them know he has a friend coming who’s bringing something to eat. The other 8 boys wait somewhat impatiently for your arrival, as Jaehyun left earlier to let you into the SM building.

“I wonder who’s this friend Jaehyun’s bringing,” Doyoung says. “He’s really excited about it. She must be quite special.”

“For real! Whenever he mentions her he gets the same smile he always does whenever he meets another girl he thinks is gonna be The One,” Haechan says sarcastically. “Let’s see how long it takes before he fucks it up this time.”

“Aw, that’s messed up,” Mark says, though he has to stifle a snort of laughter.

The boys cheer when Jaehyun finally comes back to the room with you and the food in tow. You try to calm your racing heart as you face the room full of men, including your boyfriend—who’s just caught sight of you.

Taeyong’s eyes are confused, panicked, and pitiful as he looks at you. He tries to keep his demeanor indifferent so the other members won’t notice anything suspicious, but he doesn’t believe he’s doing a very good job of hiding the cracks. His chest tightens with anxiety as he observes you and Jaehyun standing next to each other.

How do you even know each other? Why did you never mention it? Does Jaehyun know? Perhaps most importantly of all, what should Taeyong do? He loves you—at least he believes he does, though you haven’t seemed very convinced of it lately. He doesn’t know how to admit it out loud to anyone else, though, and now it seems even more complicated than before.

Taeyong hangs back a bit as the others introduce themselves to you individually. Johnny and Jaehyun give him slightly odd looks, wondering about the reason behind his tense expression.

There’s nowhere left to hide when Taeyong is the only one left who hasn’t introduced himself.

You look at him expectantly, waiting for him to introduce you as his girlfriend, though to the rest of the men it only looks like you’re waiting for him to acknowledge your presence with a greeting. There’s an undeniable tension in the room as you and Taeyong practically stare each other down, though no one is quite bold enough to directly address it.

His stomach is nothing but a collection of knots now. He thinks about just saying it, but a vice-like sense of fear has him pinned. He thinks he can feel a headache building behind his temples.

Finally, Taeyong cracks a strained smile and holds his hand out to you. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Taeyong, leader of NCT 127.”

Your heart and stomach drop to your feet, and your hands tremble a little. Your face falters, though you try to disguise it, your mouth drawing into a tight, closed grin. In that moment, you make your decision. You take Taeyong’s hand, squeezing it tighter than necessary. He winces, the back of his neck burning. “It’s nice to meet you, Taeyong.”

When your hand leaves his, Taeyong feels as if a huge dark cloud has just crossed over him. His stomach twists with dread as he watches you turn to Jaehyun without a second glance, talking to the younger man casually about the food you’ve brought. Something about the gesture feels undeniably final, and he knows you’ve just slipped out of his life.

#nct 127 #taeyong fic #taeyong imagines #taeyong scenarios #nct 127 scenarios #nct 127 imagines #nct 127 fic #ambw fic #ambw scenarios #ambw imagines #kpop ambw #ambw #lee taeyong #superm scenarios #superm imagines #nct scenarios #nct imagines #superm fic #nct fic

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yslkook · 3 years

Text

#risk averse (6)

#corporate masterlist

summary: the last day of being in tokyo consists of: workshops, breakfast, dinner, and an airplane ride back. oh, and you finally have some ice cream with jungkook. properly. word count: 5570 warnings: cursing, parental death, discussion of mental health, im not a psychologist so if what i write doesnt make sense dont @ me a/n: this is part 3/3 of being in tokyo!

TUESDAY

Tokyo is probably one of your favorite cities in the world, and yet you’re itching to get out as soon as you can. It’s the last day of the workshop kick-off meeting, and while you’ve enjoyed being back in this city and getting to know new people… You’re exhausted. Your mind has been running on overdrive since Friday afternoon and now it was Tuesday. You’ve never been on for this long, but you suppose it comes with the territory.

Truthfully, you don’t mind the work. You mind Jungkook and how things are still in a strange state of limbo with him. The memory of Saturday night still plagues you and the fact that you still haven’t talked to him pokes at you like a barbed wire.

You scratch your chin, masking your invisible spiral. Jungkook and Sana have set up breakfast for the team in the conference room, complete with steamed rice, fried egg, fruit miso soup, coffee and pastries. You eye the pastries with a gratuitous lick of your lips, your sudden sweet tooth making an appearance. That chocolate cornet in the small basket next to the sweet rolls is calling your name.

You focus on the decadent taste of chocolate rolling over your tongue paired with coffee rather than the anxiety you feel over leaving things between you and Jungkook in limbo.

A shadow casts over your plate next to you and when you turn your head, you’re surprised to see Mark take a seat next to you.

“Morning,” He chirps, “Your guys did a good job with breakfast, huh?”

“They did a good job with everything, Mark. As they always do,” You say fiercely, with a quirk of your eyebrow, “And good morning to you, too.”

“This week went by fast, huh?” Mark says, taking a sip of his own coffee. Yeah, not fast enough.

Today’s workshop was mainly to finalize the project plan, assign subteams, and deliverables. And to determine when the next workshop would be- Namjoon had suggested that the Tokyo team come to Seoul next time. Which you had wholeheartedly supported. Mark had let his eyes slide over to you, catching your eye and smiling at you. Maybe he’d be able to see you outside of work in Seoul.

You had smiled back, a little obliviously.

And now, you stand up next to the whiteboard to write down your smaller sub teams and your deliverables as Namjoon reads from his notes. For everyone to be able to visualize. You were a firm believer in visual aids.

And so was Jungkook- after all, the way your plaid pencil skirt sits on your ass and hugs your hips is quite the visual. He lazily allows his eyes to roam your backside, enjoying the way your skirt moves with every small movement. Your sleeveless blouse is tucked into your skirt, leaving a hint of your tattoo poking out from the thin exposure of your shoulder. Your beige blazer neatly hangs off of the headrest of your chair. Jungkook counts his blessings, watching every inch of your tanned, inked skin as you continue to write on the board.

Namjoon and Mark spend the rest of the morning outlining expectations and brainstorming for the first deliverable. You challenge them sharply, not afraid to voice your thoughts when you don’t agree with them.

Irene and Lisa look on with awestruck eyes, chiming in when they feel necessary. You have this way about you, Jungkook thinks. That when you speak, people just listen and people want to be heard by you. Your voice is magnetic, your eyes dark and fierce and he wants to know them. He wants to peel you back layer by layer, if you’d let him.

Not for the first time, he wonders if you have any other tattoos hiding under your meticulously crafted layers.

You catch Jungkook’s lazy gaze, shooting him a small smile. Jungkook swallows and reciprocates. He leans back in his chair, still not taking his eyes off of you. You maintain his gaze, feeling your cheeks heating up at the intensity of his stare. He unwraps you with his eyes, as if you’re a present wrapped up all pretty just for him. Dark brown eyes dart from your face to your neck to your hands back up to your lips. A smirk ghosts his face, but it passes as quickly as it comes.

You can play fire with fire, too. Something bold blazes in your own eyes, your tongue poking out to lick your bottom lip as you check him out in the same unabashed way that he had been checking you out only moments before.

This time, Jungkook is the one feeling a little heated under his collar. Mark’s voice pierces through the air, pulling you both out of your rose-tinted bubble and you both plaster your obedient gazes to Mark.

The moment dissolves with the sound of Mark’s voice- has it always been that annoying? Or was it only that annoying because Jungkook can see the barely hidden heart eyes he throws you when he makes eye contact with you?

Why does it matter? Because he likes you, and the epiphany doesn’t hit Jungkook like an unseen collision. It washes over him in soft, gentle waves. Comforting him and wrapping around him warmly, only lending him the courage to slide his eyes over to you once again.

His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek in annoyance. Annoyance that you’ve wiggled your way into the crevices in between his veins and he is powerless to stop it.

The rest of the afternoon goes by just about the same, with lunch from the cafeteria and finishing up your plan of deliverables. You’re thankful that the day is coming to a close- these workshops are taking a toll out of you, needless to say.

You stretch your arms, opting to stand rather than sit. You hate how your ass goes numb after hours of sitting.

Jungkook doesn’t mind. It gives him a wonderful view of the slope of your chest that he has no qualms appreciating. You catch him a few times, obliviously giving him a small smile or a nod of appreciation.

It makes Jungkook wonder if you even know how pretty you are. If anyone’s ever told you that you were beautiful, with all of the conviction that you deserve.

You scribble in your notebook while leaning against the windowsill as a surface, your brows furrowed together in concentration as Namjoon and Mark speak. You resist the urge to yawn. What time is your flight again?

Namjoon had requested that your flights be at 4 AM on Wednesday morning, so that you could go straight into work. That was the tradeoff for giving the team the extra day in Tokyo. At the time, it sounded like a nice idea. Now, the thought of a 4 AM flight makes you want to keel over.

You start to drown out their voices, instead making a mental checklist of what you needed to do before leaving for the airport tomorrow morning. Call Grandma, pack your suitcase, arrange your makeup, leave your sweats for the morning out, text your therapist for an appointment when you returned to Seoul…

You’re lost in your thoughts, chewing intently on your bottom lip and absently picking at your cuticles every so often. Mark’s voice cuts through the air again, finally dismissing you.

“It was great seeing all of you,” Mark says, his eyes lingering on you for a second too long.

“Yeah, we’ll be in Seoul soon. You’ll have to show us all the best places to eat,” Irene winks at you.

“Yeah,” You chuckle, rubbing the back of your neck, “See you soon.”

You exchange handshakes with them, with promises from Minhyuk and Lisa that they’ll set up biweekly calls for the Seoul team to have touchpoints with the Tokyo team. Namjoon nods in appreciation.

Jungkook doesn’t miss the way Mark squeezes your hand and pulls you a little closer by the grip of his handshake either.

Mark promises you, for your ears only, that he’ll text you when he gets to Seoul for the workshop. He asks if he can see you, maybe, if he can take you to that restaurant you had told him about. With the best seafood you’d ever had in your life.

You say yes, because you think nothing of it.

The minute you got back to your hotel room, you took your makeup off, moisturized, sprawled out on the bed and stared at the ceiling for a good fifteen minutes. Then you changed into leggings and an oversized hoodie, one of Jin’s that you had stolen years ago.

You’re aware of your phone going off, likely the work group chat as well as Jin texting you. But you ignore it for now, instead closing your eyes and letting silence lull you to sleep.

You must have fallen asleep for a few hours- when you wake up, the moon is out and the sky is dark. You had likely slept through dinner. Moonlight filters into your hotel room and you sigh, rubbing your eyes.

What had woken you up? You hear the noise again, the sound of knuckles knocking gently against your hotel room door. With a soft groan, you rub your face and drag your feet to the door, not bothering to check the little peephole.

And you’re face to face with a nervous looking Jeon Jungkook, holding a bag in his hand. It smells great, mouthwatering, even.

“Hi,” You croak, clearing your throat of your post-sleep voice.

“Hey,” Jungkook says weakly, “We were texting you earlier for dinner but figured you’d fallen asleep or something. Looks like I was right.”

“Yeah, I accidentally fell asleep,” You murmur with a laugh, “You brought dinner for me?” You ask the question in wonder, as if it’s hard to believe.

“Uh huh,” Jungkook says, scratching the back of his neck, “Well, uh, here you go-”

You take the bag of food in your hands, enjoying the warmth that it radiates. You bite your lips in nervousness, suddenly deciding that you don’t want to have dinner alone. You hate having dinner alone.

“Jungkook,” You say softly, “Will you have dinner with me?”

Jungkook’s heart skips about five beats and he’s nodding at you with big, sparkling eyes. You’re floating, somewhere in the clouds when he looks at you like that. Jungkook thinks you’re pretty, with your messy hair and sleepy eyes. Whether you’re in a sharp pencil skirt and a blazer or in pajamas, he thinks you’re so pretty.

You welcome him inside, gesturing for him to get comfortable in your hotel room. You know you have so much still to talk about with him, to explain your actions from Saturday night. But neither of you can deny the company that comes with a meal. So you set some food aside for him, thanking him for thinking of you.

And you eat, knees knocking into each other as you talk softly with only the moon as witness of a blossoming friendship.

WEDNESDAY MORNING

Jungkook doesn’t leave your mind all morning, from when you had woken yourself up at 1:30 AM and even now as you’re in line to board the airplane. Having dinner with him felt so nice and left you feel warm all over.

And now, a seed of relief settles in your belly, knowing that you’re seated far away from Jungkook. So that you can think about him in peace, and think about what you’ll say to him when you finally get the chance to. You could have apologized to him last night, but it just didn’t feel right.

You can’t even see his fluffy head of hair from here. Maybe you’ll even be able to sleep a little, considering how on edge you’ve felt for the last four days. You’re exhausted.

Just as you’re about to close your eyes and rest your head on the window, someone taps your shoulder politely.

“Sorry to disturb,” The flight attendant says, sounding genuinely apologetic, “But I believe there was a seat mix up. We have a couple here requesting to be seated together. Would it be alright if we swap?”

You peer behind her to see an elderly couple. You sigh. “Of course, no problem.” You think nothing of it, heading to the seat that the attendant had requested you switch with, until you see a familiar fluffy haired man within your range of vision.

Of course. Because why wouldn’t the universe seat you next to Jeon Jungkook on this crowded plane? Of all the seats, of course you would be told to sit next to him.

“Um,” You say, waving at him a little nervously, “Hi. Is this seat taken?” You try to keep your voice light. He can probably pick up on the awkwardness.

“Oh! No,” Jungkook says quickly, standing up and hitting his head on the roof of the cramped plane. He winces and you suppress a laugh. “Let me put your suitcase up-”

“I got it, Jungkook,” You murmur, easily lifting the suitcase into the overhead compartment. Jungkook’s eyes immediately fall to the small sliver of your belly as you lift your arms above your head.

Taking a seat next to him, you try your best not to bounce your leg incessantly. Your bottom lip is lodged in between your teeth, as if you’re afraid to say the wrong thing.

“Ready to go back home?” Jungkook asks, desperate to alleviate the awkwardness in the air.

“Yeah, I always need an extra day off after traveling,” You reply, letting out an airy chuckle, “How about you?”

“Yeah, me too. And it’s only Wednesday, too. Can’t believe we still have to work.”

“That’s what’s shitty about leaving so early in the morning,” You yawn, “Still have plenty of time to work later in the day.”

Jungkook nods in agreement and yawns. The silence that falls between you both isn’t uncomfortable. It’s too early in the morning to contemplate it any further.

At some point, your eyes begin to close and you can’t stop the sudden wave of fatigue that washes over you. Fatigue from being anxious for the last four days. Somehow, around Jungkook, it dissipates slightly. Slightly enough for you to succumb to sleep. Jungkook doesn’t have the heart to shift when your head falls onto his shoulder. He wants to brush the hair out of your eyes but keeps his hands in his lap. His face is burning.

A small smile graces his lips when you shift further, sink into his shoulder and wrap an arm around his upper arm. Jungkook pretends like his heart isn’t about to beat right out of his chest, especially when your nose is pressed against his shoulder and he can feel your soft, even breaths as you fall even further into sleep.

Pillowy warmth surrounds you, gently tugging you back down to sleep. But the sound of the pilot over the intercoms forces you to open your eyes. A low groan leaves your lips, you want to bask in your newfound warmth for a little longer.

Wait. Where is this warmth coming from? You look up, seeing a head of dark hair brushing over your forehead.

Your heart immediately accelerates, slamming straight out of your ribcage.

Jungkook feels you shifting before he opens his eyes. You feel so warm, tucked into his side. Even if it’s uncomfortable for both of you, he likes the way your cheek presses into his arm and how he could feel your soft breaths against his neck. The soft groan that escapes your lips sounds like honey in his ears, his cheeks warming.

You have to resist the urge to push his hair back. At least he’s still asleep, you think. What a precarious position to be in. With your coworker who you have unfinished business with. What a cliche, you nearly scoff out loud.

But then you see his warm, doe eyes blinking up at you curiously and you panic. You yank your arm away from him, lifting your head up so quickly that he’s surprised you don’t get whiplash.

“Sorry,” You mumble, “How incredibly inappropriate. ‘M sorry-”

Before he can reply, the pilot and flight attendant give the all clear that people can begin exiting the aircraft. You’re out of your seat in record speed, ignoring the heat and embarrassment in your cheeks as you nearly run over the elderly couple behind you to get your suitcase.

It’s the second time you’ve made a fool out of yourself in front of Jungkook. The memory is seared into your brain as you struggle to hold back tears. You sprint out of the airport in record time, and into Jin’s waiting arms.

You’re breaking Jungkook’s heart and you don’t even know it.

The minute you got home and settled in, you made an appointment with your therapist. You finally feel the edge of anxiety beginning to quell. But you’re exhausted, so exhausted. You contemplate taking a day off, but you don’t have a busy day at work today.

You opt to work from home once you let your boss know. Jin also decided to work from his apartment after picking you up. Maybe you can sneak a nap in during lunch.

At your therapy appointment, you finally cry. You can barely speak through your tears, telling Dr. Lee how being in Tokyo felt so cathartic and so heartbreaking at the same time. You tell her about Jungkook, about the friends that you had reconnected with after years. And then you tell her about how confused you are, how you had all but run out on Jungkook on the airplane.

“This is so stupid,” You sneer at yourself, wiping your cheeks angrily, “When did I become so pathetic-”

“Stop,” Dr. Lee says sternly, “There’s nothing pathetic-”

“I’m almost thirty and I’m acting like a selfish teenager! Who does this?” You snort derisively.

“What does age have to do with how you’re feeling? Don’t beat yourself up for feeling things that you’ve never felt before,” Dr. Lee says, “You’ve been closed off for this long. It’s okay to be a little selfish. You’re only human. Don’t punish yourself for feeling. I’m proud of you. For allowing yourself to feel.”

“It’s like… I know what I should do. But I keep doing the opposite. Or I just do nothing at all. What’s wrong with me?” You groan, holding your head in your hands, “I’m a terrible person, all I do is hurt everyone around me-”

“Bad people don’t wonder if they’re bad people or not,” Dr. Lee says kindly, “Making mistakes does not make you a bad person.”

“Am I a bad person, Dr. Lee? I feel like I’m faking it in my own skin sometimes…”

“Bad people don’t want to fix the things that they’ve wronged. Admitting when you can be better is the first step to fixing it. Let yourself fix it. Let yourself lean on other people.”

FRIDAY

Today, you’re on a mission. You have to get that sad look out of Jungkook’s eyes, the one that you see whenever you happen to glance at him in passing and he catches a glimpse of you. You’ve hurt him repeatedly over the last few days and you need to make it right. Before you lose your nerve, you down an entire cup of coffee and march over to his cubicle.

You don’t even know if he’s in a meeting or not. But it doesn’t matter, you’ll wait. You’ll wait for his undivided attention.

Your courage begins to wear off the closer to get to his cubicle. But nevertheless, you persist.

“Jungkook,” You say clearly, “Hi. Good morning.”

Jungkook swivels in his chair, eyes nearly bulging out of his head when he realizes that it was you. Voluntarily at his cubicle, looking like a vision in your jeans and your plaid blazer.

It was a Friday, after all.

“Uh,” Jungkook says nervously, “Hi.”

“I have to talk to you. But not here,” You rush out, “Willyougeticecreamwithmelatertodayafterwork?”

A sigh of relief. But he’s looking at you like you have ten heads.

“Sorry, what was that? Didn’t catch what you said,” Jungkook says with an arch of his eyebrow.

“Uh. I want to talk to you. But not here at work. Will you get ice cream with me later today after work?” You mumble, looking at the floor before chastising yourself and meeting his piercing gaze.

Jungkook thinks he must be dreaming. There’s no way that you are asking him to get ice cream. He thought that you were done with him, that you disliked him even. Maybe he doesn’t know you at all.

“With me?” Jungkook sputters.

“Yeah. With you,” You nod with a small smile, “I know a place.”

“You know all the good ice cream spots on this side of the world, huh?” Jungkook says airily.

“I don’t think you had the opportunity to enjoy it in Tokyo,” You say softly, “So I want to make it up to you.”

“Oh. Okay,” Jungkook nods as his heart sings, “Text me the place and time, and I’ll meet you there?”

“Y-yeah. Okay,” You reply, pulling your clammy hands out of your pockets.

“See you soon, then,” Jungkook says, flashing a bunny smile at you. You haven’t seen that smile from him in a while and it surprises you how much you missed it. How it makes you want to smile back at him.

Your jitters are parallel, if not worse, to first date jitters, except it’s been a long time since you’ve been on a first date. These jitters are so much worse, considering that you think you have a lot to apologize for and explain to Jungkook. Your stomach is twisted in knots, your leg bouncing as you mindlessly scroll through your phone.

You’d arrived at the ice cream shop about twenty minutes early. Another nervous habit. You hate being late to things.

Jungkook walks in and you knock your knee into the table as you get up from your seat. “Hi,” You wave weakly, “Thanks. Uh. For coming.”

You feel a little dizzy, lightheaded as you take him in. Long sleeved black shirt tucked into black jeans- he looks handsome. But more than that, you’re nervous to face him and bare your heart to him.

“What’s your favorite flavor?” Jungkook asks, peering at the buckets of ice cream behind you.

“Huh?”

“Ice cream? What’s your favorite?” Jungkook asks.

“I like chocolate. I’m easy to please,” You shrug, “Maybe chocolate raspberry. Mint chocolate, too. Oh, and orange chocolate-”

“Mint chocolate,” Jungkook exclaims, scrunching his nose, “Ugh. That’s gross.”

“Oh, whatever,” You roll your eyes playfully. Jungkook gestures for you to order your ice cream first, and then you both sit at a table towards the back near the windows. The sun has long set, blanketing the city in the night sky.

“Do you like it?” You ask, pointing at his selection of cookies and cream. He looks like a deer caught in headlights when he looks up at you, eyes gleaming and lips parted. He nods enthusiastically.

A few more seconds of comfortable silence go by.

“Jungkook,” You say softly, “I think… I should explain myself. For Tokyo.”

He nearly chokes on his ice cream. “No, it’s-”

“Jungkook,” You say firmly, reminding Jungkook of why he is intimidated by you even still, “I asked you to meet me for ice cream because… I’m sorry for blowing up at you that night. You didn’t know, and it wasn’t fair to take it out on you. It’s not fair for me to keep one foot in the past and have this chokehold on a time that doesn’t exist anymore. So I’m sorry. And I’m sorry for just… running out of the airport without saying a word to you. I understand if you don’t want to have anything more than a workplace relationship with me- not that we’re in a relationship, oh my god,- I just meant, I get if you don’t want to be more than acquaintances.”

You cut off your own rambling, wanting to pull your eyes away so he can’t see your heart on your sleeve, but you find yourself unable to. Jungkook has never seen you this nervous before. It’s different. He’s only ever seen you be swift and confident, always sure in yourself. There are more layers to you than he knows, and he wants to peel them back.

“I’m sorry, too,” Jungkook says, “I didn’t… I didn’t know, but I can’t help but feel like maybe I should have. And I’m sorry. That you haven’t been happy, and that I remind you of-”

“No,” You shake your head, “What I said was wrong. I’m happy now, too. Happiness is dependent on the circumstances. It’s not the same, but it’s there. And I never… meant to make you feel like anything I was projecting onto you was because of you. I mean, we just found each other again after what? Five years? Isn’t that funny?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook nods, as if he doesn’t have the memory of the last time he saw you before you had disappeared all those years ago stamped into his brain, “And I mean… We don’t have to just be acquaintances. If you don’t want to be. We don’t have to just have a workplace relationship, as you called it.”

He shoots you a teasing smile and you shrink in your seat, with a nervous laugh of your own. “O-Okay. I’d like that. To be friends, I mean. To be friends like we were when we were younger.”

“It wasn’t that long ago,” Jungkook says, his tongue poking out to swipe at his bottom lip, “Makin’ it sound like we’re old as hell. And we don’t have to be friends like that-”

Your heart drops, and you can’t hide it-

“We can be better. Than what we were like when we were younger.”

Your face feels warm, the sincerity dripping in his eyes makes you shift in your seat. You smile at him, bright and bold, and he smiles right back. When you both leave the ice cream shop, you can’t deny the flutter in your belly at the thought of a new (but old) friend back in your life after so long.

And it feels nice.

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook #bts x reader #jungkook fluff

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janicho88 · 4 years

Text

Falling For You -Part 3

November

Pairing- Eventual Dean x Female!Reader,

Word Count-3546

Warning- Fluff. Mention of serial killers. Still burning slow.

A/N- I had an idea for a one shot, and giving a little backstory to Dean and the Reader meeting took on a life of its own. We should hit the one shot part around chapter 20, oops? This story is AU, and un beta’d. Thank you @waywardbeanie and @whatareyousearchingfordean for helping me keep these 2 characters in line and letting me bounce ideas off of you.

Summary- After being burned before you had sworn off finding love for now. Coming home from work one night there is a strange man pounding on your door. Neither of you knew what this meeting would lead to.

Series Masterlist

Do you ever notice how quickly time goes once October hits? In a blink November is over and suddenly Christmas is here and then we are ringing in the new year. You aren’t even sure you remember much of the first two weeks of November this year. You did remember you had been out helping Dean a number of nights. Work was finally back under control , but you needed to get a list around to start on your Holiday baking for the first weekend of December, Thanksgiving was next week. It seemed like you couldn’t figure out which direction to go in.

Dean had gone to see a few houses and asked you to go with him for another opinion. Both of you fell in love with the sixth house. It was a two story single family home, you would have killed for the kitchen. So much counter space for baking or cooking. It only needed a few touch ups here or there, maybe some new paint in some of the rooms eventually, but it was move-in ready. The previous owners already moved out of town and took all their belongings with them. Dean had been working with a bank to be approved for a loan before finding the house, plus he had saved what he had when his house sold. The closing was done by Friday the end of the second week.

While Dean was busy finalizing paperwork on his house, you were at your desk on your lunch hour looking through pinterest for new cookie or bar ideas. A familiar voice sounded behind you.

“I’m back bitches!” Turning around you saw the fiery redhead who was in charge of IT for the company. Charlie used to work out of this office, but they had moved her to the new clinic that had opened an hour away for the last two months.

“Things are running smoothly over there, two weeks without any problems, I get to come back to you guys now.” She walked over to her familiar work area and tapped the Hermione figure sitting by her monitor and asked if she missed her. “So what have I missed here?” You and Monica filled her in, and introduced her to Anna when she came back. The rest of the day passing fairly quickly.

Making a quick dinner that night you received a phone call from your mom. Her older sister had fallen and hurt her hip. She wasn’t going to be able to travel down for Thanksgiving, so your parents were going up there. This way your mom could help her around the house and with the meal. Your cousins were a bit lazy, they weren’t going to do it. She asked if you wanted to go with them, and after thinking about it for a moment, told her not to worry about you. Your aunt's house wasn’t very big, and some other family was going up also. That was going to be too much close family togetherness for you.

Wiping down your counter you heard a tap at the door, slipping on shoes and grabbing your purse you headed out. Jess and Dean were out in the hall waiting for you, the two of you offered to help Dean clean tonight before things were moved in tomorrow. Sam was working a big case and stuck at work this evening. The house was in good shape, it just needed a good pre move in clean.

“So Dean,” Jess started talking when you got in the car. “Since you are going to have the most room, how about you host Thanksgiving next week?”

“What?” He was a bit caught off guard by that.

“Your parents are coming up, so are mine, that’s seven of us in our apartment trying to cook a big dinner, you have a huge new kitchen and a dining room.”

“One, do you really trust me to make Thanksgiving dinner?”

“I didn’t say you had to make it all, we’ll help, you just have the space to have it at.”

Sitting at a red light Dean closed his eyes and let out a sigh, “If we can have the house usable by Tuesday, fine.”

“Good, Sam also told your parents they were staying at your house.” Rolling his eyes Dean knew it was pointless to respond. Jess turned in her seat to see you in the back, “What are you doing for Thanksgiving, Y/N?”

“Usually we go to my grandparents, but my mom called tonight and my aunt got hurt so they are all going up to her house. I’m just going to hang out at home, watch the parade, and be lazy.”

“Apparently I’m hosting Thanksgiving, come join us.” Dean offered, glancing at you in the back.

“I appreciate the offer, but I don’t want to intrude.”

“You won’t be, Sam already did that when he has people staying at my house that I’m not even living in yet, without telling me.”

“Okay, if you are sure, thanks. Just let me know what I can bring.”

“Pie, lots of pie,”

Dean had already taken cleaning supplies over to the house and the three of you decided to divide and conquer. You took the kitchen and dining room, Jess and Dean split up the two upstairs bathrooms and the master bedroom and one of the guest rooms. Whoever finishes first would start in the living room. These rooms would be used for his parents' visit and Thanksgiving, the other rooms would be tackled if there was time. Walls, windows, doors all scrubbed down, floors vacuumed and mopped, kitchen cupboards all wiped out. It took you guys a few hours and everyone was beat when you headed back to the apartment building. Sam and Dean were renting a uhaul in the morning to get Dean’s stuff from storage, you made plans to ride over with Jess to help unpack.

Back in your apartment you looked to see what you could whip up to take with you for breakfast. Normal cinnamon rolls would take too long, and you didn’t have the energy, but cinnamon biscuits were doable. You made a double batch, and prepped the icing. Figuring you would warm them in the morning and top them then.

Dressed in a comfy old t-shirt and worn jeans sweatshirt sitting with the biscuits, you were ready when Jess came to get you. “Oh my, what is that smell?”

“I figured we would be working up an appetite today, so I brought breakfast rolls. Do you want one for the road?”

“Uh, yes please.” Both of you laughing, she grabbed one out of the container while waiting for the elevator.

“Yep, Dean’s right. Girl you can bake.”

The guys pulled up with the uhaul just as you were getting out of the car. “Ready to start,” she asked.

“Not really, you?”

“I wish I was back in bed.”

“What are you two laughing at?” Sam inquired leaning down to give Jess a quick kiss.

“Just wishful dreams,” she told him.

Dean unlocked the house while Sam opened the truck. They let you and Jess take some boxes, while they moved some of the furniture that came on this load. Thankfully Dean had somewhat labeled the boxes as he packed so you knew where to drop what. His labels gave you an idea on what was important to the man: kitchen crap, bathroom junk, living room stuff, bed things, other room bed things, you just didn’t know what was in each of those boxes, but clearly knew what was in the VINYLS, TOOLS, and MOVIES boxes.

Dean had kept most of the furniture from his old place, but did have a few new things coming. Such as a master bedroom set, and new couch and dining room table. Those were going to be delivered Tuesday. Jess told you he didn’t want things that reminded him of Lisa, so he sold anything that did when he moved.

Cas came over to help in the early afternoon, bring some pizzas as an apology for missing the morning work. The biscuits you made long gone. Things were coming along nicely, Dean wasn’t super picky on where things went right now. Dean gave you the job on organizing the kitchen, he said you would know best. His only request being the coffee items were close to each other and easy to get too. He would figure out where you put anything else later. Placing his old coffee maker next to the plug between the sink and refrigerator, the glasses and mugs in the cabinet next to the sink and and coffee and filters above the machine.

Jess was helping Sam set up the guest bedroom and washing the sheets for that room and Dean’s once his bed arrives. Cas and Dean ran the wires for his tv and speakers for his record player. Dean deemed those two things most important. Everything was out of storage and into the house Saturday evening, put away was another story. You offered to help on Sunday, but Dean said he wasn’t going to work on it then, taking one day of the weekend not to work and unwind a little. He still had a few things at Sam and Jess’ place to get packed up at some point.

Thanksgiving week was always a nice work week since you were only open 3 days. Monday and Tuesday evening you had helped at Dean’s and it was ready for Thanksgiving, his parents were arriving sometime Wednesday.

When you left his place Tuesday night you headed home alone. Dean was all moved in, he was out of the apartment across the hall. It made you kinda sad to think about. It’s going to be weird not running into him in the hall, or have him randomly come over when he was giving his brother some space.

You opted for staying home Wednesday night instead of hitting the bar with Charlie and her friends, and decided to get the pies made. You went with two traditional pumpkin, and one apple since Dean liked the last one so much. When you were at the store you also picked up the ingredients to make a strawberry pretzel jello.

Thursday morning you watched the parade in comfy pj’s on your couch with a glass of hot chocolate. Unlike Dean coffee wasn’t your thing. But with the chilly weather you liked something hot in the mornings. When it was warmer you would enjoy your weekend morning drinks on your balcony.

Dinner was supposed to be at two, but you headed over before noon to help with the preparations. You put on leggings and a long sweater, Jess had told you it was more about comfort than fashion today.

It was your turn to knock on Dean’s door for once, a pretty blonde woman answering the door. She had a big smile on her face that turned to surprise when she saw you.

“Hello, can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m Y/N. Dean and Jess invited me, I came over early to help with dinner.”

“Hey Y/N!” Dean came up behind her with a big smile on his face. “Come on in.”

“Hi Dean, I came to help, brought pies, pumpkin, apple, and a jello”

“You don’t have to help,” he said while ushering you inside, “you did that enough with moving this week. Y/N this is my mom Mary, mom this is Y/N. She actually lives in the apartment across from Sam.”

“Nice to meet you dear. I’m sorry, I was expecting Sam at the door, I didn’t know anyone else was coming.”

Getting to the kitchen Dean opened up the pies and you saw him hide one of them in the cupboard. Shaking your head, you look around at the food out on the counters.

“What kind of jello is this?” Dean asked looking at the cake pan you set down.

“It’s a pretzel strawberry jello or some people call it a salad. I didn’t think you would be too fond of that term though.”

Dean looked at you before looking back down, “Pretzel jello? I see the jello and strawberries, and something solid under that but it doesn’t look like pretzels. Where’s the salad part? What are you trying to feed me sweetheart?”

Rolling your eyes and shaking your head “There isn’t actual lettuce in it Dean, this time salad is referring to a side. The solid layer is cream cheese cool whip mix, the Pretzel is the baked crust. It’s a combination of salty and sweet. Just try a bite, I’m not trying to sneak anything past you. I promise it won't hurt you as much as Sam's veggie bacon.”

Dean's face grew serious, “I thought we agreed that we don't speak of that fraud, it's not bacon. I need actual meat.”

Laughing you pat his back, “I know, I'm sorry. Now you have your own kitchen to cook real bacon.”

“Yeah or I could come to yours and let you do the work.” He said with a smile your way

“You are always welcome at my place.”

“Now that we are done discussing the jello, what do you need me to do?”

“Y/N, seriously you don’t have to help.”

“I want to, I like cooking almost as much as baking.”

Dean moved over to the list of food Jess had made up the other day, “Turkey is stuffed and in the oven, potatoes are boiling, the corncake hasn’t been started yet, neither has the salad, rolls are just waiting to bake.”

“Well Sam wanted the salad so he can do that, I’ll get the corncake going and in the oven.”

Sam, Jess, and her parents arrived a short time later. The guys all ended up in the living room watching football and left you four ladies in the kitchen. Mary started to ask Dean where his mixer was, but he told her to talk to you since you organized the kitchen. While working on last minute touches Mary turned and looked at you.

“How long have you and Dean been dating?”

Jess started laughing while you stuttered out an answer, “Oh, uh no we, we aren’t, we’re just friends.”

“They are both in denial about having any feelings for each other.”

“Jess! There are no feelings to be in denial about, we’re just friends, that’s it.”

“I’ll let you know when they catch up with what the rest of us know, Mary.” You turned back to setting the table shaking your head at her.

Dinner was great, and the conversation was even better. Dean’s dad was a little intimidating at first, but grew on you as the meal progressed. Dean sat next to you and before he took a bite of his jello he picked up the bowl and looked it over and made you promise him he wouldn’t regret it. He took his time chewing, bobbing his head around while you awaited the final verdict.

“It’s actually pretty good.” You just gave him a little nod, holding back your laugh at his behavior before going back to your own food.

The guys migrated back to the television after a while, and the four of you cleaned up. Dean came in a few times, but you sent him back out. When the first game ended the men came back for dessert. Jess brought out pumpkin bread and apple crisp her and her mom made and Dean carried the pies over.

“Y/N made pumpkin pie,” Dean told the others.

Leaning over to whisper in his ear, “You keeping the apple for yourself?”

Giving you a little grin he nodded, “You know it sweetheart.” Laughing you didn’t notice Mary watching your exchange across the table.

Looking through the ads with Jess you made plans to go out with her and her mom the next morning. Mary was watching the two of you, and you asked if she wanted to join. Jess quickly looked up and told Mary how much fun it would be if the four of you went together.

Sam tried to talk everyone into playing a new game he picked up. When he finally got everyone, even Dean to agree to join he went out to the car to retrieve it. Coming back in empty handed swearing he put it in the car, but unable to find it. He went looking through some of Dean’s things for the deck of cards he swore he didn’t have striking out again. Dean told him if he wanted to play games he needed to host Thanksgiving and went back to watching the football game. Jess was sitting beside you unusually quiet the whole time.

“Did you know he forgot the game?” You whispered to her.

“He didn’t forget it, who do you think took it out of the car?” Quickly covering your laugh with a cough she continued. “It was a trivia game about serial killers that used a courtroom type setup. The box said something about cross examining, objecting and redirecting. It seriously wasn’t happening, I get enough lawyer talk at home.”

At five am the next morning you decided Jess had too much energy. She had you leaving the apartment building by 3:30, then picked up Mary before hitting the mall. You drove the 40 minutes to Ann Arbor because Jess wanted to go to the bigger mall. Luckily the temperature was in the high 30’s this morning and you didn’t have to wait outside long. There are years you have stood outside in the snow waiting to get in a store.

You had a few things on your list, but no clue for some people. You weren't great at coming up with gifts, especially at this hour. You walked past one store front before stopping abruptly, and Jess walked into your back.

“Sorry, I wasn't thinking. I’m going to run in here real quick, I’ll catch up with you guys in a minute.” The display in the window made you think of Dean and you went into get him a house warming present.

Stopping in the food court for a break later, Mary had a question for you, “Call me crazy, but didn’t you say something about apple pie yesterday when you arrived?”

You started laughing, “ I did, Dean apparently hid it when he took it to the kitchen. He had some last time I made one and decided he didn’t want to share this one.”

Mary was talking to you more about Dean. “He seems so much happier now than when he left. He was in a dark place for a while, that girl hurt him bad. I ran into her in town, and she had the nerve to talk to me like everything was fine. I gave her a piece of my mind and John had to pull me away.” She paused for a minute before continuing, “Dean has mentioned hanging out with a new friend a number of times I’ve talked to him. I think that person has made a big difference in his happiness, and I hope they stick around for a long time.”

You weren’t really sure what to say, you gave her a little smile, and told her Dean was an amazing guy who didn’t deserve to be treated like he had been.

After running errands on Saturday you stopped over at Dean’s. He was surprised to see you at the door and invited you into the living room where he was talking with his parents.

“Oh, I’m sorry to interrupt, I just wanted to drop something off.”

“You’re fine sweetie, you aren’t interrupting anything. We were just chit chatting, but we should actually start to get some of our things around. We fly out tomorrow morning. John, we should go pick up the room, and pack what we don’t need tonight.”

“I did that earlier.’

“Well you should double check it, just in case. You two talk, we’ll be back later.” Pushing John out of the room they headed upstairs.

“I didn’t mean to chase them away, I just wanted to drop off your house warming gift.”

“Thank you, you really didn’t have to get me anything. Your help was a huge present,” Dean told you, taking the wrapped box out of your hands.

“I wanted to, just open it.”

“Oh Sweetheart, she is a beauty.” You had gotten him a new Keurig coffee maker, this one could make a whole pot, or a single pod. He mentioned he had been fighting with his old one, and you knew how important coffee was to him, especially in the morning.

“This way, you can make yourself a single cup if you just can’t wait for the whole pot to finish, or if you want one later.”

“This is great, thanks Y/N. You did well, especially for a non-coffee drinker,” he finished with a teasing grin.

“I should get going, let you enjoy your last night with your parents.”

“You don’t have to, Sam and Jess should be over soon, her parents left today.”

“Thanks, but I don’t want to interfere with family time. Tell your parents it was nice meeting them, I hope they have a safe trip back. I’ll see you around Dean.”

Part 4

Thank you for reading!

Tags @talesmaniac89 @katehuntington @winchest09 @flamencodiva @whatareyousearchingfordean @waywardbeanie @deanwanddamons @smol-and-grumpy @emoryhemsworth @anathewierdo @malfoysqueen14 @superfanficnatural @jensengirl83 @atc74 @sandlee44 @akshi8278 @fantasydevil2002

Falling For You tags- @halesandy @abuavnee @hearteyes-j2 @vicmc624 @440mxs-wife @wonder-cole @maralisa124

#FalingForYou #Deanx FemaleReader #dean x reader #dean winchester #supernatural

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leafs-lover · 4 years

Text

I wish you were here

A/N: This was requested. I thought about making this a fluff piece, but had a change of heart and re-wrote half of it. I just have a thing for Freddie, and not going to apologize for it ;)

Also I am really bad at coming up with titles

Summary: After a stressful couple of weeks apart Fred surprises you.

Warnings: Smut, swearing, NSFW

“Hey babe” you mumble into the phone. You look to your clock on your bedside table 4:17 is illuminated on the screen.

“Hey how’s it going?” he asks as you rub your eyes open.

“Good, just lying in bed” you say yawning.

“You sound tired” he says through the phone.

“Yeah most people are at 4am” you joke.

“Oh shoot. I’m sorry babe I didn’t even realize. Why did you answer?”

“We have been pretty busy, haven’t had much time to chat” you explain.

Fred returned to Denmark almost 8 weeks ago and you weren’t able to go with him due to the pandemic. You don’t have enough vacation days left; you would only have a couple days in Denmark.

You had only started dating in January, and when the NHL paused in March Fred tried to return to Denmark but the borders had closed prior to the pause. When Auston offered for Fred to quarantine in Arizona, Fred asked your thoughts on it.

If he stayed you would have to quarantine together otherwise you wouldn’t get to see him at all. That would have meant after only being together for 7 weeks you would temporarily move into his condo, and spend every second together for who knew how long. Neither of you really wanted to do that, it would be a lot of pressure on a new relationship so he opted to go to Arizona.

You hadn’t talked about labels, and didn’t know what to expect. While he was gone Fred would facetime with you once or twice a week, and you exchanged texts almost daily. He constantly complained about Auston’s terrible taste in TV shows, you complained about your roommate’s terrible attempt at baking.

You didn’t anticipate being in contact with Fred that much, but he always carved time to talk with you, he even sent you flowers a couple times and ordered you dinner from your favourite restaurant. Neither of you thought it would be almost 3 months before Fred would return to Canada.

But when he finally did, you were the first person he saw. You had just over 3 weeks together before he had to enter the bubble, and you spent much of that time together. It was so nice to have Fred back, cuddled up on the couch relaxing with him. When you finally saw him you melted into his touch, and your relationship felt like it had been catapulted forward instead of back even with the time apart.

When he went into the bubble, you didn’t expect to see him again until September, you wanted to see him but you hoped it would be three months, but it ended up being less than three weeks. He carried so much of the strain of that loss on himself, and you tried to tell him it was a team effort. The weight isn’t his alone, but the media and a lot of the fans had a different opinion. Everyone was calling for him to be traded, if the disappointing end to the season wasn’t enough that didn’t help.

He spent a couple weeks back in Toronto, but you could tell he was defeated and needed to get out. He needed to get away from the media, the rumours and spend time relaxing with his family. Fred tried to fight you on it, he wanted to stay and spend time with you. Obviously you did too, but you knew he needed this.

When he left the NHL had hoped on a December start to the season, meaning Fred would be coming back in October or early November. But as the date for the season got pushed so did his return date. You had some late nights at work, and with the time change it made it hard to talk all the time, so when you had the opportunity you took it. Leading you to this 4am phone call on a Saturday morning.

“Go back to bed skat, we can talk later” Fred says into the phone.

“No Freddie, we barely talked this week. Now that I have you on the phone I don’t want to hang up” you whine causing Fred to laugh.

“Okay, but if you get too tired Kære let me know. I don’t have any plans today so we can talk later.”

”I’m just going to make some coffee” you say getting out of bed and heading to your kitchen. ”I only planned on getting some groceries later so I can take a nap later if i want.” You start scooping the beans into the coffee maker, opting for a large pot due to the time.

”Wish I was there for your nap” Fred says to you.

”Mmm same. You are perfect for napping with” you respond.

”Oh yeah, why’s that?”

”Because you are perfect for cuddling with. I just fit perfectly in your arms, and you are like a pillow and a blanket in one.”

Fred laughs into the phone “you just use me for my body eh?”

“Well can you blame me?” you joke walking back to your bed with your mug in hand. “No I don’t actually, I mean it’s definitely nice –“

“Nice? My body is nice? That’s what you use to describe a haircut” he jokes.

“Obviously it’s much better than nice. I just meant it’s nice that you have that body, but I wouldn’t care if you didn’t. That’s not why I’m with you though.”

“Obviously not if you just think it’s nice” he mumbles jokingly. “How was your week?”

“It was so long, I had to stay late almost every night, and there was 3 nights I didn’t leave until after 9. My boss actually wanted me to work today but I had to say no. I felt like I was getting sick from lack of sleep, so it’s nice to have the weekend off.”

“You work so hard you deserve the time off” he says to you.

“Yeah, I have a couple vacation days left, maybe I’ll take a long weekend or something.”

“Yeah you should do that, don’t want to get run down working so much” Fred replies.

“But what would I do? I wouldn’t have enough days to fly to another province. And parts of Ontario are shutting down” you explain.

“Have a staycation, I’m sure a couple days doing nothing would be nice” he replies.

“Yeah I guess” you say.

“So how are my plants doing, kill them yet?”

“Nope, they are still alive, but I should get over there today to water them” you respond.

“When you say alive, do you mean alive and thriving or clinging to life?”

“Uhh, somewhere in the middle” you say causing Fred to laugh.

You continue to talk for another hour; you curl up in your bed wrapped tightly under your duvet. You can feel your eyes getting heavy, but you try to stay awake to talk to him. You are unsuccessful and end up dozing off.

When you return to work on Monday you talked to your boss who approved for you to take Friday and Monday off work, giving you a four day weekend. You are excited for your days off, but you have to get to end of day Thursday. Your week is filled with multiple zoom calls and long days, you are actually surprised your boss is okay with you taking time off.

When Wednesday comes you are completely drained. You had multiple meetings, angry clients and have to finish a project before you take off for the weekend. You were so busy you didn’t even notice you hadn’t had lunch until it was almost 3.

It’s almost 9pm when you walk through your door with some papers and dinner in hand when you hear your phone ring. Your apartment is dark and empty, your roommate away at her parents. You drop everything on your table, answering your phone as you head to your room to change.

“Hello?” you say not even looking at the caller-id, turning on your bedside lamp.

“Hi min kære, how are you?”

“Hey Freddie” you put him on speaker phone to change out of your work clothes. “I’m good, got home not too long ago.”

“Another late day eh?” he asks.

“Yeah I was trying to get my project done before my holidays tomorrow” you explain.

“Finish it?” he asks as you move to the kitchen to start eating dinner.

“Almost, should only take a couple hours tomorrow.” You look to your stove and see the time 9:09 illuminated on the screen. “Fred why are you calling so late; it’s like 3am there.”

“We haven’t talked since the weekend, and you haven’t sent many texts the past couple days” he says lightly.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I’ve just been so busy with work. I’ve been having late days and have basically gone straight to bed. I also didn’t want to call you so late, I know you had a golfing trip one day” you begin to explain.

“Oh I know babe, you don’t have to explain. I just thought you could use a pick me up” Fred says to you.

“Honestly I would love one. My week has been brutal and it’s only Wednesday. Can’t wait for tomorrow” you say sitting at your table. You didn’t realize how stressed you had been until you sat down and thought about the week. The angry clients and long hours have really taken a toll on you. Stopping to think about things brings a lump to your throat, as you feel your eyes begin to well up.

“(Y/N) you there?” you hear through the phone. You zoned out trying to not cry, you thought you could wait until you got off the phone with Fred to break down. You were wrong, and now you are trying to stifle your tears so Fred doesn’t hear you, but are unsuccessful.

“Skat, what’s wrong?” he asks hearing your quiet sobs through the phone.

“I don’t know” you cry into the phone. “I don’t think I realized how stressed I am, and tired. Just everything. It’s a lot.”

You move to your bed and crawl under your duvet, wrapping yourself tightly into a cocoon. Fred stays on the other end; he doesn’t say anything for a while, letting you cry in silence. After a couple minutes your eyes begin to get heavy, as your sobs have stopped.

��I wish you were here” you say lightly.

“Me too kære” he says. He stays on the line while you lay in bed, not hanging up until he hears your soft breaths through the phone.

“You should go” your boss says poking her head in your office at 3pm. “Start your weekend a couple hours earlier” she says smiling at you.

“You sure? I don’t want –“

“(Y/N) this place won’t fall apart without you, enjoy your time off.” With that your boss walks away, you shut down your computer and grab your jacket. You reach to grab your phone and see the blinking light. You unlock it to a text from Freddie.

F: Don’t forget to water my plants

Y/N: I watered them Monday…

F: That’s 3 days, you trying to kill them? ;)

You laugh at his message. Instead of responding you decide to go to his condo and send him a picture of you watering his plants. You jump in your car and head to his place. You park in the underground lot and make your way to the elevator. You walk down his hall and unlock his door when you hear music playing in the kitchen.

You don’t remember even listening to music when you were last here. Did someone break in? But who breaks in and plays music? You set your bag down and look around not noticing that anything missing or broken. You walk through the living room and hear clattering in the kitchen and panic sets in someone is in here.

If you weren’t so panicked you would have noticed the bag in the living room, and the pair of shoes by the front door. You hear footsteps in the kitchen and turn around to run and hide when you feel hands on your hips.

They spin you around and pull you in tight to their chest and wrap their arms around your back. You go to push yourself off the person when you smell the familiar cologne.

“You’re off early” he mumbles kissing your head.

“Fred?” you whisper in disbelief, looking up at the person in front of you.

Your eyes meet his golden brown eyes, and red hair. You bring your hands up and stroke his beard “what are you doing here?”

Instead of answering you he smiles and kisses you. Your hand tangles into his hair when he pulls back slightly “I missed you” he mumbles against your lips.

“I missed you too” you say smiling. Without warning you jump, Fred catches you and carries you into the kitchen setting you on the counter.

“Can’t believe you’re here” you say pulling him to you for a kiss.

“I know, I didn’t know when I was going to come back but after last night I knew I had to come see you. Hearing you cry broke my heart, but the worst part was not being able to do anything about it.” He brushes a piece of your hair behind you ear “I booked a flight right after you fell asleep.”

He leans in to place a soft kiss on your lips, you snake your hands into his hair, stroking his beard on the way. You pull him closer, locking him in for a passionate kiss. You don’t want to ever be apart from him again, and you groan slightly when Fred pulls away from you.

“I wasn’t expecting you for a little bit longer. I wanted to have dinner ready when you got here to try and salvage the life from my plants” Fred jokes looking over at his wilting plant on his table.

You laugh “yeah sorry about that. I was doing a good job at it, then work got crazy and I didn’t get over here as often as I’d like” you explain to him.

Fred kisses your neck “its fine, I didn’t expect them to be alive” he mumbles.

“Rude” you say turning your neck to allow him more access as he peppers kisses. Fred laughs before walking away from you. He walks over to the cupboard and pulls out two wine glasses and pours you each a glass.

He walks back and hands you a glass, he puts his other hand beside you on the counter.

“When did you get in?” you ask.

“About 2 hours ago” he replies kissing your cheek. “8 weeks is too long to be away from you.” You take a sip from your wine and turn your neck to allow him more access.

Fred runs a hand up your thigh, giving it a light squeeze. “We’ve gone longer than that Fred” you whisper.

“Yeah because the border was closed” he whispers kissing your collarbone.

“Wait it’s still closed, how did you get in?” you ask pulling away to look at him.

“I have a Visa to play on the Leafs, it allowed me back in. Should have come back sooner” he mumbles kissing down your neck again. His hands lift your legs; he places his hands under them pulling you closer to him.

“Why didn’t you?” you ask running your hand up and down his biceps as Fred sucks on your neck.

“I’m a stupid man” he mumbles his hands stroking up and down your thighs, nipping on your neck. You moan lightly, placing your wine glass on the counter. Fred moves his hands to the back of your thigh and hoists you up. You wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you down the hall to his bedroom.

He kicks his bedroom door open and reaches to the wall to turn on the light. He gently places you on the bed, his mouth attaches to yours as he hovers over top of you. Your hands gently rake through his beard, as his tongue swirls in your mouth. His hand slides up your shirt gently, his thumb pressing circles onto the skin of your stomach.

Fred grabs the hem of your shirt and pulls it over your head; he sits up on his knees and removes your pants from you leaving you in your underwear.

“This is nice” Fred says taking in your matching red set, his finger lightly grazes the fabric.

“It’s new” you respond “thought of you when I bought it.”

Fred grins, stroking a finger over your clothed core. He quirks an eyebrow at you when he feels the wetness that has accumulated “it’s been a while” you say smiling at him.

“Let me fix that” he says pulling your underwear down your legs. He lies on his stomach, hooking your legs over his shoulders. He stares into your glistening pussy for a minute; his beard rubs against your thighs his breath makes you quiver.

He finally attaches his tongue to you, licking up your juices. You moan at the contact, his tongue is still dancing outside your folds. He groans at the taste of you, before he pushes his tongue inside you. You throw your head back into the pillow as his tongue slips inside your walls.

He brings his hand up to your clit and begins to press circles into it, as his tongue slowly licks the inside of your walls. Your hands slide down to his shoulder and you squeeze them firmly as he keeps fucking his tongue in and out of you.

“Freddie” you moan as his tongue continues to press deep inside you.

You grip his shoulder and attempt to pull him up to you. You feel Fred chuckle against you, but he doesn’t stop, pressing his thumb harder into your clit.

“Babe” you groan pulling harder on his shirt “I need you.”

Fred pulls back slightly staring at you with eyes dark from lust “you have me smuk” he chuckles. He attaches his lips to your clit and sucks on it, a fuck falls from your lips. Your legs begin to squirm slightly at the feeling.

“Fred…Fred…Fuck…I” you can’t form a coherent thought as he slips two fingers inside you, sucking on your sensitive bud.

His fingers begin to pump in and out of you as he pulls his mouth from you and begins sucking on your hip. He alternates between sucking and biting on your hip. Your hip arches off the bed as he continues to pump his fingers inside you.

“This what you want babe” he asks bringing his other hand to your bra, massaging your breast.

You bring a hand down to his wrist and clamp it. He stops moving his wrist and looks into your eyes.

“I need you Fred, I can’t wait” you say panting. Fred grins and slips his fingers out of you, and quickly pulls his shirt over his head. You reach up and grip his neck pulling him down to you. You lock lips with him, your hand slides up and down his firm bicep. Fred slides a hand under your back and unclasps your bra, freeing your breasts.

His firm shirtless body is pressed against you; you can feel his erection straining through the fabric of his clothes. You palm over his pants lightly before sliding your hand around to his back. His mouth leaves you and slides down to your breast and begins sucking on it, he brings a hand up and starts rolling your other nipple through his fingers, pinching it slightly. Your hands slide down his back and reach his sweat pants; you begin to push them down his large thighs.

Fred pulls away and pushes his pants and boxers down his legs and onto the floor. He falls on top of you and returns his mouth to yours; you roll and push him onto his back. You straddle him and begin grinding against his hard cock, desperate to have him inside you.

You hear Fred mumble in Danish as you continue to rock your hips against him. You fall forward kissing Fred, his hand tangles into your hair locking you in a passionate kiss. You reach over to the side table and pull a condom out.

You pull back and tear the foil, sliding it onto his hard member. You give him a few strokes before you rise up and line him up with your entrance. Fred brings his hands to your hips; you slowly start to drop down on him.

“Fuck” you mumble at the feeling of Fred inside of you, your hand goes onto his abs and you brace yourself. Fred is longer than any man you have been with, you had started to get used to his size but then he left to go to Denmark. You know Fred will hit areas nobody has ever hit before, but you just need to adjust.

“You okay smuk?” Fred asks looking up at you.

You keep dropping yourself down on him “yeah” you whine “just been a bit.”

He chuckles pulling your head down to his. You moan at the change of angle before Fred kisses you lightly.

“Don’t worry, take your time. I’m going to get you used to it soon” he smirks kissing you.

You haven’t taken all of him but you rise up and drop down on him. You moan into the kiss, Fred’s hand holding you to him, his other hand rests on your hip. You pull away from the kiss, Fred sucks on your bottom lip as you rise up and drop back down. Fred bottoms out in you, your ass hits against his thighs as you thrust on him.

“Ahh” you moan feeling him hit the deep spot inside you. Fred is still under you allowing you time to set the pace and get comfortable with him. You continue slowly thrusting on him, pushing yourself up. Your hand returns to his abs as you increase the pace.

Fred snaps his hips and pushes in you, as you drop onto him. His hands are on your hip, gripping you tightly as he helps guide you, keeping the slow pace. Your head falls back as you thrust on him; Fred slowly increases the pace under you.

You push into his stomach as your pace increases, rocking your hips against him. You bounce on top of Fred, his cock sliding in and out of you with ease. He brings a hand up to your breast, cupping it as you ride him. He rolls your nipple through his fingers, as your nails dig into his firm stomach muscles. Your hand slides down his treasure line, pressing hard into his groin as you feel your high approaching.

“You gonna cum baby?” Fred asks noticing you are chasing your high. He squeezes your breast hard, pinching your nipple in the process. You hum in response unable to form words. Fred releases your breast and slides his hand down to your clit to press circles into it.

“Yeah, cum on me baby. I want to feel you, feel you’re cum drip down me” he says pressing harder into your sensitive bud. His hips snap and the pace is fast, you are a mess on top of him. Sweat is dripping down Fred’s stomach; you can feel it under your hand.

“Fuck Fred” you scream out, your orgasm is close. With every thrust Fred his your g-spot, your skin flapping has filled the room, followed by occasional curse words. You notice Fred becoming erratic under you as you continue bouncing on him.

Your orgasm crashes over you, the most intense one you have had in a while. You clench around him, your walls tighten, and you feel it in your stomach. Your eyes roll back into your head as Fred continues to thrust inside of you. Your juices dripping down his cock.

He strains to keep going, allowing you to finish your orgasm. As you finally come around you feel Fred still under you. You collapse onto his chest, his arms wrap around you. You lie on him, both your breaths slowly return to normal.

A couple minutes later Fred rolls to be on top of you, he kisses you briefly before heading to the bathroom to dispose of the condom. He pulls on his boxers and throws a t-shirt to you. You smile and pull it over your head; Fred climbs into bed and pulls you into his arms.

“I was going to make you dinner, but I think I’m too tired now” Fred jokes, stroking up and down your arm. “You okay with ordering in?”

You look up and into his golden brown eyes “sounds perfect” you respond. Fred leans down and kisses you, wrapping you tightly into his arms.

“So you should spend your long weekend here with me” Fred mumbles against your lips.

You smile and stroke his beard “I don’t plan on leaving; I want to spend as much time with you as possible. When are you heading back to Denmark?” you ask lightly, not really wanting to know the answer.

“I’m not” Fred replies. You look directly into his eyes “not unless you come with me” he says lightly kissing you again.

#Freddie Andersen #fred andersen #frederik andersen fic #frederik andersen smut #freddie andersen smut #freddie andersen fic #fred andersen smut #Fred Andersen Fic #toronto maple leafs #Frederik Andersen #toronto maple leafs fic #toronto maple leafs smut #nhl fic #nhl snut #carolina hurricanes

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a-singleboat · 4 years

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Word Count: 4.1k

Request: great! you’re a really good writer! could I get a Shayne Topp x Reader where they end up doing a bunch of romantic scenes together in a sketch, like slow dancing and a nice dinner and the cuddles, and you guys have been flirting constantly for months and after the shoot Damien, Court, Ian and everyone lock you two in a room because they’re TIRED of it not going anywhere - @mrtopphaasmyheart��

A/N: this actually turned out a lot longer than i thought it would... sorry not sorry!

It was Saturday night when they emailed out the filming schedules for the upcoming month. You were sitting at home, reading a book and being “insanely boring” as your friends had so eloquently put it.

But as much as you had wanted to go out with your old college friends, that week of filming had really taken a toll on you and your body. Now, as a YouTube personality, you weren’t required to do your own stunts due to the fact that stuffed dolls could easily take your place for comedic effect. However, being a former stuntwoman for a few months during college, you loved the adrenaline crashing through a window or two gave you.

As Smosh’s stunt coordinator, that meant you weren’t on screen as often as your coworkers. Which is why the upcoming month’s filming schedule shocked you. Aside from a Try Not to Laugh and a few Smosh Gaming videos, you were also scheduled in an Every Blank Ever. Namely, the Every Valentine's Day Ever video.

Considering Valentine’s Day was a little less than a month out, it wasn’t weird that they wanted to get this video recorded and on its way to editing. What was weird was the fact that most of your filming blocks aligned with Shayne Topp’s.

It wasn’t a secret that you were the group flirt. Next to Courtney, you were both the most notorious for flirting with your coworkers on screen and, in your case, off.

But with Shayne… It started five months ago. Five months ago, your harmless flirting turned into something a little more than for-good-fun.

Five months ago, the flirty little winks you sent in his direction meant more than something friendly and the words exchanged turned into something more than just words. But you were sure that was all you.

There was no way Shayne felt the same for you. After all, he was an extremely friendly guy and he acted that way to everyone. That was your best defense. That he was just really nice.

You shook your head as if the motion would shake the thoughts from your mind. You closed your book and laptop, shoving both items off to the side. You reached over and clicked your bedside lamp off, settling in for the night.

You’d figure it out in the morning, you decided, closing your eyes and letting sleep take you off to another world.

The next morning, you met up with Courtney and Olivia for your weekly Sunday brunches. You had settled on a new place, rather than your regular brunch spot. The only difference was this place offered outdoor seating, which was nice despite the fact that it was still January and it was sixty degrees Fahrenheit.

You guessed you could blame the warmer-than-average weather on global warming.

“What’d you do yesterday, Olivia?” you asked as Courtney wrapped up her recount on the movie night she had with one of her many siblings. They had gone out to watch The Turning, much to her sister’s amusement and to Courtney’s torture.

“I just hung out with Sam,” Olivia revealed, shrugging. “Wrote in my filming schedule in my planner.”

You took a sip of your mimosa, nodding along. “Yeah, I had a mellow weekend too.”

Courtney kicked your foot under the table. “But did you see who you were paired with for, like, eighty percent of the scenes, Y/n?”

You shrugged, setting your drink down. “Shayne? Yeah, I saw it.”

Courtney poked you this time. “For the Valentine’s scenes. You know, the romantic stuff!”

She wiggled her eyebrows as you fought to keep the smile off your face. “We won’t even be shooting those until Wednesday.”

You and Shayne had about three or four romantic scenes in the Every Blank Ever, marked ‘Breakfast in Bed,’ ‘Dinner,’ ‘Proposal’ (which was a continuation of ‘Dinner’), and one unspecified scene. You figured they’d tell you what the unspecified scene was when it came time to film it.

“So that means you have until Wednesday to fantasize all about it,” Olivia said, wiggling her fingers like she was a wizard spreading magic.

You laughed slightly, shaking your head. You held up a hand and asked your waiter for your check. You thanked them when they brought over the little black book, shooing off your two friends as they tried to poke fun of you.

As the baby of the group, you figured a little teasing was warranted. It came with the territory.

But by the time Wednesday rolled around, you figured your status of the baby of the group wouldn’t help you much.

Sarah Whittle, one of your bosses, stood near you as you did up your own makeup. She was waiting patiently for the curler to heat up so she could do up your hair, making you feel much like she was your mom helping you get ready for Prom night.

“You ready for today's scenes, Y/l?” she asked in a teasing manner.

You rolled your eyes and took a break from applying your mascara to stick your tongue out at the older woman like the child you were.

“It’s the breakfast in bed scene first,” you complained as you nearly poked your eye out with the wand. “Why do I need to have my hair curled if I just woke up?”

Sarah picked up the curler after sliding on the black cloth glove that was designed so that she couldn’t burn herself too badly with the heated stick of metal.

“Well, you’re going to be wearing a hair covering for this scene so your curls can set for the dinner scene,” Sarah explained before winking. “Plus, it’d be less work for me later.”

Since Sarah had already sectioned off your hair, it made it easier for her to curl the pieces and then pin them up with bobby pins to keep them secure. Once she finished, she reached over and grabbed a patterned shower cap and slid it on over the little bundles of curled hair.

She explained that the residue heat would essentially act like one of those giant hair dryers that you would sit under at a hair salon, but with less health risks.

After you were finished with hair and makeup, you were ushered off to costume where you were given a nightgown and a robe.

You thanked whatever deity was up there that you had been provided a robe before making your way to set, passing a dressed up Courtney, who waved enthusiastically at you. You resisted the urge to jokingly throw up the middle finger at your friend, instead choosing to wave back and give a tight smile that showed off your discomfort.

Thankfully, Ian was the scene’s director, which immediately put you at ease. It wasn’t that you had anything against the others. In fact, you loved being able to work with Ryan. It was just the fact that since coining Ian as your Smosh dad, you found it easier to perform better in scenes like these if someone you had already been emotionally vulnerable with was the one behind the steering wheel.

“Okay,” Ian said, clapping his hands together. “Y/n, you’re going to wake up and maybe yawn a little, and then Shayne is going to come in with a tray of food. I want you to take a bite, and chew through it while pretending you like it. You got that?”

You shucked your robe, handing it off to one of the assistants that were on hand. You gave him a thumbs up before settling into the bed, moving down so it looked like you were sleeping.

You waited, counted three breaths, before you heard Ian call, “Action.”

You waited two more breaths before ‘waking up,’ yawning and groggily rubbing your eyes. You sat up in bed, moving yourself so that your back was flush to the headboard.

“Good morning, Sweetie,” Shayne said, pretending to have come through a door. He made his way over to the bed and set the tray over your lap. You smiled at him, imagining what domestic life with Shayne would actually be like.

“Good morning,” you replied, remembering that this was a scripted moment. “What’d you make for me?”

Shayne settled into the bed next to you, pointing at each item as he listed them off. “I made the pancakes I made you on our first morning together, as well as the scrambled eggs that I know you love so much, and I got you some orange juice in a mug with a heart on it that I found from our local flea market.”

You acted like it was the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for you. Putting on a face that would read to the audience that you two were madly in love. “Oh, honey. I love it, thank you!”

You kissed his cheek, thinking nothing of it as you moved onto the next part of Ian’s directions to you. You put a spoonful of eggs into your mouth, making a face at the ‘taste.’

“Do you like it?” Shayne asked, still in character.

You made a face that was halfway between joy and disgust, acting like it was the worst thing you’ve ever eaten. “It’s great, Steve.”

Ian called for a cut and you reached out beside you as the assistant from earlier rushed to hand you a bucket. You spat out the food, scraping your teeth along your tongue to get the residue egg out of your mouth.

She handed your your robe next, to which you replied, “Thank you, Julia,” before pulling the article of clothing on.

Shayne threw an arm around your shoulders as you got out of bed, pulling you back and wrapping his arms around you. You laughed, feeling your cheeks burn with half embarrassment and half oh-my-God-what-is-he-doing.

“They got us up this early, they can give us a few minutes to nap,” he declared, settling his head atop yours the best he could in the awkward position he had put you in. It was nothing new, Shayne being touchy with you, but this time was different. You couldn’t exactly pinpoint what, but you knew something had changed.

Maybe it was the fact that you had just filmed a scene in which you both were a couple. The fake engagement ring that sat on your finger reminded you of that. The fact that this was fake.

“Come on,” Ian scolded, a laugh also written across his face. “The sooner you both get through the next three scenes, the sooner you can go home.”

You wriggled out of Shayne’s grasp, laughing as he tried to tickle your sides. It wasn’t the fact that you were insanely ticklish, no. It was the fact that his hands on you felt so undeniably right, that your brain had thought of no other reaction but to laugh.

“Alright,” you surrendered, “I’ll go. I’ll see you at dinner, Mr. Topp.”

He kneeled on the bed, raising up from his sitting position. He bent at the waist jokingly, a goofy grin on his face.

“Until then, Ms. Y/l.”

You gave him a two-finger salute in farewell before disappearing from set, making your way back to hair and makeup. There, Sarah awaited you, anxious to take out the pins and reveal her ‘masterpiece.’

Once your hair was revealed, which did look insanely good, you set to work on applying a modest amount of makeup, knowing that the amount of lights on the set would even out your complexion.

From years in show business, you’d learned that a healthy medium between your normal everyday makeup and stage makeup was the way to go when filming in a closed set. As far as you knew, you wouldn’t be filming outside or in any dark or enclosed spaces.

When you were carted off to costume, you were glad to trade out your nightgown and robe with a red dress that really did flatter your figure in the best ways. You gave Lindsay a spin when she asked you to before being carted off to set for the second time that day.

Luckily, you’d be in the same outfit for the next three scenes you had to film that day, which meant no more back and forth between departments.

You thanked whatever deity was up there because ten minutes in and the heels Lindsay had put you in were already cutting off circulation to your toes.

“Okay,” Ian said, and clapped again. It was a habit of his that didn’t look like it was going anywhere soon. “For this scene, we’re going to film the dinner and proposal all in one and splice it in editing and whatever. I’ll stop you if I want to give a little more direction, but you know what you’re doing and so does Shayne.”

You smiled at Ian’s attempt at easing up your nerves. No matter how fake, getting proposed to was always a nerve-wracking experience.

Shayne walked up to set next, dressed up and looking a little extra fancy.

You bumped his hip as they set up the scene, threading your arms through his. “You clean up nice.”

He smirked. “I could say the same for you, Y/n.”

You felt the heat rise into your cheeks, hating that Shayne could get any kind of reaction from you.

You heard Ian call action and immediately started walking. The two of you gossiped about the “hot new Italian restaurant” your boss recommended before arriving at the entrance.

“Hello,” Damien greeted them, an Italian accent gracing his lips. “Do you have a reservation with us tonight?”

Shayne stepped forward a little. “Yes, Copper. That’s C-O-P-P-E-R.”

“Copper,” Damien repeated, though his accent botched the pronunciation a little for comedic effect. “Ah, yes. C-O-P-P-E-R. Right this way.”

Damien ‘led’ you to your table, though in all reality, the cameras cut as the set changed slightly, the restaurant tables coming in and some of your coworkers coming in to fill the seats around you.

Damien asked for your order in proper waiter fashion before dashing off to ‘fetch your drinks.’

You leaned in, tucking some hair behind your ear as to not obscure your face from the cameras. “Babe, this place is really fancy. Are you sure you can afford this?”

Shayne scoffed and brushed you off. “Of course, I can afford this!”

He made a joke loudly, and you laughed nervously, looking around and apologizing to the other patrons of the bar as scripted.

“Babe,” you hissed. “Quiet down, people are staring!”

He scoffed again, doing his little bit before returning to the script.

“Let them stare!” he announced, climbing onto the table. Your eyes widened as you held onto the table, even though you fully well knew that it was bolted down to the set.

“Ramona, I am in love with you and have been since I first swiped right,” he declared, putting his hand to his heart. He jumped off the table and leaned over to another table, taking the engagement ring right off an extra’s finger.

You watched as she acted offended, storming off with her fiance.

You returned your attention to Shayne, who was down on one knee in front of you. “Ramona, will you marry me?”

You looked around, acting shocked and repulsed by what had just taken place. You gave it a few moments, waiting for the comedic timing to line up, before bursting out into fake tears and saying yes.

The crowd around you burst into cheers, you could hear your coworkers clapping and calling out congratulations as Shayne held you in his arms.

Ian called cut but Shayne didn’t let you go, holding you around the waist with one arm instead of two.

You saw Ian and Courtney exchanged glances with Damien, but thought nothing of it, enjoying the feeling of Shayne’s arms around you. You looked up at him, staring into his bright baby blues.

“What do you think the next scene is?” you asked him, leaning into his side. His arm tightened around you.

“I don’t know but I hope it's something to do with dessert,” you said excitedly.

Shayne cocked an eyebrow at you, causing you to realize the secondary meaning to your words. You slapped his pec, unsurprisingly meeting the hard muscle there, before slapping yourself in the face for not realizing it sooner.

“That’s not what I meant,” you insisted, separating yourself from him. You crossed your arms over your chest as he laughed at what you had said. You ended up laughing a little as well, walking away from the set and kicking off the heels.

While they were absolutely beautiful, they also made your feet hurt like hell. The assistant, Julia, offered you your casual shoes and you took them, making a mental note to get the woman a gift basket or something sometime in the future.

Ian came up to you as you were sliding on your Crocs, clicking the toes together happily as your feet were enveloped in the surprisingly comfy croslite.

“You ready for this next scene?” Ian asked, taking a sip out of his mug. It was nearing lunchtime now, meaning they had less than an hour to film this next bit.

“Does that mean you’re going to finally let me know what the scene is?” you asked, quirking an eyebrow. He chuckled and patted your back.

“You’ll figure it out,” he said, clapping your shoulder. “It’s all improv but you’re both extremely great at that!”

You winced at his tone of voice, not believing him at all yet you allowed him to lead you and Shayne into one of the prop closets, already decked out with studio lights and everything.

The presence of the lights put your mind at ease and considering you were wearing a red dress paired with your bright yellow crocs, you crossed your fingers in hopes that they weren’t about to record anything past waist level.

Ian pushed Shayne into the closet slightly, causing the man to tumble into you. He caught you around the waist while reflexively grabbing hold of a shelf fixed to one of the walls. You felt the heat rush to your cheeks once more, glad that his attention was more focused on making sure the two of you weren’t about to collapse onto the floor right then and there.

Once he got the two of you back on your own two feet, you wheeled around, ready to confront Ian but was met with a closed prop door.

You approached the door knob and twisted it, to find that it was locked. You shook it in hopes that this was one of the closets that would just slide open to no avail. You and Shayne were stuck in the closet with one of the hottest stage lights the company owned.

“We’ll be back in thirty minutes,” you heard Ian call out, the sounds of Courtney and Damien snickering coming from beyond the door.

“You’re dead, Hecox!” you shouted before resigning. “They’re not gonna let us out in thirty, minutes, are they?”

Shayne chuckled, trying to make the best of the situation. He had already made himself comfy on one of the wooden chests.

Then, the stage light shut off and that’s when the panic set in.

“Oh, my God,” you freaked, eyes going wide. The only light was now the half-dead emergency bulb in the ceiling of the prop closet, leaving the both of you in what was essentially the dark. You turned around and started to pound on the door, calling for your boss, Courtney, anybody. At one point, you found yourself calling for the assistant that had followed you around all day.

“We’re going to die in here,” you lamented, leaning up against a wall.

Shayne hopped off the chest and came over to you, grabbing your arm and pulling you into his chest.

“We’ll be fine,” he comforted. “It was probably just a blackout. We’ve been getting them around the studios pretty often recently. They’ll probably come back for us in a few minutes when they realize that the building’s powerless.

You nodded, calming yourself down in his arms. He was right. The crew wouldn’t leave you in here during a blackout… would they?

You started to think about how much of a safety and fire hazard leaving the two of you in here would be and started to panic again.

“Shayne,” you whimpered. “What if they can’t get back to us? If the building is on lock down then they wouldn’t be able to use their key cards to get us out and I don’t even think Ian remembers where he put the backup keys and--”

You were cut off by a pair of lips covering yours. You let out a muffled noise of surprise, before closing your eyes and leaning into the kiss. Your hands flew to his hair as he pulled you even closer, if humanly possible.

Now, when someone tells you that the fireworks aren’t real, they probably weren’t doing it right because here, with Shayne, it was like the Fourth of July. You felt the lust, the passion, the absolute adoration for the man that held you in his arms well up inside you until you had to pull away for air.

You pulled back, struggling to regain control over your breathing. You looked up into his brilliant baby blues and searched for a reason behind what he had just done.

“Uh,” he licked his lips, “you were panicking and I had to do something so that you wouldn’t pass out or--”

You cut him off that time, standing up on your toes to meet him with another kiss, just as passionate as the last.

“What was that for?” he asked, when you finally pulled back.

You bit your lip. “I’ve liked you for a long time,” you finally admitted. “And it sucks that it took our coworkers locking us in a room together that I finally grew up and did something about it.”

Shayne glanced at the still-closed doors. “Yeah, those assholes. Forcing me to get kissed twice by the woman that I am deeply infatuated with.”

He kissed you again, laughing as your lips met. You pulled back and kissed his cheek and then down his jaw, settling one last kiss over his lips for good measure.

“You know, we should totally fuck with them,” you proposed, a hint of playfulness behind your eyes. “And then go home and figure this out on our own terms.”

Shayne’s eyes met yours with the same intentions behind his eyes as yours. “Are you thinking that I’m thinking?”

You nodded before kissing him again, and again, and again…

It was forty-five minutes later until your coworkers came to your rescue.

Putting your plan into action, you crossed your arms and turned your head away from him. You were sure there were still black tear marks down your face from when you had started crying earlier, after realizing the power in the building had gone out.

Ian was the first to apologize upon seeing your disheveled state. Thankfully, he had taken the state of your hair and makeup as a sign you were actually distraught. He apologized, along with the others, for locking you in the prop closet in the first place.

You told them it was okay and that you just wanted to go home after the ordeal you had been through.

Surprisingly, you had managed to escape the building an hour later. You met Shayne by your car, giggling as he grabbed you around the waist. He peppered your face with kisses before setting you down, allowing you to unlock your car.

He entered from the other side as you thanked whatever deity was up there for making today one of the days he had decided to carpool with Damien. His excuse was that he was just going to Uber back to his place, seeing as it wasn’t that far from the studio.

Although that was a load of bull, the two of you were heading back to your apartment to work things out.

“Those idiots,” Shayne joked as you pulled out of the lot. “They were none the wiser.”

You laughed as you drove away from the building. “I’m sure they’ll figure it out by tomorrow. After all, I’m your ride in tomorrow.”

Shayne shrugged, reaching over the console to grab your hand. “I’m fine with that. As long as I get you all to myself for tonight.”

“I’m fine with that,” you said, a grin on your face. You would spend an eternity with him if it meant you got moments like these in the future. And you were fine with that.

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clean-bands-dirty-stories · 4 years

Text

Study Buddies ~ H.D.

A/n: Yall really be liking Hamish huh? Lol we stan tbh.

Request: “Hi could I request a hamish duke x male reader where the reader is like the super studious person like always preparing for the next test or something and hamish starts liking him? Ps you are like the only person who does the order fics and I love that you do it because I love the order boys!!” by anonymous

Word Count: 3000+

Masterlist

Psychology was hard.

School was never one of those things that came easy to Y/n. He wasn't one of those kids who could sit there and give the bare minimum effort. He struggled to follow throughout an entire lecture because the sun was bright and the grass was really green and he knew it was a nice day outside today and... wait now he'd missed five minutes of class, dang it!

In college, five minutes was like missing three days of school. The topic was suddenly completely different and Y/n was lost and confused.

That didn't stop him from being a top student in each one of his classes though. He had always been proud of his grades and worked himself near death if necessary, if it meant getting an A. Not literally near death of course, that was dramatic.

Y/n had taught himself time management at a very young age. It had been the key to his success ever since. He slept and ate food - three meals a day - and even kept a job, taking every free moment he had to study his ass off so that he knew what was going on and could deliver the proof with those beautiful red A's on the top of each of his papers.

Y/n really did study so much to get those results though. On his breaks at work, between classes, before and after school, during meals and off periods. He even quizzed himself in the bathroom and the shower, checking to make sure he'd gotten it right when he got out. It was hard and tiring, but it meant that he succeeded every time, and that's what was important.

He was a good student. His psychology teacher's TA, Hamish Duke, was very appreciative of it.

Hamish was around a lot more than the teacher was. He taught lectures and even graded papers. This class had long since been seen as Hamish’s class, and that was perhaps why it was so easy for him to slip every conversation into the direction of Y/n. Hamish was proud of all his students, but most often his star pupil.

Hamish talked about Y/n constantly. Or, more accurately, his grades. Like a proud parent showing off his child, Hamish filled his friends' ears with rant after rant about his favorite student. The only student that seemed genuinely knowledgeable about the material. The only student as well who turned in his stuff early and asked questions rather than just listening, and seemed dedicated and focused on everything, as Hamish said.

One day during one of these rants, Lilith said something that changed everything. "He likes you."

Hamish jerked back, his face twisting in disbelief. "What? No he doesn't."

Randall snorted. "No, I have to go with Lilith on this one, Hamish. I have math class with Y/n and he doesn't pay attention at all. He's just a super nerd and teaches the stuff to himself in his free time."

"Some boy doesn't pay attention in any class but Hamish's?" Jack laughed. "Dude so has a crush on you."

Rolling his eyes, Hamish stood. "You guys obviously have no sense of respect. Sorry, I forgot who I was talking to- I already knew that." The trio laughed as Hamish walked away.

After that though, Hamish became hyper aware of Y/n. The boy had his eyes on Hamish nonstop. Every once in a while, he'd even mutter under his breath as he'd watch and Hamish realized after a while that he was watching so closely, he was subconsciously mouthing along with Hamish. Probably because he read the book on his own time as well. Which made Hamish wonder why Y/n ever came to class. If he read the book, was he just... adding some context? Insight? So he asked Randall about it.

"Y/n only comes to class about half the time. The entire time he asks questions, but it's never about what's happened in previous classes or anything- just clarification about what we're learning now. I think he's got some theories? I don't know, he likes to test the water and push formulas. Our teacher actually gets a kick off of it. Y/n makes math fun, and... well, it's math. We all get happy when he's there."

So he might have stayed consistent with his insatiable need to deeply understand everything he took part in, but there was something different about Randall's experience from Hamish's. First of all, Y/n had never missed even a single one of Hamish's classes. Hamish knew because he had a perfect attendance record, and Hamish and the teacher - Ms. Merrill - talked about Y/n around their discussion on the newest lesson plan, batch of tests or even homework.

While Hamish was trying to ignore the thought of Y/n's possible feelings for him and teach a lesson instead, Y/n threw him off by approaching him after class. "Mr. Duke, I was wondering if you know any good tutors. I've been really struggling with the stuff we've been going over recently.

Hamish quirked an eyebrow. "Your grades are almost perfect."

There was a small smile on Y/n's lips when he spoke next. "Unfortunately, grades don't reflect understanding. I can sense myself starting to struggle I don't want to depend on luck being as good to me as it has been."

"Surely you're being modest."

A light chuckle. "Well, yes. I never depend on luck. I have been making educated guesses though and crossing my fingers on the rest."

That Hamish could relate to. "I see. I have to say, I don't really know anyone doing as well in my class as you are. No one who seems to be getting it as well as you do at least. It's mostly your questions that seem to clear up a lot of things for everyone else." Y/n seemed to lose hope as Hamish spoke. Maybe it was the look of panic that caused Hamish to speak next. "Uh, maybe I could." Y/n's eyes widened. "I just- I mean, obviously I understand it a little better. And in a one-on-one setting, it'll be less a lecture and more teaching since I'll be able to take you through my understanding on a deeper level."

"You'd do that?" Y/n looked so hopeful...

Despite the little voice screaming at Hamish to run, he couldn't bring himself to. "Yeah. When are you free?"

"I work everyday except Tuesday, Wednesday, and Saturday. Wednesdays I have completely free but if you wanted to work around Tuesday or Saturday that would be fine." Y/n pulled out a pen from behind his ear. Hamish hadn't noticed it before.

Hamish shuffled. He felt awkward for some reason. Why did he feel awkward? "Wednesdays will be perfectly fine for me. Should I get your number so we can decide what time and place?" Y/n nodded before holding out the pen and offering... his arm. "You don't have paper?"

Y/n rolled his eyes, but his smile was fond not mocking. "I really have to get to work actually. Could you just-?" He motioned to his arm and Hamish shrugged before trying to be delicate as he inked his number on the inside of Y/n's arm. "Thanks! I'll call you." He turned and moved quite quickly out of the room before disappearing out the doors. It was only after Y/n was gone that Hamish realized he still had the pen.

It was fine, he could give it back when they met up to study later.

Later on in the day, Hamish was still struggling to understand why he was so excited for the Wednesday study session. I mean Y/n seemed really cool so maybe Hamish just wanted to be friends with him. That made sense. But right as Hamish thought he was finally over it, it popped back in his brain again and he felt weirdly jittery and unfocused. He kept having to reread the problem he was on because he would get distracted before he could answer it then forget what it was when he finally focused again.

Lilith snapped her book open. "Okay, what's your deal?" The other two boys looked over. Hamish was surprised when he went to look at who she'd snapped at and had seen them all looking at him. When he only looked back confused, Lilith rolled her eyes. "Come on Hamish spill the beans. You won't sit still and you keep looking outside like you're waiting for a package to arrive or something."

"The last time he got like that was when you took him online shopping and he bought a grey v-neck. He threw a party when it came." The tease came from Randall.

"The he cried when you threw up on it," Lilith recalled.

"He CRIED?" Jack's eyes widened in amusement.

"It made my eyes look really good and that stain never came out!" Hamish exclaimed, defending himself.

Lilith shut up the others as they began to laugh. "Anyway, what has you all messed up now?”

Hamish scoffed. "Nothing could be as cool as a gray v-neck. You still owe me a replacement by the way," he shot at Randall, who winked and grinned in response.

"Hamish," Lilith snapped.

Pursing his lips, Hamish hesitated. Then he sighed. "There's only one thing I've got planned and it's not a big deal." Everyone leaned forward. When he didn't explain Randall motioned him to continue. Hamish rolled his eyes. "Y/n asked for some help-"

"You have a date with Y/n?" Jack demanded, his grin already face splitting.

"It's not a date!" Hamish slammed his own book shut. "He just needs someone to study with. He seems to be struggling."

Randall snorted, wiggling his eyebrows. "Probably because he's so distracted by Mr. Teacher."

Lilith nodded in agreement. "Sounds like a study date to me."

Waving his hand to dismiss what they were saying, Hamish stood and moved to the bar. Maybe if he drank something he could make sense of the chaos. Both of his friends and the one that was made up of his emotions. He usually handled both plenty well but they seemed to be refusing to make sense today. "You guys are idiots."

Idiots or not, their words followed Hamish all the way to Wednesday. He and Y/n only texted once to establish the time and place and it was just as professional as their conversation in person had been, but that didn't stop Hamish's mind from going wild. For the first time since Cassie he felt... stupid. He didn't know what to do or say. He found himself wanting to text Y/n more, but couldn't find a reason to. Why was this messing him up so much?

Panicked, Hamish pulled Randall aside at the last second. "I am freaking out."

"Your thing with Y/n today?" Randall asked. Hamish just wordlessly nodded. Randall smiled. "You like him, don't you?" Hamish was stubborn, but he wasn't dumb. He closed his eyes, groaning. "You have for a while?" Randall continued. "Like even before we said anything."

Hamish thought about that for a second. He thought about Ms. Merrill teasing him about how much he talked about Y/n. How she would hand him all Y/n's papers and tests to grade. He thought about the smiles on people's faces when he mentioned Y/n at all. He thought of the warmth in his gut he'd passed off as pride this whole time but, on a second look, was obviously something more. "Yeah." He frowned as he focused on Randall again. "Why did it take me so long to realize?"

Randall smiled. "You're stubborn. Once you've set your mind it'll never be changed. Whatever it was - whether you mislabeled the emotion, or the relationship between you guys, or even you or Y/n as people. Once you labeled it, you weren't going to be swayed until someone forced you to."

"Thank you Lilith," Hamish mumbled, feigning bitterness. Randall laughed. After a second, Hamish asked, "What now?"

Clapping Hamish on the shoulder, Randall let out a heavy sigh. "Now you go to this study date and you woo the boy. Duh."

So that's what Hamish did. He met up with Y/n and recognized the swell in his chest when he saw him. The way his stomach twisted. Now that he knew what it was, he was nervous rather than excited. Why was it suddenly so hard to talk to someone once you liked them?

They were already acquainted. Y/n had seen Hamish in all kinds of conditions, if not all but his worst. They knew plenty about each other, if just in passing. They'd talked plenty of times. They'd even been alone a few times, in a setting just like this. Y/n had been there when Hamish had been a disaster while trying to adjust to fully teaching a class instead of just doing grunt work. He'd helped Hamish out even, instead of teasing him or messing with him like the others students tried to do. What did Hamish have to be afraid of? Y/n trusted Hamish with his grades and education, and that seemed to mean a lot to him. Hamish trusted Y/n too. To tell the truth. To guide and help when he was struggling, and to liven things up when it got boring. It shouldn't have been hard to just talk to him.

And yet.

Y/n placed a hand on Hamish's arm. "Hey, are you okay? You seem upset." Hamish looked at him and realized how close together they were. Not too close, like friends, but far closer than they'd ever been before.

He didn't know what possessed him. It would have been better to break the ice. Maybe bring it up casually and talk about it. Flirt or tease. Anything to transition or something. Hamish skipped all of that. In his little moment of panic, he just leaned in right for the kiss.

And Y/n jerked away.

Hamish nearly choked. "I- I'm so sorry-"

Blush swallowed Y/n's face. "You were going to kiss me, right? I didn't misread that?"

"Yes." Hamish white knuckled his pencil. "I should have lead into that. You just- have these really pretty eyes-" He chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand.

"You... I'm sorry you just took me by surprise." Y/n rubbed his forehead. "Please don't tell me you thought I asked for your help because I liked you." Hamish's smile fell and he tried to find something to say, but Y/n looked uncomfortable and he was afraid he'd make it worse. "Hamish, I meant what I said when I inquired for help. You suggested doing it yourself. I don't... like you like that. Honestly I'm about to take a short leave for a few days and didn't want to get behind so I thought I'd get some clarification on some things I've been studying on my own."

Hamish felt like an idiot. "Oh."

"Yeah," Y/n returned softly.

"I'm... so sorry," Hamish breathed out. "Honestly I was talking about you to my friends because I admire your hard work and good grades and how you engage in class and make it fun, and they messed up my head." He shook his head, trying to clear it. "How about we ignore all of that and focus on school? I'm sure you still need help."

Y/n paused, a smile growing on his face. "I'd like that. I don't think I could get anyone as good as you to help me with this."

The awkward tension passed in a few moments as they got absorbed in work. The problem was, as Hamish easily lost himself in teaching, Y/n was now the one who found himself distracted. Hamish had a really nice smile and the sun reflected off his eyes and hair and made him look like he was almost glowing. Y/n hadn't noticed it before, but now... thinking about Hamish kissing him. How Hamish might like him. Might have been thinking about him and wondering. Getting up the courage for this little thing, and how he hadn't run away to save his pride because he valued Y/n's need enough to push away his own feelings.

They parted on good terms, shaking hands after a pause. Then they gathered their stuff and went their separate ways.

Hamish refused to talk about the "date" with Y/n, no matter how much his friends begged and prodded. Not even Lilith could pry anything from him. When Y/n didn't show up for class, Hamish figured he was gone for his little break. A break that lasted for a week and a half. Every class without Y/n was super boring and seemed to teach no one anything. Students all stared at him like he was speaking another language, and everyone refused to ask any questions. No jokes or engagement at all. He understood what Randall had meant by everyone getting excited when Y/n came to class now.

It was right after the next class Y/n hadn't been at that the man himself suddenly appeared. He looked determined about something, walking to Hamish quickly. Hamish was at the back of the room, trying to pull himself together and lift his spirits as he worried yet again that he was maybe just a bad teacher and Y/n was the one who made people stay and come at all. It was then that Y/n barged in and walked right up to him, cutting him off int he middle of greeting him and asking what he needed to grab him by the shirt and pull him into a kiss.

Without hesitation, Hamish kissed back. He held Y/n's face as the other boy pulled them as close together as they could get. When they parted, they'd moved a little so that Y/n was sitting on Hamish's desk, Hamish between his legs. "Whoa," Hamish whispered, both stunned by the kiss and their current position.

Y/n exhaled a sharp breath. "You asshole. I've been thinking about you nonstop for MONTHS and you finally try and kiss me right when I'm getting over you. Then I'm gone and all I can think about is you again and I miss you and your stupid class and your hair and eyes and your voice and how much I wanted you to kiss me so guess who's back early because I need you to kiss me? GUESS."

Hamish chuckled, soft but for quite a while. Y/n shoves him, but before he can go off again Hamish is already kissing him for the second time. Both boys relaxed and melted into each other. "Hey," Hamish whispered.

"Hi," Y/n whispered back.

The older boy's thumb brushed over Y/n's cheek. "Let me take you on a real date."

Biting his lip to try and contain his smile, Y/n considered. "Only if you agree to be my boyfriend."

Hamish grinned. "Does this mean we can be study buddies all the time?"

"Will you distract me with kisses like you tried to last time?" Y/n asked.

Tilting his head, Hamish avoided answering. "Not... EVERY time..."

Y/n laughed, shaking his head. "Fine. Deal."

"Deal," Hamish agreed. And they kissed again to seal it. Finally.

#hamish duke #the order #the knights of saint chrisptoher #the knights of the order of the hermedic blue rose #hamish duke x reader #hamish duke imagine #male reader #the order x reader #the order imagine #the knights of saint christopher x reader #the knights of saint Christopher imagine

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