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virgincels · 8 months

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PUPPY LOVE !

ft. leon s. kennedy x f!reader

tags. puppy hybrids, knotting, chris is the owner but he’s like not fucking, virginity loss, vendetta leon, age gap, lots of spit

notes. i write gn reader usually but this is super sickeningly self indulgent so it’s fem reader ughdhfh im so sorry this is crossposted on my ao3 :3 NOT BETA READ If u see a typo no you didn’t!!! I am so humiliated by this fic um this only makes sense with vendetta Leon so keep him in mind

“C’mon, buddy, ain’t it a cutie?” You’re being held up, some scary man's hands under your armpits, legs dangling in the air as he shows you off to an older dog.

It. How rude. You’re a lady for god's sake. An ill-tempered little lady in fact. This is growing tedious, so you let out a noise of warning, and clamp down on his forearm with your canines. They’re just in. Fresh and white. Had taken a while, you were a bit of a late bloomer, but they're here now, and that’s all that matters.

“Shit,” the man clicks his tongue, “you got some spunk, huh, pup?” He places you down on the ground, and you sink to your knees with a soft huff. “What’d you think, Leon?”

So that’s his name. The older dog, Leon. He looks worn out and mean. Brows furrowed, wrinkled forehead, dark hair that obscures most of his face. What a creep. You’ve been set up, the old lady at the pet shop told you this was going to be fun! She said you were gonna meet someone handsome, a stud who’d give you puppies. This dog looks like he doesn’t even go into rut anymore. His glory days are so over. Ten years past his prime. You stick your nose in the air and refuse to acknowledge him. He does the same.

“Leon, come on, buddy,” the man, well, you guess he’s your owner now, tries to coax him over, “don't be like this.”

Leon simply rolls onto his side, his ears flopping over so the pink underside is seen. Rude. You’re so pretty any normal mutt would be begging for it. But, you guess he’s just faulty. ‘Cause he’s an old man. Duh. This is so unfair, a pampered pooch like you deserves so much better. A two bedroom apartment with a single bathroom, and an open-plan kitchen is just not classy.

“Fuck, Leon, you always gotta be so damn difficult.” Your owner crouches down, fastens a collar around your neck. It’s pink so that's good at least. You’re a stupid pup, can’t quite make out what’s engraved on the doggy bone charm, but you assume it would be your name. “There you go, girl, you like it?”

You tilt your head to the side, but ultimately nod your head with a forced smile. Getting on your owner’s good side would be ideal. Maybe he’d spoil you a little extra. He’s awfully handsome when you take a moment to really look at him. Why couldn’t he have been the stud?

“That’s a good girl,” he presses a soft kiss to your head, “why don’t you go make yourself comfortable, pup?” He gives you a little smack on the bottom, makes you jump. Gosh. His hands are so big. He’s so big. You felt the way he flexed under your teeth earlier. So much meat to him.

With another huff, you walk around, sniff the couch cushions, press a dainty paw to the wall, admire all the framed photos. They’ve been together for a long time it seems. Your owner and Leon. He used to be perfectly pretty. Sunflower blonde, dopey smile on his slightly rounded face, puppy fat softening all his rough edges. Cute. You wish he still looked like that. His tail looks like more of a blur in the photos, towards the end he starts to mellow out, turning into what you’ve seen of him today. Moody.

“Leon was a military dog,” your owner explains. You don’t know what that means, but you think it’s important. Considering all the strange clothes with leather straps and that ugly green print, there’s even a gun in your owner’s hands. “He’s retired now though. I thought you’d cheer him up a little.”

You blink at your owner, pressing your nose into his hand when he offers it, pink tongue licking at his salty fingers. Yeah, you like him. He’s firm and sweet. Smiles at you in a way that’s kind. Leon is the only problem. Whatever. He’ll kick the bucket soon enough, or maybe your owner will get tired of him. After all, you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, but you’ve got plenty up your sleeve to show off. Rolling over, batting your lashes, smiling, looking pretty. You’ve got it handled.

“You know how to speak, pup?” Owner cups your cheeks, “my name is Chris,” he says it slowly, waits till you repeat it back to him.

“Chris…” you’re hesitant to speak, unsure of if you did it right. He pats your head, offers you a paw-shaped treat, that must mean you did well.

“Such a good girl, aren’t you?” Gosh. You like him lots ‘n lots. This place ain’t so bad after all.

“She’s settling in well,” Chris is on the phone with somebody, “no, course not, god, she’s a star.” He’s talking ‘bout you, and you like it. You’re the apple of his eye these days.

He scratches behind your ears as you sit beside him, chewing on a squeaky toy you gnawed at so bad it popped. Leon is laying on the floor as usual, sleeping soundly on a warm spot. You'd given him a shifty kick earlier, but he just grunted through a heavy snore.

It gets lonely when Chris leaves for the day, you often find yourself nesting in his bed, sniffing his pillow, chewing on one of his shirts for comfort. You get scolded for all the pin-sized holes left by your needle-sharp teeth, but you continue to do it. Leon is mean. He bares his teeth when you try to play, kicks you away when you try to curl into him at night, all sorts of things. He’s no fun, it’s why you cling to Chris’ leg, whine and scratch at the door, kick your legs and throw back your head to wail.

The door clicks shut after a short tussle between your teeth and the rough fabric of Chris’ jeans. You sniffle and curl up against the front door. This is so cruel of him. Why can’t he just stay and play all day? You have so many games planned that Leon never wants to partake in. Tug of war, fetch, tummy rubs, kisses, cuddles. It’ll be so much fun! And yet there’s nobody to do it with.

You nose at his cheek as he sleeps in his usual spot. Just by the window, bathed in the warmth of the yolky sunlight, chest rising and falling in tandem with his breaths. His nose scrunches ever so often, his tail mostly still, other than the little flick to the side it makes when you approach him carefully. He smells good. That’s the one thing you like about Leon. His scent. It’s thick and rich and has your gut bubbling with an unfamiliar feeling. However, you welcome it, it feels good to you. Makes you squeeze your thighs together.

“Leon,” your slurring speech makes his brows furrow, his lips downturned, “play with me.”

A low sound rumbles deep in his chest when you continue to prod at him, is he seriously growling at you? This dog has no manners whatsoever. Seriously, who raised him? It can’t have been Chris. “Leon,” you drag it out this time, whining as you clamber on top of him.

Sniffing his neck, you lick at his Adam’s apple, watch as it bobs when he swallows. He opens his eyes, glares at you through light lashes, swats at your face.

“Play with me, Leon,” your bottom lip juts out, giving him those eyes that no one is able to say no to. None of the pet shop workers could, and Chris certainly can’t, so Leon should surely fall for it.

Leon’s eye twitches, his lip curls upwards, flashing those big teeth of his. It’s a warning that you take with a grain of salt. “Leon, ‘m wanna play,” you say again, wriggling on top of him, your hands planted on that firm chest of his.

You’re a pest. A mutt at best. A bother, a hindrance, all of the above. Leon doesn’t know many other words. He has no clue on whose idea this was, couldn’t have been Chris on his own, must’ve been his sister. Or the lady with the pixie cut, one who brings him treats whenever she visits. ‘Cause Chris knows him well enough. Knows that Leon likes to be alone lately. That a new puppy is just an extra mouth to feed for Chris. He doesn’t need company, doesn’t appreciate a hyperactive pup kneeing him in the gut every hour in an attempt to play some kiddy games.

Total cutie. He’ll give you that. Soft and sweet like all puppies are. Floppy ears, fluffy tail, cute teeth that don’t do much damage. Droopy tits, layer of pudge that puppies tend to have, full hips, and a pert ass.

Now, Leon would never hurt you on purpose. It’s why he sticks to threats he never follows through with. Snarling, baring his teeth, the regular shit. Would get any normal pup scampering away from him, but you’re spoiled rotten. You get what you want at the drop of a hat. He blames that on Chris. Old age has made him sappy. Old age has only made Leon feel like shit. His bones ache on the daily, can’t even get up to bark at the mailman anymore, his walks have been cut down to half an hour once a day, finds it harder to chew on those dental bones Chris tosses him. Stressful times. And the cherry on top of his shit sandwich is you. The little nuisance who insists on bothering him no matter what.

“Leon,” you start again, talking in that high-pitched tone, an excessive amount of spit garbling your speech, “play!”

Christ, you don’t know when to give up. He gives you a light shove, hopes it’s enough to deter you, of course that's just wishful thinking. You bounce back fast. Pressing your forehead to his, you muster up your nastiest glare. Cute. You’re cute when you do that. “Play with me.” Each word is punctuated by your fists smacking down on his chest.

You’re hovering over him, bare bottom on his clothed lap, tits pressed flush to his chest. Every piece of clothing Chris tried to put on you was deemed itchy. Snipping off the labels never helped, you seem to only like cashmere, expensive taste. So he gave up. Lets you wander around in your birthday suit.

“I don’t want to play,” Leon gets out through gritted teeth, expression contorting into one of restraint when you rock your hips back and forth absentmindedly. You’re being playful. Trying to get him up, trying to get any sort of reaction from him. But he can feel you. Leon’s been out of business for a long time. He was so damn sure his dick had malfunctioned a couple years back. No seed left to spare. This old dog was dried out.

This is all it took to get him fixed up? Puppy cunt? God. What a sicko. He sits up, hands on your hips to still you. Your brow quirks in confusion, blinking at him dumbly. Poor puppy. Don’t even know how wet you are. How your heady scent is coating the walls, making it unbearable for Leon to even breathe. He’s going fuckin’ crazy.

Leon pins you down, hair hanging in your face as he hovers over you. “Playing?” You ask him, face lighting up at the prospect of getting him to join in on your games.

Oh, he’ll teach you a new game, alright. It’s cute how you act all haughty, get Chris running around like a headless chicken ‘cause you’ve got so many demands, when really you’re just a stupid pup. Can’t even take care of yourself. Walkin’ around with this drippy pussy, an itch so deep in your core you can’t scratch it. Leon can’t lie, he’s cracked open an eye to see you trying your best to get rid of it. The ache in your lower belly. Rubbing yourself all over that pink teddy Chris brought back after a trip. Pressing its wet snout deep into your cunt to get rid of that strange tingle, but to no avail. Leon found it a little funny. He remembers being that way.

The sound you let out when he spreads your fat pussy is adorable. A whine that borders on a yelp. You’re frightened and confused for a moment, until his fingertips find your swollen clit, pushing back the hood, swiping over it again and again. Then you melt into a puddle of goop. That’s right. Must feel so damn good. You’ve got a chubby cunt, pillowy lips that hide your bud from his view, fluffy fur all over your tummy and crotch that’ll shed in a few months time and grow back in a darker shade. Cute little thing. He’s gonna eat you up.

He bullies his way between your thighs. Your scent is so much thicker now. Clinging to his skin in a way he’ll be unable to wash off. The first swipe of his tongue through your folds has your hips bucking up, pelvis mashing into his nose a little painfully. Leon makes sure to hold you down. You’re sugary sweet in his mouth, like he’s bitten into a ripe fruit. Your pussy sure is the sweetest peach he’s ever seen.

“Leon…” you grab at his ears, tug on them to combat the immense pleasure that tears through you. Ouch. He’s gotta get Chris to trim those claws of yours down.

His hand is splayed across your tummy, holding you down as he buries his face in your cunt. Leon nips at your inner thighs then goes back to making those obnoxious noises that any lady with dignity would be mortified by. But you’re a stupid puppy that can’t tell left from right. Eyes rolling back into your skull as he slurps away, lips smacking noisily, his tongue fucking in and out of that tight hole.

Your toes curl in your fluffy socks, hips arching up despite his hold on them, pussy gushing like a burst pipe all over him. “There you go, atta girl,” Leon hums, flicking your clit one last time for good measure. He smiles at the sound you let out, a pitchy yap of irritation.

More where that came from. You got him all worked up. That hasn’t happened in years. His cock is dripping, a wet patch forms in the front of his sweats that he’s quick to lower. Your mouth waters at the sight, smiling at him all dopey. It’s instinct, it seems, for you to be a greedy, cock-hungry little pup. Leon’s all for enthusiasm, so he’ll give it to you, reward the spoiled little pup.

He’s sheathed inside of you in no time. You’re made for this sorta thing. Made to be a breeding bitch if he wants to get crude about it. So he doesn’t worry too much ‘bout how you’re adjusting. Just moves his hips forward sharply, fat tip jabbing at your cervix, and watching as you tremble.

“Mmm, Leon,” your nails scratch down his chest, ears flattening against your head as you gaze up at him with starry eyes. This all it takes to calm you down? Some dick? Leon’s willing to give it whenever you get rowdy. Spit pools in your mouth, dribbles down your chin, and he’s quick to lick it up. You don’t know how to kiss him. But you try. It’s clumsy and open-mouthed, your tiny hands cupping his stubbly cheeks as you just kinda slobber all over the lower half of his face. That’s alright. Leon got the hang of it after about five years. He can teach you.

You’re sucking his dick in, pussy tight around him like a vice, his balls slap against your ass. It’s so good. Fuck. He should’ve done this sooner. Should’ve jumped you the moment Chris brought you home. What an idiot. He was basically gifting Leon a living fuckdoll and he missed out on it for a good month or so. You’re so easy, kicking your legs, and digging your nails into his biceps as you cream on his fat cock, leaving a ring of milky white around the base.

He’s old now, can’t help the way his breath is a little ragged as he nears his high, can’t last as long as he used to. Don’t matter anyway. ‘Cause you’re satisfied. He fills you up like a creampuff. There’s a little surprise on your face when his knot begins to swell, stretching your cute hole till it’s gaping.

“Fun.” You tell him with a sleepy smile. Leon’s tongue smooths over your fluffy ears, he remembers his fur being this soft. They’re wet with perspiration, but he likes the taste of you. He grooms you to his heart's content. It’s been a while since he’s done any of that. Makes him feel rather happy actually. Like a weight has lifted from his chest. You’re falling asleep so he manages to roll over, careful not to move too fast and tear you in half while he’s knotted. He has you on top of him, face in his neck as you snore lightly. The warmth is putting him to sleep too.

Leon only stirs when he hears the jingle of keys and a few voices from down the hall. You’re still knocked out and drooling. The front door opens, Chris is talking to someone he tries to pick up on through smell.

“Jesus, buddy, what’d you do to her?” Chris kneels down beside them, pats Leon’s head then yours.

“They do get along well, Chris,” it’s Rebecca, she’s smiling down at Leon, he can sniff out those expensive treats in the pocket of her winter coat. “Guess it’s just when you’re around.”

“No, no, I swear,” he holds his hands up in defence, “Leon’s always being a fuckin’ bastard when it comes to her.”

“You’re just being mean to him,” Rebecca says, cooing as she pinches Leon’s cheek, “hey, there, good boy.”

“Yeah,” Chris lets out an exasperated laugh, “sure, whatever, glad you like your new pal, buddy.”

#resident evil smut #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #my fics

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anikaluv · 11 months

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JUST FOR PRACTICE —

❤︎︎ pairing: Miles (e!42) × fem!reader

❤︎︎ genre: fluff (slight angst?)

❤︎︎ cw: cussing, nail biting, Miles (e!42) is named Myles (creative Ik), Miles (e!42) teases reader a lil bit <3

❤︎︎ summary: Spider-Man!Miles and Prowler!Miles as Twins where you have a crush on Miles (e!1610) and Miles (e!42) suggests you make out with him for practice.

❤︎︎ w/c: 1.6k

❤︎︎ a/n: I was reading miles morales x reader fics then I thought of this and went “It would be so cool if someone wrote it”. Then I did, cause I’m a bitch who gets shit done. 😘

PART TWO EXTRA

You and Miles have been inseparable since y’all were born. You two seemed to be tied together like a knot. You could always fondly go back and look through memories of him holding your hand while leading you through forests, him sharing his PB&J’s with you during lunch time, and him protecting you numerous times from bullies as the years went by. He was always there for you.

So much that you’ve fallen head over heels for him.

Yet you were too scared to ruin the deep friendship you two have. Too terrified of the chance that everything you two had going to waste because of your feelings, so you kept to yourself.

Which leads you to the present day, you sit on Miles’ bed as he takes a shower before you start the study session you both had planned.

Nervously, you fidget with your fingers, eagerly awaiting his return. The truth is, you don't need these study sessions. As an all-A student, you grasp the subjects effortlessly. However, you seize any opportunity to spend time with Miles.

Your mind wonders as curious eyes scan his room and land on his sketchbook. Your instinctively get up and reach for it, not caring for the overstep of privacy because c’mon, you knew this guy before you knew how to walk.

Excitement courses through you as you eagerly flip through the pages, revealing beautiful sketches of family, sunflowers, among other things. However, as you reach the more recent pages, your heart starts to sink.

Gwanda, Miles' so-called friend who conveniently always seems to be "out of town," yet he never ceases to endlessly complement her and fills his sketchbook to the brim with pages of her. What's so extraordinary about her? You've known Miles since you both were starting to crawl, while she has only been in his life for a few months, and suddenly she's this incredible person?

With a heavy sigh, you set your sketchbook down, feeling your vision blur as you make your way back to sit on Miles' bed. Tears well up quickly as you bury your face in your hands, sobbing silently. Unfortunately, the sound of approaching footsteps awakens your senses. You hastily wipe your eyes with your sleeve, although it's already too late.

"Oh great, looks like la llorona (crybaby) is sobbing once more. What's the matter, ma?" Miles strolls in, his voice oozing with condescension. He leans against the doorway, owning a smug expression. You can't help but roll your eyes and let out an exasperated groan at the mere sight of him.

Myles Morales. The worst person you’ve ever met. You’ve always wondered how him and Miles are even related. Ever since you were little he’s been a stick up your ass. You would always go back and flinch through memories of him pulling your hair as you scream and cry, him destroying all of your brand new dolls because they “needed a makeover ” , and him notoriously bullying you numerous times mercilessly as the years went by. He was always there, annoying you.

You cross you arms and let out a exasperated huff as you turn away from him. “Don’t you have someone else to annoy Morales? I’m not in the mood.” Myles chuckles at your childish behavior and struts into the room to sit beside you.

He inspects your face, frowning at your red eyes and stuffy nose. “I’m serious, mami. Those pretty tears only look good on your face if I’m causing ‘em.“ Myles softly grabs your chin and moves your face towards his. He raised his fingers to softly wipe your tears as you look deeply into his eyes.

Your heart quickens yet instead you release the insult bubbling in your throat. "Thanks for your oh-so-worrisome concern, Morales," you retort, venom lacing your words. He smirks in response. “Anytime, princesa (princess). I’m serious though, you cryin’ cause of my brother again?” You nod slowly looking away from his pitying gaze.

You bite your nails as your eyes look around the room once more landing on Miles sketchbook. Pain flickers in your eyes, catching Myles' attention.

The realization settles in Myles which is showcased by his new scowl on his face. “Ah I see, Its cause of that lil’ white chick, right?” Your eyes widen at how Myles was able to guess it correctly, you nod again slowly and try to concentrate on breathing before you continue wailing. “I just don’t understand, what’s so special about her? Was I ever even special to him if I could be replaced so easily?” You clench your fists, digging your nails into the fabric of your jeans, scrunching them up as your lip quivers.

Myles sucks his teeth in annoyance, followed by a deep sigh that catches your attention. “Why don’t you just tell him this, ma? Bet that’ll make him realize what’s in front of him.” You quickly shake your head, rejecting the idea. "I can't. It's not that simple. If I confess how I truly feel, what if it ruins everything? I can't risk that," you explain anxiously. Myles rolls his eyes at your dramatic response.

"There's no way it would go down like that, but let's entertain your idea. Are you saying all it would take is courage for you to confess to him?" he asks, testing the waters. There’s a different look in Myles eyes, they’re filled with mischief as he slowly scoots towards you.

“Well, yeah, I guess? Why?" You answer your voice layered with curiosity at Myles newfound demeanor. You tilt your head in confusion, What was he planning?

A gasp escapes your lips as Myles firmly grabs you waist tightly. His big hands pull you against him harshly. Instantly his lips lock with yours, showcasing deep desire as his kisses you. Your eyes widen momentarily before you surrender, closing them gently and placing a hand on his chest.

You wrap your arms around Myles' neck, deepening the kiss, your tongues intertwining desperately. He tastes so sweet, like slightly burnt caramel. Your body molds into his, feeling the hard contours of his muscled yet lean chest beneath your palm as you press into him.

You let out a soft whine against his lips, the sound echoing with a mix of pleasure and longing. Your breaths become heavy, synchronized with the intensity of the moment. Your mind becomes fuzzy, confused how you got to this point.

"There's no way it would go down like that, but let's entertain your idea. Are you saying all it would take is courage for you to confess to him?"

“Well, yeah, I guess? Why?"

“Why not just practice the having the real thing wit me?” Myles watched you scoff at the idea and laughs softly.

“I’m serious, ma. C’mon, just for practice, it’ll only be fo a lil bit. Just imagine I’m him” Myles brings his face closer to yours making your noses brush against each other.

“It’ll only be for a sec right?”, you question Myles nods, sensing he’s winning you over. “Promise, mi alma (my soul)”

You nod your head, and that gave him everything he needed.

Now you have your arms wrapped around Miles neck, playing with his braids as he layers kisses across your collarbone, leaving a trail of tingling sensations in their wake. Myles tugs at your shirt rising it up to lay his hand against your waist skin to skin. The heat from his hand placed on your waist shoots heat throughout your body.

You begin to sway, your strength ebbing away as your mind becomes blissfully hazy. Myles, ever attentive, keeps you steady, his hand resting firmly on your back while the other remains securely on your waist. He rises slightly, locking eyes with you, a playful chuckle escaping his lips as he delights in your slightly intoxicated-like state.

“C’mon, mi vida, you can’t be tired yet. I just got you.” he playfully teases, causing your face to twist with confusion. You lean your head into his shoulder leaving kisses along his neck.

Myles takes up your hand and interlocks it with his fingers. He tilts your face up to him. You look into his eyes and see something there, you just can’t tell what. He places kisses laced with adoration across your face, feeling like lighting sparks erupting across your skin.

“Mami, I haven’t always been the nicest to you, I admit that, but I also wanna admit that I-“

Right on cue, you once again hear the steps of someone walking towards the room. It must be Miles finishing his shower.

Your suddenly feel a wash of consciousness rush through your senses as you try to shuffle and fix your wrinkled clothing and correct your shriveled hair. Myles watches you and smirks at your attempt to clean up.

Miles soon steps into the room wearing a fresh set of clothes, “Sorry it took me so long, I got way into my shower playlist haha. You ready to sta-“ He eyes land on you and Myles, you watch as his face turns to confusion.

“Imma take that as my sign to leave” Myles gets up and heads to the doorway and starts to head out, before he turns his neck around to say one more thing. “I’ll see you around, ma. Let me know if you ever need more practice aight?”

EXTRA: You hurriedly shuffle to your backpack to go get your notebooks and supplies you usually use for your study sessions. As you do that Miles can’t help but watch as his brother slowly struts out the room pride written all over his face. Miles swore that as his twin left the room his could see a lipstick stain adorning Myles’ neck.

ENDING A/N: Thank you for reading this- Ion know if imma keep writing I just felt like making this at 2 am lol. Also please lmk if this is fast paced or not, that was on my mind while writing this whole thing. 💀 Love ya’ll babes <3

TAGS:

#anika❤︎︎writes #miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles morales × reader #across the spiderverse #into the spider verse #miles morales spider man #prowler miles #earth 42 miles x reader #atsv miles #atsv #earth 42 miles morales x black!reader #earth 42 miles x you #earth 42 miles fluff

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ladykailitha · 5 months

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Love is Kind

All of the stories I was reading today were sad Steve and it made me cry so I wrote happy Steve to make me feel better.

@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

***

Jeana looked down at the purple water lilies in Steve's hand in distaste.

"Water lilies?" she asked, frowning. "Not red roses?"

Steve looked at her in confusion. "Yeah, your favorite flower in your favorite color."

"Yeah," she agreed, reluctantly taking the flowers. "But red roses are more romantic for Valentine's Day."

Steve went from wilting in disappointment to her reaction, to standing up straight with a spine of steel. "Oh I get it now." He took bouquet back from her forcefully. "Yeah, we're done."

Jeana's eyes went wide. "You're breaking up with me on Valentine's Day over a bunch of flowers?"

"No, Jeana," he said coldly. "We're done because you didn't tell me you wanted red roses. I assumed that the cheaper more personal water lilies would be the perfect thing for Valentine's Day."

Jeana winced.

"Ohhh..." Steve said, "I get it now. You wanted the Harrington money." He rubbed his fingers together. "Despite the fact that I work at a book store. That I told you when we first started going out that I had been kicked out."

Jeana rolled her eyes. "You still wore nice clothes and had fancy hair products in your bathroom, like I was supposed to believe that obvious lie?"

"I save for those!" Steve hissed. "I can't use anything else for my hair, I've tried. And yeah, so sue me for buying something nice once in a while."

She peeked around him to see the table was set with romantic candles and another bouquet of water lilies. "You weren't even going to take me out to eat?"

Steve tossed the flowers on the counter behind him. "Why else would I have you come here instead of picking you up?"

Jeana threw her arms in the air. "I thought you were supposed to be this Romeo, this Casanova."

Steve's nostrils flared. "Out!"

She stomped her foot and crossed her arms. "I'm not going anywhere until we talk this through!"

"There is nothing to talk about," Steve said, spinning her around and pushing her toward the door. "You were expecting me to shell out a shit ton of money on you, money you thought I was hiding from you. It's clear you were never interested in me, only the money and prestige the Harrington name brought you."

He opened the door and shoved her through it. "Goodbye."

He slammed the door behind her and gripped his hair tightly. Not enough to pull but just enough to feel pain at pressure of his tugging.

Now he had dinner that was about to be ready in ten minutes, no girlfriend, and a dessert he had slaved over all day.

He needed to call someone to share this with. Robin was doing Valentine's with Vickie so she was out.

Then his eyes lit up. He knew exactly who to call.

He walked over to the phone and dialed.

"Hello, Munson's Funeral Parlor, you tag 'em, we bag 'em," the warm baritone came through the line.

"Eddie!" Steve said with a giggle.

"Stevie!" Eddie greeted back. "To what to I owe this pleasure?"

"How goes your anti-consumerism night in?" Steve asked, avoiding Eddie's question.

"Eh..." Eddie said. "Could be better. I'm watching violent movies to make myself feel less lonely."

Steve chewed on his bottom lip. "I have a warm lasagna, fresh breadsticks, and a nice bottle of wine and suddenly sans a girlfriend if you wanted to have some company."

"What happened with Jeana?" Eddie asked.

Steve sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "She didn't want me, she wanted the Harrington money, the King Steve charm, and a Casanova, not Steve Harrington who works at a queer little book shop in the middle of town."

"Well, fuck her," Eddie said. "Her loss. You bet I'll be there, sweetheart. Just give me time to put on my shoes and I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Thanks, Eds."

Steve opened the door a few minutes later to find that Eddie somehow had found sunflowers in the middle of fucking winter.

“Where are on earth did you find these, Eds?” Steve asked, breathing in the scent of his favorite flower.

Eddie tapped his nose knowingly. He spotted the water lilies in the vase on the table and dumped them in the trash. He replaced them with Steve’s sunflowers.

“There, that livens up the place better,” he said, turning to Steve, “don’cha think?”

Steve smiled back at him. “Yeah it really does.”

He went and made up their plates as Eddie opened the wine. He set them down on the table while Eddie filled their glasses. Steve trotted back to the kitchen and pulled out the breadsticks that were warming in the oven. He put them in a nice basket a covered them with a towel. He set them on the table between Eddie and him.

“This looks fantastic, Stevie,” Eddie murmured and dug into the lasagna. “Ooh. This is better than fantastic. This is divine.”

Steve hurried to take a sip of his wine to hide the flush of pleasure at the compliment that dusted his cheeks. And judging from the smirk on Eddie’s face, he hadn’t been successful at all.

“So what were you watching before I interrupted you?” he asked, blush still staining his cheeks.

“Chinatown.”

Steve grimaces. “That is pretty violent. A little depressing too.”

Eddie shrugged, stabbing another bite of lasagna. “Was kind of the point. Didn’t want anything happy or romantic today.”

Steve picked up his glass and held up to Eddie. “I’ll drink to that.”

Eddie laughed, but clinked their glasses together and drank when Steve did.

They polished off all of the breadsticks, all of the wine, and about half of the lasagna. Steve put the leftovers in the fridge.

“You want a soda or something?” he called from the door of the fridge.

“I’ll take a beer if you have one,” Eddie called back from the sofa.

Steve grabbed two beers and handed one of the cans to Eddie.

“I thought you preferred bottles, babe,” Eddie said, popping open the can.

“I do,” Steve muttered darkly. “They were Jeana’s.”

Eddie cackled. “Here’s to stealing your ex’s shitty beer!”

Steve laughed too. “Cheers!”

Eddie went over to Steve’s record player and put on some Metallica he’d left over here and then flopped back on the sofa next to Steve.

“Thanks for coming over,” Steve murmured over the screaming riffs of Master of Puppets. “Rob is over at Vickie’s tonight and didn’t want to ruin her Valentine’s day, too.”

Eddie smiled softly. “And since I refuse to participate in the rampant consumerism of the day, there would be nothing for you to ruin.”

Steve chuckled. “That and you’re my best friend. I couldn’t think of anyone else I’d want to spend it with.”

This time it was Eddie’s turn to blush and he shoved a lock of hair in front of his face to hide the redness of his cheeks. He pushed playfully at Steve’s shoulder. “Fuck off. I’m sure there are lots of people you could have called that would have come running.”

“Rob was first pick,” Steve said, “you were second. I mean it, Eds. I wanted to share everything I’d done for her with you instead.”

Eddie’s blush reached his ears and stained the column of his throat. “You keep that shit up and this boy is going to start thinking impure thoughts.”

Steve blinked for a moment before he laughed. It wasn’t a harsh or hurtful laugh. It was bright and cheerful. “You put out on the first date, Eds?”

Eddie who was starting to think he’d taken it a step too far, stared up at Steve in amazement. He got his wits back fast enough to quip, “Only if they’re pretty enough.”

Steve ducked his head and scratched the back of his neck trying to hide his embarrassment. Well maybe that was the wrong word. Charmed. He was fucking charmed.

“You think I’m pretty?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Eddie raised Steve’s chin with his finger. “The prettiest boy I’ve ever seen, Stevie.”

Steve gulped. “And if I told you that I’ve had the biggest crush on you for so long?”

“Then I would ask why we aren’t dating, sweetheart,” Eddie murmured, leaning in close.

Steve let out a shuddering sigh. “Because I didn’t think I was an option for you.”

Eddie half knelt on the sofa, cupping his face in his hands. “You are my number one option, honey. Just say the word and I’m yours.”

“Mine.”

Eddie grinned and then kissed Steve gently on the lips. He pulled back after a moment. “This isn’t just because you’re lonely on Valentine’s Day, right?”

Steve pulled Eddie onto his lap and brushed their noses together. “No, baby. She was only ever a placeholder for you. And a piss poor one at that. She never loved me for me. Not like you.”

Eddie chuckled. “And what makes you think I love you, pretty boy?”

“Because you knew I would be sad and brought me sunflowers.”

Eddie kissed Steve fiercely. “You are too clever for your own good, honey. Yes, that is exactly why I brought them. Because I didn’t want you to be sad. Because I wanted you to feel loved.”

“And I do,” Steve murmured. “I love you, too. So so much.”

“Good.”

They resumed kissing. It was darker. Deeper. More potent. Eddie could write songs and poems and books filled with the love he felt for this man and finding out that he felt the same.

All the bookstores and libraries in all the world couldn’t begin to fill the amount of pages Eddie would need to even try and convey how he felt in that moment.

But it could be summed up in one word.

Ecstasy.

Just pure ecstasy.

Robin wasn’t sure if it could be called a walk of shame when she had told Steve that she would be spending the night at Vickie’s, but walking into their shared apartment after the wild sex they had had last night she did feel a little silly.

She stopped short when she saw who was in her kitchen making breakfast in Steve’s track pants.

“Eddie?” she squeaked.

Eddie looked up at her with a grin. “Welcome home, Bucksters! If you haven’t eaten yet, pull up a chair and grab a stack of pancakes. I’ve made plenty.”

“You’re not Jeana,” Robin said stupidly.

“Nope.”

“Steve would never cheat,” she said, again trying to figure this out.

“Nope.”

“You two are a couple now?” Robin asked, her brain still in first gear.

“Yup!”

Just then a very sleep rumpled Steve came wandering out of his bedroom and latched on to Eddie. “I missed you.” He kissed Eddie’s neck.

Eddie kissed his temple. “Sorry, sweetness. I got hungry.”

“Mhmm..” he muttered. “Does smell good.”

“Morning, dingus.” Robin crossed her arms in front of her chest. “You want to tell what this is about?”

Steve looked over at her and gave her a dopey smile. “Jeana sucked. Only wanted the Harrington money and not me. Called Eddie over to make me less sad. He brought me sunflowers and made me very happy.”

Robin looked over at Eddie who half shrugged around a clingy Steve. “That’s the gist of it.”

“Got it,” she said. “I’m happy for you both.”

She grabbed a plate and pilled on the pancakes, with Steve releasing Eddie to do the same.

As the three of them sat down and ate Eddie’s pancakes, Steve smiled happily to himself.

He was with the two people he loved most in all the world and he wouldn’t change a thing.

***

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#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #valentine's fic #fluff #minor steve/female oc #breakup

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ellethespaceunicorn · 1 year

Text

Some Things You Just Can't Refuse

Title: Some Things You Just Can't Refuse

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Dom!Clark Kent x Sub!Reader

Word Count: 4.7K+

Summary: A collection of first times with Clark Kent, and one last time.

Warnings: dacryphilia, unprotected p-in-v sex (wrap it up babes), creampie, spit kink (for like two seconds), Reader being a brat

A/N: This has been a plot bunny that sat in my Google Docs while all my other works got attention. Did I really just write a 5+1? Unbeta’d, we die like people who tried their best.

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

My Masterlist

Clark Kent was a simple man, for the most part. He had preferences, sure. But he knew what he liked, and went for those things more often than not. One of his preferences was a certain kind of woman.

And you were that kind of woman. His Sunflower.

The perfect combination of submissive and strong-willed. What others may call bratty, Clark would call “a little feisty” and he wouldn’t change it for the world.

And that is where Clark was anything but simple. He was your Dominant, you were his submissive. He loved you, he provided for you, and he kept you safe. He kissed the ground you walked on, he broke you, and he put you back together.

The first time you met Clark Kent was in the break room of the Daily Planet.

You were an intern for the summer, just working to get some credits toward your journalism degree. You weren’t all that interested in going to warzones and reporting on drug lords and shit. You wanted to tell stories about starving artists and activism. You wanted to surprise people with your ability to capture the essence of someone’s emotion and relate it to the reader’s own experiences.

While doing your writing at work, while you were supposed to be doing whatever Lois Lane threw at you this morning, you decided to take a break to recharge. Since energy drinks gave you the jitters, you opted for a warm-ish mug of hours-old coffee.

As you reached up to the cabinet to get a mug, you watched as a hand appears above you to grab the handles of two mugs. You turned, following the hand, to see who reached over you. Eyes blue like the Atlantic Ocean behind a pair of plain black rectangular frames looked back at you. You can’t help but smile at him as he beamed, bright enough to illuminate your entire day.

And your writer’s brain was getting way ahead of itself already. Who the hell was this mountain of a man? I wonder what his lips taste like. Should that tie go with that shirt? Fuck, did he just ask me something?

“I’m sorry, what?” You shook yourself out of your thoughts.

“I asked if you wanted the black or the flower mug. I was gonna offer the flower. But I’d rather not assume you didn’t wanna just take the plain one. So, I’m gonna stop talking and let you answer.”

Fuck, he’s cute when he rambles.

“Sunflowers are my favorite.” He offered the mug and your fingers touch and you’re glad that you are the only two in the break room.

“Clark,” he says, as he poured himself some coffee, “Clark Kent.”

You gave your name and he put out a hand to shake yours. With your hand in his, you notice how it engulfed your own. You thought to yourself about that hand around your throat. Just lightly squeezing the sides of your neck, as a warning.

“Nice to meet you. I hope Lois has been easy on you. She can be a little…much.” He said it in a way that lead you to believe he’s been on the demanding end of Lois more than once.

“Eh, she’s alright. I mean, Ms. Lane is just fine.” You tried to cover your disdain for Lois. In reality, you saw her as a ‘Pick-Me’, but you tried to give her the benefit of the doubt.

“Yeah, sure she is. I dated her, so I know her pretty well. Not that I should be saying anything. But, don’t let her try and get in your head. She’ll use whatever she can to get a scoop, whether in the field or the workplace. She’s a great journalist, but-” You cut him off, not wanting to take part in putting down another woman.

“I think I get the hint. Watch my back around her.” You assure him you understood as you poured your coffee and put in some cream and sugar.

“Yeah, sorry. I shouldn’t talk about her behind her back. That was rude of me. My mother would be disappointed in me for that.” He looked into his mug, and you saw that he was not proud of himself for putting down his ex.

“It’s all good, Clark. I can tell you didn’t mean anything by it. Emotions are tricky, ya know?” You don’t know why you wanted to give him an ‘out’, but you did.

“That, they are. I better get back. See ya around,” He gave a cute little wave and exited the room.

The first time Clark Kent called you Sunflower happened about a month after your first meeting.

The two of you ended up together on a test run for Perry to see how you go about working with other reporters. He probably just wanted to see if I could share a byline.

You could tell that Lois saw a tenacity in you that reminded her of her younger self. While that was great, you wanted to be seen for your ability to get people to talk to you without making them feel like they were in an interview. Just a conversation between people.

When you asked Clark to work on the assignment with you, he jumped at the opportunity. In truth, he wanted the chance to see you at work. He’d listen to Lois talk about how you just saw things differently. Almost like she was jealous, but she would never admit to that.

“So I was thinking we could go to Gotham. Before you say anything, I know it’s dangerous there but we’ll be going during the day. And I finally got the go-ahead from Wayne Enterprises to shadow one of their board members. A Day in the Life kind of piece. What do you think?” You rambled out, arms crossed as you leaned against Clark’s desk.

“I think I can get you an exclusive with Bruce Wayne if you wanted.” He stated nonchalantly.

“I would owe you big time. Wait, how the hell do you know Wayne? What, were you boy scouts together or something?”

“We just end up at a lot of the same places.” Clark offers no other explanation.

“Right,” you nodded at him, not letting it go, “So, I run point on this and you back me up?”

“Sounds perfect. You’ll do great, just know he will try and flirt with you so don’t make it easy for him, Sunflower.” The nickname caused heat to rise to your face, remembering that first time you met him.

“Sure, like the most eligible bachelor in Gotham who can buy whatever he wanted would look at me twice?” You weren’t being down on yourself too much, more like you were being realistic. The man had dated supermodels and heiresses, not chubby junior reporters.

“Without sounding unprofessional, trust me when I say Bruce will look at you more than twice. You say the word and I’ll set him straight.” Was that flirtatious? No way.

“Um, if you say so, Clark,” you tried to laugh it off and walk away but Clark caught your wrist, your eyes locked with his and you felt…something.

“I do say so, Sunflower,” he lowered his hand from around your wrist, “Just prepare to shut him down more than once. He’s, uh, persistent.”

“You trying to save me for yourself, huh?” You couldn’t help yourself. If he denies it, you could say you were joking. If he confirms it, then…

He simply smiled and tilted his head, neither confirming nor denying.

During your interview with Bruce Wayne, you were surprised that he indeed did flirt with you as Clark said he would. You managed to steer the conversation back to Wanye Enterprises each time he would stray to learn more about you. You would give him a detail here and a tidbit there, but you kept it professional. Clark was there to take notes, letting you take the lead. He was impressed by you. You kept Bruce flirting with you to get him to spill details about new things he was working on for Gotham.

The first time you kissed Clark Kent was three months into your internship.

Lois had taken a shine to you, loving what few pieces you were able to get past the intern pool and into an issue. You figured it would be in your best interest to go to her with any journalistic questions you had. You may not like her very much, but she was still a Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist and you would be an idiot not to take a few pointers from her.

There was one thing you didn’t talk to her about, and that was the massive crush you had on her ex. It just seemed too messy, and honestly, you didn’t need her permission to do anything.

That’s why you accepted Clark’s invitation to make you dinner. Frankly, you weren't surprised he asked you. You had been flirting with each other, exchanging glances and smiles across the office. Spending hours a night talking on the phone and texting back and forth naturally lead you here.

Armed with a bottle of wine and all the courage you could muster, you make it to Clark’s apartment just as he is finishing dinner. He answers the door in jeans and a grey long-sleeved henley, looking so comfortable and so different without a tie on. He thanked you for the wine, took your wrist to pull you behind him, and shut the door with a socked foot.

Pouring you both a glass, he congratulated you for completing half of your internship. It completely slipped your mind that you had reached this milestone, but he remembered. And that was saying a lot. You clinked your glasses together and took a sip of the pinot noir.

“This is going to go great with dinner. Thank you again for picking up some. I can’t believe I forgot to,” Clark bantered, setting his wine glass down to check on the pork tenderloin and roasted potatoes.

“You were too busy trying to impress me,” You insisted, smiling when he gives you a stern look.

“Watch it, Sunflower,” is all you hear and you shifted from one foot to the other to hide your search for friction. You barely had two sips of wine in your system before this man had you feeling drunk.

“Time to let the pork rest while the potatoes finish up. Should be done in a bit,” Clark picked up his wine glass, settling his other hand on your lower back to guide you to the island counter. He didn’t expect it when a shiver ran up your spine and caused you to giggle, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like it.

You sat and chatted during dinner like you’ve known each other for ages and it just felt very comfortable. He told you about his mom, growing up in Smallville, and how he came to work at the Daily Planet. You spoke about your schooling and how you’d one day like to write for the Planet and publish a book of short stories. He was stuck on your every word and it made you feel important to have his undivided attention.

After dinner, you retired to the living room to watch some tv. It was more just on as background noise as you conversed with each other. When you both reached for the wine bottle at the same, you both laugh and then look at each other. And it was all you could do not to melt into a puddle as those blue eyes stare longingly at you.

Clark reached up and took off his glasses before tossing them on the coffee table. Fuck. But, he does nothing more. For what seems like minutes, you sat in silence just staring into each other’s eyes until you speak up.

“Clark, please?” You whined, growing more frustrated with every second.

“Use your words. Tell me what you need, Sunflower.” The way he said it had you shifting in your seat.

“I need you to kiss me, please?” You pleaded, the little crack in your voice not missed by Clark.

He cupped your face with one large paw, his touch so soft that you leaned into it to feel his warmth. His thumb moved over to wipe across your lips, followed swiftly by his lips.

Your lips met and you felt the warmth radiating from him. You could taste the sweetness of the wine on his tongue as he begged for entry. You let him in, moaning into his mouth. Clark grunted in return and pulled away to rest your foreheads together.

“I have wanted that for far too long, Sunflower,” Clark groaned, licking his lips.

“Me too,” you whisper, scooting closer to Clark to lace your fingers together, “Can we do it again?”

Instead of answering you, he pulled you into his lap and attacked your mouth with fervor.

The first time you tell Clark Kent you love him is exactly two months after your first kiss.

It was completely by accident, but no less true.

Clark invited you over for dinner and a movie. The two of you were in the middle of watching 10 Things I Hate About You. Patrick was dancing on the bleachers and singing to Kat. The most romantic scene in the movie apart from the poetry scene.

“Ya know, if we went to high school together and you sang ‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off You’ to me in front of the whole school, I would have melted,” you say, stuffing popcorn into your face, “But then, I already love you, so you wouldn’t have to do the whole singing thing.”

Clark’s head whipped around so fast that you can feel the wind coming off of him. “What did you just say, Sunflower?”

You look to Clark and you realized what you had said at the same moment and your eyes went wide. “I think I just confessed love during a ‘90s romcom.”

“Yeah, I think you did,” Clark looked at you with that look in his eyes, “Good thing I love you, too.” He says nonchalantly, trying to not freak you out, and went back to watching the movie.

“Clark, I love you.” You wanted to feel the words on your tongue again.

“I love you too, Sunflower.” Hearing the words come from him was like a cozy embrace that coated the night in warmth.

The first time you had sex with Clark Kent was at the end of your internship.

Clark wanted to wait-

No, he didn’t want to wait, but he chose to wait until your internship was over and you were offered an actual job at the Daily Planet to not seem like he was cruising for tail in the intern pool.

Little did you know, but Clark had it all planned out. Candlelit dinner, romantic music, wine, and chocolates. The whole nine yards. But you didn’t get to experience that version of lovemaking.

At the same time Clark was lighting candles, he heard your heartbeat spike across town. He sped away to your location, without putting on his suit. He flew above the city before he found you being held up at gunpoint in an alleyway and his blood boiled. He watched you comply with your attacker and hand over your purse before flying down behind the man quietly. The man had no idea what hit him when Clark flicked his temple and the assailant falls over unconscious.

He didn’t even think to keep his identity secret anymore. He steps over the man to get to you and check you over for injuries, both external and internal. When he sees nothing, he questions you, “Are you alright, Sunflower?”

You look almost through him because there he is in a sweater and dark-wash jeans, glasses slightly askew. You step back an inch as he reaches out to you. He can see it in your eyes that you are piecing together little moments.

How he got across town in what seemed like seconds. How he never got sick. How it felt like he was always hiding something. This is what he was hiding from you. For your safety? For his?

“There were so many times I wanted to tell you I was Superman, I just didn’t know how. Do you forgive me, Sunflower?” Clark’s pleading ultramarine eyes burned into yours.

“I mean, I guess this is as good a time as any to tell me. I have so many questions. Of which, you will answer all of them, Clark. But, all I need to know right now is how the hell you found me?” Your breathing was starting to speed up again and you tried to calm down but given the circumstances, you were acting pretty normal.

“I kind of, know your heartbeat. I can hear it at all times. Wherever you are, I can hear you,” Clark makes an odd face and then forces out an embarrassed laugh, “Now that I say that out loud, it sounds weird.”

“Yeah, it’s a little weird. But it’s also super romantic, too,” you reach to Clark and pull him to you, “What’s my heart sound like now?”

“Sounds like you’re excited,” he let his hand drag down your body, “Smells like it too. Now, why would that be?”

“I mean, I did just find out my boyfriend is a superhero. That’s sorta hot. Sorta, I mean, he hasn’t taken me flying yet.”

“Brat! How hard is it to ask for what you want?” He picked up your purse from the unconscious attacker and handed it to you. When it is secured around your shoulder, Clark picked you up and you wrap your legs around his hips. “Hold on, Sunflower.” He took off so fast that the world blurred around you.

As he got closer to his apartment, he slowed down and flew a bit higher near the clouds. He rolled over onto his back so that you are straddling him. His hands found each other behind his head as he floated above Metropolis, all attention directed at you. Your eyes wandered around the city as you adjusted your seating which stirred his arousal.

Clark tried to adjust himself under you without you noticing but instead, you took the opportunity to grind your clothed sexes together. The groan that escaped Clark’s mouth is enough to spur you on to continue your ministrations. His eyes are already rolling back in his head and you feel quite proud of yourself. You reached under Clark’s sweater and ran your fingers through his chest hair as you continue to work your hips over him.

“Clark?”

“Yes, Sunflower?” He opened his eyes, pupils were blown wide with lust, breathing becoming unstable.

“Take me to your place so we can get more comfortable?” You flirted with him, wrapping your arms around his neck and shimmying up his body.

“Yes, Ma’am.” He grabbed under your thighs to have you wrap your legs around him once more and began to descend to the balcony of his apartment. He let you inside first but is quickly behind you following you into his bedroom as you start to shed your layers.

You spun around and gave Clark a show of your skin becoming visible in the moonlight. When you are fully undressed, you knelt in front of him with your head down and your hands on your thighs.

He walked over to you and kissed the top of your head. He listened for your heartbeat, and it was steady, if not a little heightened. You were awaiting instruction, as far as he could tell.

“Sunflower, I want you to pick a safe word.” He stood behind you and undressed down to his underwear.

“Unicorn is my safe word.”

“Good girl,” Clark caressed your shoulders and squeezed them, “Are you okay with calling me Sir?”

“Yes, Sir.” Your heart rate evened out, Clark noticed. You’re happy. He beamed down at you.

“Good girl, now turn around and take out Sir’s dick.”

You turned around and reach up to Clark’s boxer briefs, cupping him over the fabric before hooking your fingers into the waistband and pulling the underwear down and off. His length sprung up to bounce in front of your face and you lick your lips in anticipation but don’t go any further without direction.

“Such a good girl, Sunflower,” he grabbed your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your face up to meet his eyes, “Come lay down so Sir can taste you. I can already smell how wet you are.”

You took his hands as he helped you up. Clark pulled you close to his body, your back against his chest. He attacked your neck, nipping and sucking marks that would show in the morning. His length on your hip has you testing your limits.

As if reading your mind, Clark reached down and cupped your netherlips. You instinctively clamped your thighs around his hand and he used a foot to kick your legs apart. With one hand exploring your cunt, the other slides around your throat as a warning.

“Don’t ever block me from my pussy, Sunflower. This belongs to Sir now, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, Sir, it belongs to you.” You were sure Clark could feel you clench around nothing and you didn’t care. You wanted him to know he was doing everything right.

“Good girl,” He dipped a finger into your wetness and pulled it back out to wipe across your bottom lip, “We’re both gonna taste your sweet honey.” He used the hand around your throat to turn you around so he could claim your lips.

You tasted yourself as his tongue invaded you, whimpering into his mouth. His answering groans had you trembling. He walked you backward until your legs hit the edge and he pushed you down. Leaning over, he knelt and pushed your thighs back as far as they would go, marveling at your glistening slit.

With the flat of his tongue, he licked from your entrance to your neglected nub, pausing to suck on it lightly. He ate with the hunger of a man starved. He steeled his tongue, probing your core and tasting you from within. He made out with your pussy, pulling back to spit on it which drew moans from you and had you squeezing your breasts in response.

Clark was good at this, not that you were surprised because of how good of a kisser he was, but fuck! The way he fingered your pussy, making sure to curve his fingers to hit that sensitive bundle of nerves inside was heavenly.

When he sped up his fingers and pushed down on your lower stomach, you gasped and realized he understood the assignment. He was rewarded with you squirting over his hands and chest.

“Such a good girl for me, Sunflower,” he said, before sucking your juices off of his fingers and moving your limp body up the bed, “Now, you’re going to be an extra good girl and take Sir’s dick.”

That was all the warning you received before Clark was pushing in, stretching you wide over his thick hardness. With every inch, he would pull out and press in an inch more than the last thrust. He made sure to stretch you slowly, keeping your tightness while allowing you to get used to his girth.

“That’s right, Sunflower, open those sweet petals for Sir,” Clark soothes your whines as he fucks into you, “I promise I’ll make it all better when you let me all…the way…in.” He punctuated his words with jolts from his hips.

When he is finally seated inside you, he pauses. The sudden stop has you reaching for Clark and moving your hips to gain friction.

“Look at you trying to fuck yourself on my cock,” he leaned over you and watched as tears flow from your eyes, “These tears are gorgeous, but use your words. Tell me what you want.”

“Sir, please,” you whined, looking into his eyes, “Need you to fuck me, please.”

The smile on Clark’s face is brilliant, he’s got you right where he wants you. He kissed your face, stopping to wipe away your tears with his tongue. Pulling back, he secured your legs around his hips before he leaned down to wrap one hand around both of your wrists, holding them above your head.

When Clark fucked you, he paid attention to every aspect of your body. He looked into your eyes. He kissed and nipped at your neck. He pinched and teased your nipples. He rubbed your clit while he pounded inside you.

Clark just did it better than any of your partners before. Maybe because you allowed yourself to be vulnerable around him? Or maybe because he was just…better. It didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was that you were with him and he was inside you and you were all his.

You lost track of how many times you came, but Clark remembers every time. He committed them to memory, seeing you arch your back and feeling your walls flutter around him. He could tell by the sheen of sweat on your body and the way your body is vibrating that you were beyond spent. Possibly even a bit overstimulated. Perfect.

“You ready for my cum, Sunflower?” He licked his thumb and pressed on your clit as you keen, “Do you think you can hold on for me for just a bit longer?”

“Yes, Sir,” you moan as he slid his hands to your hips.

“There’s my good girl,” he groaned and began his assault on your pussy. At this angle, he can stimulate both your hooded center and your G-spot. A punishing pace that set you ablaze. While you held onto his biceps, you looked into his eyes. Where there used to be blue irises, only dark pupils remained. His curly hair was a sweaty mess on his forehead. He was barely a man now, more like an animal rutting into you.

Before long, his hips stutter in their onslaught. Breathing erratically, he squeezed your hips so hard you knew there would be bruises tomorrow. He moved to kiss your neck and latched onto your shoulder with his teeth as you feel every twitch of him releasing inside you. You know there will be bite marks in your shoulder for days but you don’t care.

Clark’s teeth left you, followed closely by his tongue soothing your almost-broken skin. Sometimes, he didn’t know his strength. And it was a close one this time. He was still inside you semi-hard before he decided to pull out slowly causing you to whine at the sudden feeling of emptiness.

He moved from the bed for a moment. You closed your eyes for a millisecond before you feel warm wetness between your legs.

“Just cleaning you up, Sunflower,” He wipes your delicate folds softly and throws the towel in the clothes hamper before crawling in bed beside you, “You go right to sleep, you deserve it.”

The last time you refer to yourself as Clark’s girlfriend is a year and a half into your relationship.

Clark proposes to you over dinner in the house you bought together. He bought the ring after you talked about marriage just two weeks ago. Well, technically, Bruce helped him buy the ring. As in, Bruce bought the jewelers store and had them design the perfect ring for you.

A smoky quartz center with marquise and pear-shaped citrine petals around it. You had mentioned more than once that you didn’t want a diamond engagement ring, you wanted something that matched your style.

Clark presented the ring to you on one knee, ever the traditionalist. You said yes, of course.

This man was your life, your hope, and your future. You looked forward to every minute of every hour of every day with him.

He is your light in the darkness, and you are his Sunflower.

A/N: Yes, the title is from "Sunflower" by Post Malone/Swae Lee. Yes, the song was for a Spider-Man movie. So, what? It's a good song.

**Tag List**

@brattymum96 @ambinxe @avengersfan25 @kebabgirl67

@astheskycries @enchantedbytomandhenry

Let me know if you wanna be added and for what plz 😁 Also if you want to be removed from tags, lemme know!

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shoverse · 9 months

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sfw — thinkin bout bestfriend! jeongin, who loves to joke about how 'rizzful' he is, giggling loudly when you turn your head slowly in faux horror and feign a disgusted expression. not that you don't believe him, of course, he's always out. it's just that he he always comes home and flops onto the couch next to you, sipping a fresh (not really) lemonade he bought from the seven eleven down the road. 'what movie today?' he asks, resting his head on your shoulder, peering into your eyes.

jeongin, who wakes you up to the sweet smell of fluffy pancakes, setting the table with his favourite weaved placemat and hanging up his pretty white apron. he smiles softly and wishes you good morning, voice soaked in morning grog. the pretty heart he meticulously carved into your butter was already half-melted, your own heart melting into the familiarity of it all.

jeongin, who was there for your first crush, first love, first heartbreak. he'll, he's been there for every heartbreak. he sneaks into your room and sits next to you on your bed, rubbing your back and letting you cry into his chest.

jeongin, who buys you pretty flowers on every occasion possible. he picks out the best bunch of sunflowers, wraps them up in a checkered yellow cloth and scribbles out a heartfelt note for you. something about how you're his sun always slips in, about how pretty you are, but he crosses it out and starts again.

jeongin, who turns just a shade pinker every time you thank him for the flowers. smiles so wide and offers to spend the rest of the day with you. you accept, of course, who could ever turn a boy like him down?

jeongin, who's been with you since the start, smiling his sunshine boy smile, drawing bright yellow tulips on the sidewalk. he wipes his chalk covers fingers on you and sticks his little tongue out. the tongue that slowly retracts as you sport a devilish grin and chase the shrieking boy down the road.

jeongin, who spends weeks learning how to paint from hyunjin, trying not to get frustrated when he messes up. he grins and calls it effortless when the painting finally ends up in your hand, but his shy smile hints at something else.

jeongin, who demands that 'as best friends, we are obliged to get matching phone cases'. he giggles every time you tap your phone cases together and completes the cartoon on the back of your phones.

jeongin, who sits on a picnic blanket with you, picking daisies and weaving them into your hair. he rests his head on your lap as you absentmindedly play with his hair and watch the sun set. he squeals and rolls off of you when a drop from your mango popsicle drips onto his forehead.

jeongin, who robs jisung of his nail polish so you two could match colours. he spends his afternoon focusing on getting your nails absolutely perfect, scrunching up his nose and furrowing his eyebrows. he smiles when you take dozens of pictures of yours and his interlocking fingers.

jeongin, who humors you and agrees to play a game of truth or dare with you. it's tame at first, stupid questions like 'what's the fattest shit you've ever taken?' (okay, maybe not exactly that.) until it's not. i mean, you don't think it's that serious, chewing on your snacks and thinking up interesting questions. when the words fall from your lips, he clams up immediately. 'do you like anyone?' he opens his mouth to say no, but what slips out instead is what he's kept locked away for all those years.

'you.'

jeongin, who's a terrible kisser. maybe it's his nerves, maybe he's just bad, but it makes you laugh into the kiss. he tastes like honey, sweet and infatuating. his lips are soft, he slips his hand behind your neck and smiles when he pulls away. he rests his forehead against yours and erupts into an explosion of laughter.

jeongin, who hugs you close to his chest that night, whispering into your hair as you drift off to sleep. you're so perfect, he's so glad he can finally say it.

jeongin, who's yours. that is all.

#kind of smal thing cause idk how productive im feeling hehe #skz x reader #skz imagines #skz fluff #skz x you #skz scenarios #stray kids scenarios #stray kids fluff #stray kids x reader #jeongin fluff #jeongin x reader #jeongin scenarios #jeongin x male reader

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sometimesanalice · 1 year

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Like I Can (Part 2)

Summary: After yet another bad date and tired of swiping on apps, the Dagger Squad steps in to help you out by setting you up on a series of blind dates. Much to Rooster’s dismay.

Warnings: fuff, language, slight angst. Minors DNI

Length: 5.7K

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw X Female Reader

Part 1 | Part 3

(Here you go, lovely people! The wait is over! Enjoy❣️)

When you had first told Rooster that you were moving to San Diego, it had felt like the first time in a long time in that things in his life were finally going his way. He was excelling in his career, he was mending his relationship with Maverick, and he finally had the opportunity to start putting some roots down.

He knew how lucky he was.

He had been thrilled to know that you would both be living in the same place for the first time since you were teens. Sure he might have gone a little overboard helping you find a place near him and showing you the hard-learned secrets of navigating the SoCal highway system, but he wanted you to be as happy here as he was.

You were the only person left in the world, outside of Maverick, who had known him the longest. You mattered to him.

It was clear that you thought it had been his doing for how quickly his friends had included you as part of the group, but he knew it was all you. They’d all been so surprised when his nice, sweet friend was the one who kept playing the raunchiest hands during Cards Against Humanity. You’d pretty much swept every round that night. He was pretty sure more than a few of them would trade him for you in a heartbeat.

While they liked you, they loved a competition. He should have seen it coming the second Phoenix volunteered to set you up on a date, because what one person does the rest will undoubtedly follow suit.

And that’s how Rooster found himself watching you on your first of the dates from inside the Hard Deck, the chaos of it all drawing more than one set of eyes to where you were on the outdoor patio.

When he’d arrived at the Hard Deck earlier that evening, he was surprised to see you there already seated next to Bob with his other friends chatting away nearby. He didn’t remember you saying you were planning to stop by.

You looked a bit more dressed up than how he usually saw you, wearing a fluttery looking sundress and your hair piled up on the top of your head. After making a quick stop to get a beer, he’d made his way over to you.

“Wasn’t expecting to see you tonight, kid.” Up close now, he could see some of the soft strands that had escaped your top knot and were framing your face.

He was briefly reminded of the time you got bangs in high school. While he’d thought they had look nice on you, you on the other hand had immediately regretted them, pinning them back until they’d grown out.

“Hey you,” you’d greeted him with an easygoing smile on your face, “I got here a little too early, but thankfully Bob was already here. He’s been keeping me company as I wait.”

“Huh? For what?” he’d asked a bit dumbly, his gaze bouncing between you and Bob.

Shit, did he forget someone’s birthday?

“She’s meeting my friend Casey from the animal shelter tonight,” Bob chimed in, speaking around a mouthful of sunflower seeds, “For the bet we all made the other night.”

“Oh,” he’d felt his eyebrows pull together, glancing back to you, “I didn’t know you were actually going to go through with that.”

He had never understood why you had such bad luck when it came to dating. He assumed you probably got a lot of attention in your day-to-day life, so your stories of dates gone wrong always left him baffled. Anyone could see that you were funny, intelligent, and had the best smile. If you’d been a stranger, he probably would have approached you out in a coffee shop somewhere if he’d seen you drinking one of those extra foamy cappuccinos you liked.

But you weren’t a stranger you were his longest time friend, his most important friend.

“Why wouldn’t I?” you’d asked quizzically, tilting your head at him. “Outside of how competitive you all are, your friends were nice enough to go out of their way for me by setting this all up. Plus, it seems like it could be a lot of fun.”

That was the thing though, he didn’t think you should have to be jumping through so many hoops to find a decent guy to date.

He’d met the guy you had dated before moving here a few times over FaceTime. He would usually try to engage him in some small talk always asking him about how many G’s he’d pulled that day before leaving for beers with the guys or some pick-up basketball game. It seemed to him like you guys had led pretty separate lives, but you liked him so the guy was fine in his books. However, when you had told him that you were moving out here alone, he couldn’t say he was too surprised. That guy was probably kicking himself now, because California looked good on you.

“Speaking of,” you’d reached out taking right forearm pulling it closer to you, he had let you turn and adjust it until you could read the time displayed by the dials on his watch. “I should probably head outside to wait for him there. You said we’d probably need to grab a spot on the patio, right Bob?” you’d asked turning away from him to confirm with the WSO.

“He said he was still looking for a dog sitter, but if he couldn’t find one he’d be bringing them with him,” Bob replied as he scanned the text on his phone, “That’s probably a good idea, just in case.”

He’d known this whole thing was going to be a bad idea, grasping the back of your stool he briskly turned you back towards him to give you a pointed look.

You’d just shook your head at him blithely and rolled your eyes, “It’ll be fine.” The expression on your face told him not to press the matter, even though he knew that would take a lot of willpower on his side.

Sighing in resignation, he had helped brace your forearm as you slid off the tall stool. You’d patted his chest a couple of times before making your way outside, the hem of your dress dancing around your thighs.

He had drunk that first beer a bit faster than normal, trying to focus on the conversation Coyote was attempting to have with him. Then he was waylaid at the bar for a while when he had gone up to get a second, spending some time catching up with Mav who had shown up and was sitting at the counter watching his fiancée as she ruled over her bar.

When he got back and looked out the window to check on you, he was expecting to see you out there talking with Bob’s friend and maybe a dog or two sitting at your feet, instead the scene before his eyes had him storming over to Bob who was already watching the madness unfold.

“What did he bring the whole damn shelter with him? There’s like 7 of them out there!”

“I had no clue he had that many,” Bob admits sheepishly.

“He’s your friend, isn’t he? Shouldn’t that have come up in a conversation before this?” He liked Bob, but you were getting assailed by a few too many energetic dogs for his comfort. He can tell the guy is trying to wrangle them under control, and you’re generously laughing along while they vie for your attention, scratching as many ears as possible.

“They seem to really like her. See how they keep licking her? Did you know that’s an instinctive behavior learned from when they’re puppies? It’s how they bond with others.” His attempt to bring some humor falling flat in Rooster’s ears.

“Not helpful, Bob,” he grunts into his beer his eyes glued on you.

Hangman struts up to them no doubt curious about what has the two of them staring so intently out the large window and lets out a low whistle, “Damn, that’s a lot of dogs.”

The sound naturally draws the attention of his other friends, and they are quick to drop everything to come gather around the window and observe the circus that is your first blind date.

The guy is standing trying to unravel the many leashes he is clutching onto, handing you a couple to hold on to as he works to disentangle the knot that’s formed. Your beer a casualty of the chaos when what looks like a Border Collie mix jumps up on the table.

“Oh shit,” he mutters when he sees you sneeze.

“What’s up, Rooster?” Natasha asked, glancing at him briefly before turning her eyes back to the flurry of fur outside.

“She’s allergic.”

This is what he had been worried about when Bob mentioned your date might be bringing his dogs. He knew your pet dander allergy wasn’t usually too bad with a couple of animals, but being around this many couldn’t be good for you.

Now that you were settled in San Diego, you had told him you had been thinking about getting a pet. It was something that you were never able to have as a kid for the same very reason you were out there fighting back another sneeze. You were adamant about adopting one, but finding hypoallergenic pet in a shelter was harder than it was getting a missile to hit its target.

When he sees you bring the back of your hand up to wipe under one of your eyes, he abandons his mostly untouched beer on the windowsill and marches towards the exit in a few long strides. Fingers already raised to his lips before he’s even made it outside. The sharp whistle he lets out the second his shoe hits the wooden planks of the patio surprising the tangle of dogs surrounding you into momentary stillness.

“Time to wrap it up, kid,” he hollers, jerking his head back towards the door.

Even haloed by the golden light from the setting sun, he can see how watery and red-rimmed your eyes have gotten.

He sees you saying something to your date, handing him back the leashes as you step gingerly around the dogs towards him, making sure to avoid stepping on any of the happily wagging tails.

You’ve got your shoulders pulled back tightly as you walk towards him, determination in every step you take. The force of your glare would be intimidating to anyone else, but he’s developed an immunity to it after so many years of having it directed at him.

Although he doubts you can even actually see his face right now with how puffy your eyes have gotten.

“Are you kidding me right now? What the fuck, Rooster?” you fume at him.

Oh, yeah, you’re pissed. He’ll deal with that later. Standing up to his full height and crossing his arms over his chest, steeling himself in anticipation for whatever comes next.

“C’mon, I bet Penny has something for that,” he says gesturing to your face, “And then I’m taking you home.”

He can tell you’re getting ready to give him a piece of your mind. Probably a very loud and vividly descriptive piece of your mind, but can’t be bothered to regret a thing. He knows he is in the right to intervene on your behalf.

He’s looking out for you, like a good friend should.

And you’re just standing there shaking your head at him, instead of listening to him when you know he’s right.

You’ve always been so frustratingly hardhead, so he pulls out the one thing he knows you can’t resist, “I’ll even stop for milkshakes.”

You look up at him skeptically with narrowed eyes before asking, “And I can drink it in the Bronco?”

That makes him chuckle, of course you’re negotiating with him. “Yeah, yeah. Now c’mon, time to call it.”

Rooster sees the moment the fight goes out of you as you turn back to Cashew, or whatever this guy’s name is. He looks a little like the crunchy granola type, if you ask him.

He grabs your hand pulling you with him back inside, not wanting to let you change your mind while the promise of a milkshake is still at the height of its power.

You tug back making him pause at the entry as you call back to Bob’s friend, “Thank you for coming, Casey. It was nice to meet you, but I think I’m going to head out. Good luck with your fundraiser for the shelter, I’ll make sure to spread the word.”

That makes him smile to himself as he tows you with him, here you are clearly suffering with your allergies and still going out of your way for this person you’ve just met. You’ve always been too nice for your own good. Hell, you’ll probably get the whole team to donate to the fundraiser before he can even get you out the door.

Once back inside he pays the tab for both of you, while you swallow down the antihistamines Penny was able to find in the med kit she keeps behind the counter. The team is surrounding you asking questions about the date.

“I’ll tell you, but that information will cost you. You can Venmo the shelter your donation to their fundraiser and I’ll be happy to answer any questions once you send me documented proof of payment,” you say with a smug smile on your face.

He huffs a laugh while signing the receipt that Penny hands him as the cellphones are whipped out of various pockets.

Such a little hustler.

In school, you were usually the one to sell the most candy bars and wrapping paper during fundraisers. And he was always an easy target, you usually got at least $30 out of him every time. He was never one to say no to a good cause, or to you most of the time.

Bob apologizes profusely to you as he hands you a couple napkins when you start sniffling while gathering up your things. He watches as you just wave him off, placing a gentle kiss on his cheek and tell him not to worry about it.

Huh.

Shaking out the thoughts of you with the soft-spoken WSO from his mind, he starts to guide you out the door to his car with a hand on your back. His other hand involuntarily tightening into a fist as Fanboy calls out promising to do better than Bob when you’re both almost out the door.

He can hear your phone already blowing up with the nosy questions from his squad before he’s even buckled got you in.

And on the drive back to your place he lets you drink your chocolate cherry chip shake in the passenger seat of the Bronco, just as he promised he would.

You weren’t too proud to admit that first blind date was a bit of a mess.

While your eyes had been puffy for a couple days afterwards, you had also managed to get $700 in donations for the shelter from the Dagger Squad with all the questions you had answered for them while bleary-eyed.

And it was Rooster who had ended up sending in the largest donation, which had surprised you since he wasn’t even participating in the bet. He had sent you a screenshot of his $200 contribution along with a text that simply said: “For the animals, thanks for not spilling your milkshake in my car like you did when you were 15.”

You’d sent him back a heart promptly followed by the middle finger emoji.

Thankfully the second date the next week was less eventful.

Fanboy had set you up with one of his friends from the escape room group he was in. When you’d admitted that you had never done one before he’d talked you through all his tips and strategies for how to beat it when you eventually tried one out. His enthusiasm could have been charming had it not come across as entirely mansplain-y.

Why yes, you did know what a topographical map was and how to read it, thank you very much.

You’d felt like some kind of oversized bobblehead since all you had been doing that evening was nodding along as an attempt to stay engaged with the conversation.

Rooster had stopped by when your date had left for the restroom. He was glistening a bit from the sweat he had worked up from the performance at the piano he had just given. It was a newer song for him, but he had still swept the rest of the bar up with his infectious energy.

“I can tell you’re bored out of your mind, kid. How about I show you how to do that four-in-one shot? Once you pick it up you might finally be some competition at the pool table,” he’d said grabbing your beer and swallowing down a few large mouthfuls.

From your spot at the high-top table, you could see more than a few hungry gazes in the crowded bar tracking him. Probably trying to figure out the nature of your relationship with him.

When you shooed him away, he’d pulled down his sunglasses to give you a knowing look before taking your beer with him as he strutted away with a casual: “See you soon, kid.”

He knew you too well.

You weren’t bored per se, but you also weren’t having the greatest time.

When your date got back, it didn’t take long for the conversation to fizzle out, the long pauses feeling awkward rather than companionable. You’d both agreed that it probably wasn’t a great fit and left it at that. You’d even had Penny put his beers on your tab as a gesture of goodwill.

Plus, you had been trying to get Rooster to teach you that trick for ages, and you didn’t want to miss your moment now that he was offering.

True to his word, he spent the rest of the evening teaching you his trick. You warred between watching him intently determined to nail the shot, and avoiding looking at him too closely. The tight jeans he was wearing bringing up some less than strictly friendly thoughts as he bent over the table to line up his shots.

You were still terrible, but you also hadn’t had so much fun in a long time as you traded shit-talk back and forth with him. Cackling at the confusion on his face when he went to grab his beer only to find it empty. It was only fair, after all, he had taken yours.

It’s been a few days since then, and you are back at the Hard Deck for date number three.

From your time hanging out with the Dagger Squad, you’d learned that Coyote was a bit of a classic car aficionado. He had set you up with his friend, Will, who he had met at one of the vintage car conventions he had gone to in the area.

Will was already twenty minutes late when Hangman and Phoenix made their way up to the bar. The two keeping you company for a bit while they waited for Jimmy to get their next rounds, letting you know that Jake had already called dibs on setting up your next date.

“Get ready for a good time, Darlin’,” he boasted.

“I keep telling you my guy is perfect. I already know they’re going to have some instant chemistry. I don’t know why you’re even bothering, I have got it on lock,” Natasha had retorted back.

He’d sent you a cocky salute before they’d both made their way back to the rest of the group in the corner of the bar.

When your date eventually arrived, you guys went through the typical small talk motions, trading the same tired questions that feel more like a casual interview than an actual conversation.

Since you already knew he had an interest in classic cars you had casually mentioned Penny’s ’73 Porsche to him as something to talk about other than the weather or what you did for work, and that’s how you found yourself sitting on your own waiting for him to return from where he was outside snapping away pictures of the sleek looking car.

You’re picking at the label on your bottle of Blue Moon to kill time, when you feel Rooster slide up next to you, the smell of his woodsy cologne giving him away before the print of his Hawaiian shirt does out of the corner of your eye.

“Hey kid, you hungry? I could eat. What do you say to hitting up that taco place we like?”

You gesture to the coat draped on the back of the stool next to you, “I’m kind of on a date right now, Rooster.”

“You sure about that? Kinda looks like you’re just sittin’ here alone to me.” Mimicking you he also signals to the empty stool next to you.

His words landing like a sucker punch.

“I mean, he hasn’t been out there for that long. It’s a sexy car, I get it.”

And you did.

However, it has also been like ten minutes now since he left you, and having Rooster point it out like that made you feel more than a bit self-conscious.

Especially when you look over and catch the rest of the team watching you guys with curious stares from across the bar.

You knew having the dates here for their bet would put you directly in the spotlight, everyone wanting to see how things were going and how their friend stacked up against the competition. First dates were awkward enough without that kind of extra pressure and extra eyes.

Now you were on the third one and things weren’t looking as promising as you had hoped when you first started. It would be humiliating if by the end of this they all thought that you were the problem. And it wasn’t like you weren’t trying, but being on display like this makes you feel like you’re wading through waist-deep mud while everyone watches you struggle from solid ground.

When it came to dating, Rooster always had a much easier time of it compared to you. With those sunkissed curls and that toned body, it was rare if he didn’t get passed at least three napkins with phone numbers scribbled on them during nights out.

Even in high school you were always the one fielding questions from all the girls who were interested in him. Is he seeing anyone? Can you give him my number? He was naturally charismatic, of course people were drawn to him.

But you? You were just Bradshaw’s younger, tag-along friend. And then in college, it had always felt like you were the one who had to keep making all the first moves only to be left wondering why you had even bothered in the first place.

You never had a great poker face, and it’s clear you’re wearing your emotions on your face because when you turn back to Rooster his face immediately softens.

“I’m not trying to be an asshole,” he promises gently, as he reaches out to tug lightly on the end of the braid you had woven your hair in for the evening. “I just don’t get why you’re putting up with this guy ditching you like this. Especially when we could be getting tacos instead.”

Shaking your head ‘no’ to both the invitation and the insecurities that were trying to creep in, “I’m sure he’ll be coming back in any minute now.”

You weren’t excusing his behavior, but you did also want to give him the benefit of the doubt. It could still get better, he could still surprise you.

“And guess what? Apparently Will drives a Bronco too. He pointed his out earlier when he brought it up, but I can’t see it from where I’m sitting. I bet you guys could talk about that if we decide to see each other again.”

Rooster stands up to get a better look out the window that faces the parking lot, “Well, that certainly is interesting, kid.”

There’s a weird tone to his comment, but it isn’t one you are able to investigate further as Will returns back inside making his way to you.

You expect Rooster to go back to the rest of the squad, instead he makes himself comfortable on your other side.

“That’s not a bad looking car, the Fuchs wheels are a nice touch, but I’ve seen better,” Will ignorantly gloats as he sits back down, pulling up photos of another car on his phone to show you. “It definitely doesn’t have anything on the 1975 Porsche 930 Turbo, with its single turbo flat-six and the flared rear wings. Now that beauty was made for speed.”

Mortified you glance to Penny hoping she didn’t hear any of that, but the stiffness of her spine tells you everything you need to know.

This obnoxious motherfu-

“Wow, that’s really something. Do you mind if I take a look, man?” Rooster asks pointing to Will’s phone before you can say anything in response.

“Yeah, bro. Go for it,” he says as hands his phone over, “Spotted that one at the Pebble Beach Concours d’Elegance last year.”

You watch as Rooster swipes half-heartedly through a couple of the pictures before catching Penny’s eye.

“Uh-huh, neat. Hey, Penny?” he calls to her, as he sets the phone down on the bartop. “That’s your 911 S out there, right?”

“Sure is, Rooster.” She confirms playing along as she rests an elbow on the polished surface in front of him, a knowing smirk already gracing her features.

“Well then,” a conspiring grin takes over his face as he nods his head towards wood sign strung up between the taps, “I do believe we’ve had not one, but two violations this evening.”

Penny sends a wink his way as she wastes no time ringing the bell loudly and for longer than usual, undoubtedly for the slight at her car’s expense. The action causing the raucous crowd to erupt in cheers.

Disrespect a lady, the Navy, or put your cellphone on my bar you buy a round.

Will is still trying to figure out what’s going on as Rooster leans across you pushing the phone slowly across the counter back to your date with two fingers.

His face suddenly very close to yours. You can see the warm brown starbursts that surround the pupils of his eyes.

“Let’s go get those tacos, kid. Drinks are on him tonight.”

You watch as he slides off of the stool, pulling out his keys from the back pocket of his light wash jeans.

He makes it a few steps towards the door before turning back to you, “I’ll meet you at the Bronco. It’s the only one out there so you can’t miss it.” Giving Will a sharp, pointed look as he passes.

Slipping on his aviators and swinging the fob around his index finger as he struts out of the bar.

Not too long later you’re sitting on the beach with the warm California breeze on your skin, laughing as Rooster tells you about the time during training when half his squad ended up cleaning their gear naked. The Al Pastor tacos you ordered tasting extra delicious for whatever reason.

Try as he might, Rooster could not stop watching you on your date with the guy Hangman had set you up with.

And if he was honest with himself, he wasn’t trying at all. In fact, he was probably outright glaring and he didn’t give a damn.

It was too loud in the bar to hear your laugh from where he sat, but he could certainly see you grinning at something this guy was saying to you.

Did you go shopping for this? The top you were wearing didn’t look familiar to him, he liked the way the straps were tied into pretty bows on your sun-freckled shoulders. Did you mean to look like some kind of a present waiting to be unwrapped?

It was clear to him that you were taking this whole thing more seriously than he ever thought you would.

“Jesus, Rooster. What gives?”

“Huh, what?” he asked distractedly, his eyes remaining on you. He was barely paying attention to what was going on around him let along the game of pool he was supposedly playing with Hangman and Bob.

“Your leg, man. You’re about to set off the San Andres with all that shaking your leg is doing,” Jake says slapping him hard on the side of his thigh as he passes by to line up his next shot at the pool table.

“Actually, San Diego sits on the Rose Canyon fault,” Bob corrects.

“What is this, Jeopardy? That ain’t the point. What I’m trying to figure out is what’s got ol’ Rooster’s feathers in a ruffle over here.” His eyes calculating and his grin sharp.

Rooster hadn’t realized his leg was even bouncing up and down from where it was balanced on the foot rest of the high-top stool he was perched on.

What he did notice is that your date had gotten you a Michelob Ultra.

You hated light beer.

Who did this guy think he was just ordering you something without actually asking you what you wanted? Because there was no way in hell that you ordered that on your own. God, were these the type of men you were forced to put up with here in San Diego? He hadn’t even pulled out your chair for you, for fuck’s sake.

He could tell you were being polite by resting a hand on the base of the bottle, lifting it up like you were about to take a sip before remembering what was in your hand, and setting it back down again.

He might as well have ordered you a water, at least you would have actually enjoyed that.

The guy is massive and covered in questionable looking tattoos, in both quality and taste. Just like his choice of beer.

“Hangman, how do you know this guy again? What’s his name?” he asked, finally pulling his eyes away from you and your date.

“He’s a gym buddy, does those body building competitions,” Jake told him, probably for the second time that night based on the annoyance in his voice. “Really helped me to grow my pecs.”

Why was he flexing instead of answering the goddamned question?

“And his name?” he presses again, pushing his cue into Bob’s other hand officially done with the game. He pulls out his phone and sets to opening up a new tab on his browser getting ready to run a web search on the guy.

“Elijah, why?”

“Elijah what? What’s his last name?” Rooster wasn’t sure what was so hard about this. For how much Hangman bragged about being the fastest pilot, he was really struggling to keep up.

“How am I supposed to know? We’re not that close, man. We share trainin’ tips, not life stories,” he lets slip.

That would not work for him.

Downing the rest of his beer, tuning out the rest of whatever Seresin was saying to him as he stalks off to the bar.

He’s just being a good friend he tells himself, since it was obvious Hangman hadn’t done enough due diligence when it came to you.

Once there he orders another beer from Penny before rounding the bartop to where you sit with your back turned to him. He reaches out and plucks the room temperature Michelob Ultra out from your hand.

“Hey! What the-” he heard you start before turning to see him, “Rooster?” Your eyebrows pulled up in confusion.

“You’re welcome, kid,” he states concisely as he wraps your hand around the fresh, cold Blue Moon he had gotten for you instead.

His fingers brushing the end of the long tail of the bow that danced along your arm as he pulls away, heading back to his vantage point by the pool table.

The pressure in his chest lessening now that you at least had a beverage you actually liked in your hands.

“What the fuck, man? That stunt better not have screwed with my chances of winning, they were clearly hitting it off. Did Phoenix put you up to this?” Jake complained, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

Not bothering to reply, Rooster just waves him off as he watches you lift the bottle to your mouth, taking a sip for the first time that evening. A small smile on your face as you savor the flavor on your tongue.

Good. That’s good.

He’s very pleased when he sees Elijah head out the door less than 10 minutes later. And downright smug when you settle yourself next to him with your Blue Moon in hand.

“Well?” Hangman presses, leaning on the cue stick in his hands, “How’d it go?”

“It was going pretty well until he decided it was more important to lecture me about calorie content and muscle protein synthesis instead of just letting me enjoy my beer,” you said as you rolled your eyes. “So I told him we were probably on two different levels, and we decided to wrap it up for the night. I definitely heard him mutter something about needing a second pump session on his way out though. I hope he meant at the gym.” You scrunch your nose at that.

“Atta girl,” he smiles down at you as he bumps his shoulder against yours, watching as you blushed a little under the praise.

“You all might as well just give me the winnings now, there’s no way any of you idiots are going to beat me. I hope you’re ready to have your feet swept out from under you, my guy is going to be your dream man,” Nat declares, her tone self-congratulatory.

And just like that, he wasn’t feeling so smug anymore.

Read Part 3 here!

I am so blown away by the response Part 1 got! Thank you all so much for reading and all your kind comments! I appreciate every single one of you!

Written as part of @roosterforme’s #Love Is In The Air TGM Fic Challenge! Please go check out the fics on the playlist! There’s some great things already posted!

Song Inspiration Sam Smith’s “Like I Can”.

Thank you Jordan (@gretagerwigsmuse) and Emily (@roosterforme) for your all caps energy and for letting me spam you with ideas!

Taglist:

@sehnsuchts-trunken @top-hhun-main @itscheybaby @prettylittlelauraa @startrekfangirl2233 @marantha @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @itsizzythebell @winterrebel04 @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @boltgirl426 @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @anony1080 @cornishkat @green-intervention @torres-espana @uzumegui @2guysonascooter @dont-talk-me-down @fandomunite2107 @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @candid-confetti @pariahsparadise @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @ebonyhogan24 @nina-sj @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @misty-inferno @angellwingsss @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @deeahhmaa @ahintofkiwistrawberry @mrsdaamneron @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @melllinaa @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @mandolin22 @imaginecrushes @calsjack

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw x female reader #bradley rooster bradley x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #rooster x female reader #rooster x you #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley rooster bradshaw #like i can tgm #love is in the air tgm

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leclerc-s · 23 days

Text

suffering since forever

series masterlist

natalia ruiz praying for all of you because at least i like my third wheel

arthur leclerc that's because joris has been stuck with you two since before you were couple

fernando alonso you can say it, since before they were sleeping together.

carlos sainz it's not like joris has a choice.

lewis hamilton and the rest of you do?

max jones-verstappen we don't. we do it subconsciously.

daphne jones-ricciardo like that makes it any better max.

rhys jones i bet it hurt when jorris got that wag of the year trophy and you didn't.

natalia ruiz who let the child speak?

isabella perez she says that because she's hurt.

natalia ruiz i'm not hurt by the 12 year old.

rhys jones I'M 15!!

lance stroll yet you act like you're 12

rhys jones i know your ass isn't talking esteban ocon anyone ever tell you that you're scary? rhys jones never to my face.

zoya torres joris doesn't deserve this heat. let's talk about freya's 3rd wheeling habit.

freya vettel shut your trap torres.

alex albon days like this make me glad that george and carmen love to go on double dates so we don't get stuck with any of you.

george russell and that's because i don't want to get stuck with them.

dulce perez fuck you guys we're delights.

pato o'ward i can't believe i ever thought you people were cool.

daniel jones-ricciardo WE'RE COOL!!

pato o'ward the only cool thing about you is your wife.

penelope trevino REAL!!

gael perez i think pato almost shit his pants when he learned daphne was in this group chat.

pato o'ward IT'S DAPHNE FUCKING JONES, WEY! HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO NOT FREAK OUT?

daniel jones-ricciardo *jones-ricciardo!!

pato o'ward i couldn't care less bitchiardo! i will forever pray for your downfall so i can marry your wife instead.

isabella perez he's so real for that. HURRY UP RICCIARDO THE REST OF US ARE WAITING!!

daniel jones-ricciardo if i ever die let if be known that one of you bitches was behind my death.

daphne jones-ricciardo you people are unbelievable.

natalia ruiz i'll be first in line. i've been waiting for his downfall for the longest time.

daniel jones-ricciardo

this is all your fault.

whatever it is you think i did i swear it was arthur.

charles what did you do?

nothing! what’s wrong amour?

i have a baby screaming for 'unca jo' bring him back now.

ma cherie, i wish i could but i have a race.

okay? send joris and you stay in china.

we only need unca jo, notre petite étoile doesn't need her papa. (our little star)

i know that was a joke but it still hurt. don't tell me that!

you still have a few years left until she's a teenager.

ne pouvons-nous pas avoir cette conversation? je ne suis pas prêt pour ça (can we not have this conversation? i'm not ready for that)

seriously charles ask joris to call me, even zoya's music isn't helping.

i'll tell him to call. just come to china.

i will hop on the first flight to china, do not joke about that.

max said he's sending the jet to pick you up.

god bless sophie for her son.

not jos?

never that man.

natalia_ruiz posted new stories

unseen photo of baby jewel and her 'unca jo' 📸 - zoya because my fiancé and daughter have been stolen by his best friend. and another unseen photo but this time it's pre-baby jewel, joris has been a third wheel since day 1!

taglist: @burningcupcakefire @arkhammaid @applopie @sunflower-golden-vol6 @lorarri @bb-swift @thewannabewriter @mypage-myfandoms @stopeatread @hobiismyhopeu @lilsiz @alessioayla @niniluvsainz @au-ghosttype @six-call @justtprachisblog @nichmeddar @landonorizzz @unluckyyoshi @cool-ultra-nerd @kami10471633 @1nt3rnetgf @fernandoswarcrimes @arieltwvdtohamflash @brekkers-whore @natcha888 @camdensreg @mycenterfold @dear-fifi @georgeparisole @dan3avocado @nikfigueiredo @namgification @jensonsonlybutton @weekendlusting @trouble-sistar @lesliiieeeee @leclercsluv @33-81 @theseus-jpg @sarah-thatstings-ann @minmira95 @casperlikej @formulaonebuff @hopenshaw @ijustgomessitupx @hwalllllllelujah @doodlehunz @prongsvault

¡leclerc-s speaks! this one is a more wholesome one but it's still got it's sense of humor. can you tell i'm still watching greys?

¡disclaimer! this is in no way making assumptions about the people involved in this story, this is all fake. it is a fanfiction please don't take any of what is said seriously. this is all for entertainment purposes and as a creative outlet for me. enjoy!

#leclerc-s #the honest series #formula 1 #formula 1 fic #fanfic #fanfiction #f1 #f1 smau #f1 social media au #f1 instagram au #f1 fic #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x female oc

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megu-meow · 1 month

Text

take my breath - sukuna

Part 4 of my Hockey Player Sukuna Series - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Lmk if you want to be added to the tag list! :D

This part is shit, I'm sorry. After TTPD I found myself unable to write fluff, but I've kept people waiting, so I had to force myself to write this.

When Sukuna says soon, he means the next Thursday. He calls you on Wednesday after practice to ask you formally whether you could keep your schedule open for the next evening and you agree, because you have been waiting for your date for a few days now. However, you find yourself frustratedly trying on every piece of clothing you own, being indecisive about what to wear. You want to look good for him, because as you shyly admitted to your brother, you really like Sukuna. He's rough around the edges, but he seems like a good guy, unlike all the other people you've dated before. You contemplate calling one of the girls, but Senna and Akane love to gossip, and for the time being, you'd like to keep this little date with Sukuna a secret. So you call the only person you can trust in this situation.

Sophia arrives ten minutes after calling her saying you need help getting dressed for a date. She's the only one of the girls who knows that you have something going on with Sukuna, it makes total sense to reach out to her in your current circumstance. You already made her swear on your brother's life that she's not going to say anything about it to the girls, so you're safe in that regard. Plus, she has a keen sense of style, which comes in handy considering you want to impress the pink-haired centerman with your looks. You noticed already how many pretty girls were wearing his jersey to games, you know that he could have any of them at his disposal in a second. It still seems sketchy that he became so fond of you in such a short period of time, but you're not complaining.

"He was so nervous when I left, Kento thought he was going to explode." Sophia says as you try to put socks on, balancing on one foot.

"Who was?" you look at her and you nearly kiss the ground, regaining your balance at the last second.

"Sukuna, of course. He's been pacing around the apartment like a maniac all day."

"Really?" you ask timidly.

"Yeah. Kento said he had never seen him so stressed." for some reason hearing this makes you smile and your heart warm. Sukuna doesn't strike you as someone who would be nervous about dates, but you already learned not to assume anything about him, because he always surprises you with the way he acts.

"I'm kinda nervous too. I want this to go well." you explain and you try to put your earrings in. As you look at yourself in the mirror, wearing the outfit your sister-in-law put together, you're content with your reflection. You look amazing and you feel confident in the pieces you're wearing. Your makeup and hair are done in your usual way, you don't want to look like a completely different person. Apparently, Sukuna agrees that you look good. Because the moment you open your door for him, he freezes in place, with his eyes wide and glimmering. For a second you think something is wrong, but those thoughts are quickly dismissed as he speaks.

"You look beautiful, y/n." he states, his voice softer than you've ever heard. He is wearing a burgundy suit, one that complements his skin tone. His hair is sleeked back, but it still looks effortless in a way. You can smell his usual cologne, the musky scent that lingers. It suits him.

"Says you, handsome." you compliment him back and you swear a blush appears on his cheek. Suddenly, he remembers something, and he gives you the flowers he was hiding behind his back all this time. "Thank you! What happened to all flowers are stupid?" you ask as you smell the peonies in your hand.

"Well I got you some sunflowers, but your brother told me I was insane, so he dragged me to a florist to get 'ones that girls actually like'." he explains.

"He's right, you know? You made me wait four days for this date, the least you can do is give me some girly flowers." you joke and he rolls his eyes. Nonetheless, he reaches out for your hand. You slip it in his palm, which is calloused from holding a hockey stick most hours of a day, but very warm.

"Listen, woman, I made you wait because I wanted to take you to a 3 Michelin Star restaurant that specializes in your favorite food." he explains as he opens the door of his car for you to hop in.

"What?" you ask in shock before he closes the door after you. He leans down, looking into your eyes with a smirk across his face.

"You heard me, y/n. Now, don't be so shocked, I told you I would go all out for our date."

"You didn't have to though. You could have taken me to a hole-in-the-wall ramen place and I would have liked it." you say, slightly feeling bad "How did you manage to get a table anyway? These places are booked months ahead."

"The owner is a huge Wizards fan and apparently I'm his kid's favorite player. I had the team sign a jersey and got them season tickets, so they were glad to do me a small favor in return." he explains like it is nothing, but it means the world to you. No one has ever done something so grand for a date with you. It makes your heartbeat go nuts and you can't help but stare at him as he drives. You observe his tattooed hand that is on the armrest, shaking slightly. You smile and instinctively take it in yours, laying your intertwined hands in your lap. He turns his head towards you in shock, but he quickly looks back to the road. The blush from before returns, even his neck turns pink, and you smile, adoring his reactions.

The dinner goes by fast, despite lasting for hours. The food is exquisite, as expected. Most importantly, there's not one dull moment. You and Sukuna talk like you've known each other your whole lives. He asks about your interests, what you like to do in your free time, where you went to school, and about your friends. He seems interested in everything you talk about, he listens with an intensity you find rare. He drinks up every single word that leaves your mouth, he asks questions, and he's genuinely curious about how you perceive the world. You ask him plenty of questions yourself and he answers them gladly. He seems very fond of his brothers, he shows you pictures of them and you observe how Yuji has the same color hair as him and Choso has a very similar line tattooed on his nose as Sukuna's.

"They're coming to town soon, by the way." he comments and your eyes light up.

"How come?"

"It's Yuji's draft year and it's held here in Tokyo. Choso just tags along because he clings to that brat like a leech."

"That's so rude!" you exclaim, but you're smiling. You're aware that Sukuna probably shows his love towards his brothers a little bit peculiarly.

"Well, it's true."

"Do you see a chance of Yuji being drafted by the wizards?" you ask.

"Not really. He is prospected to be in the top three of the draft and we are clinching the playoffs this next game as number one in the league. We probably won't have a pick in the top ten."

"I'm sorry to hear that. It would have been cool for him to have you on the team he's drafted to."

"I don't think so. If I'm being honest, I'm glad there is little to no chance for that to happen as of now."

"Why is that?"

"He won't have a target on his back. Otherwise, people would be mean to him and would rough him up with the sole purpose of pissing me off. This way he can become a professional player without being concussed every game."

"You're very protective of your brothers, huh?" you ask and he smiles.

"You could say that." he smirks "I'm protective of everything I own, you know." he adds looking into your eyes deeply. You know there is a deeper meaning behind his words. He's implying that he would be just as safeguarding about you if you were his girlfriend. You find it hard to believe that a guy like him exists. He is so charming but respectful. He is attentive, you mentioned one time what your favorite food was and he remembered, moreover, he went out of his way to get you the best version available of it.

"Where were you my whole life?" you ask, not realizing that you blurted out your thoughts just like that. You feel embarrassed as your hands fly to your runny mouth, covering it. However, Sukuna just laughs. He rarely laughs like this. It comes deep from within, the type that shakes your whole body and you're sure you're red like a lobster as you observe him.

"Sweetheart, I've been asking that question about you since December." he answers, his charming smile never fading.

"December?" you question.

"Oh, I thought your brother told you about that too." he seems shocked, but he continues "I've spotted you in the crowd at the Family Game in Kyoto. I was mesmerized, I even ran into one of my teammates on accident, I was too preoccupied with looking at the angel in the Wizards jersey."

"Oh, I remember that. I was laughing about that with Akane." you recall and Sukuna frowns "So you've had your eyes sat on me since then?"

"Well, I didn't know I was going to meet you on my first day in Tokyo while I was shirtless, but destiny has its way, I guess."

"You believe we were destined to meet?"

"I told you before, sweetheart, I am superstitious. Take that as you want, but I do think we are here having dinner for a reason." he explains.

Your date ends when the restaurant staff asks you nicely to leave because they've been closed for two hours already. You didn't even realize that all the other customers had left and the staff was ready to close. Sukuna pays for the bill and he sends you a death glare when you offer to pay for your part. "Woman, you won't have to pay for anything while you are out with me." he states, irritation evident in his tone. He also drives you home and walks you to your door. You're wearing his suit jacket, because you were a bit cold, although he turned the heater on in the car.

"Thank you for tonight! I had a lot of fun." you smile up at him, as you're trying to say goodbye on your doorstep.

"There is nothing to be thankful for, you got what you deserve, princess." he says and he seems a little bit disappointed, but you're not able to determine why. Maybe the date didn't go as well in his perspective as you thought.

"Is something wrong? Did I say something to offend you?" you ask in panic and he quickly shakes his head, dismissing it. Suddenly the redness returns to hiss tattooed cheeks and he suddenly seems nervous.

"I just thought I deserved a kiss after that." he whispers shyly, his face down, gaze locked on the tip of his shoes.

It's your turn to laugh at his awkwardness, but you still cup his cheeks in your hands and pull him in for a kiss. You don't quite understand where all this fearlessness came into you from, but you're glad it did because the kiss is magical. It's soft but eager and you can feel him smiling into it as his large hands find their destined spot in your hips. You're the one to break the kiss, but Sukuna pulls you in closer, resting his forehead on yours, and looking deeply into your eyes. His smile reaches his ears and he whispers to you softly:

"I hate to break it to you princess, but I don't think I can go on with my life without doing that every day."

You smile, and respond with a smile just as wide as his "Good, because I don't think I can either."

The next day is game day and you arrive at your brother's apartment beforehand. You usually drive with them to the arena. Sukuna emerges from his room in his game-day suit, his eyes glowing up the moment he sees you there.

"We're gonna be down at the car, Bambi." Sophia says as she and Kento leave in a hurry.

Sukuna steps closer to you, embracing you, his muscular arms around your shoulders.

"Hello, princess! How are you?"

"I'm great, Sukuna. Thank you for asking! How are you?"

"Better now that I know you're coming to the game to cheer me on." you smile, stepping away from the embrace, and you look into his eyes. "Are you gonna give me a good luck kiss or what?"

You're surprised by his boldness, but you leave a peck on his lips nonetheless.

"If I do good today, you're gonna have to do that before every game." he states.

"Alright. You've got yourself a deal." you smile and you urge him out the door, before your brother and his wife could start thinking that you're doing something inappropriate in their home.

Good does not describe the way Sukuna plays that night. He has one of the best games of his life and after the first goal, as his celebration, he looks towards where you're standing and points at you with a wide smile on his face. This is your sign that from now on, you're gonna have to keep your promise of giving him a good luck kiss before every game.

🩵 Tag list: @ichorstainedskin @ureuphoriasworld @new-weather47 @deepchromatose @cvr2mya @janrcrosssing @bakuhoes-bxtch @deluluforcarlos55 @stainednailpolishremover @thejujvtsupost @bleachisfood @dorck26 @chilichopsticks @when-worlds-end 🩵

#ryomen sukuna #sukuna fluff #sukuna ryomen #jjk imagines #jjk x reader #sukuna #sukuna imagine #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x you #jjk imagine #jujutsu kaisen imagines #Ren Writes - Sukuna ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

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jqhotchner · 2 months

Text

sunflowers

one

warning: sexual content; oral sex, p n v unprotected sex, enough fluff to make me sick honestly!! 18+

being loved by eddie munson was a great honor. he treated yn like the princess she knew she had always been! yn didn’t exactly have a good track record when it came to dating. all the guys she’s ever been with had broken her heart.

she wanted—needed—someone different! for a little while she just stopped searching. she thought, ‘im still young!’ she had plenty of time to find someone to love her unconditionally. thats when she met eddie munson!

it had been her twentieth birthday. she invited many people to come and attend, not really caring who showed up. she just ended things with her boyfriend after finding out he cheated on her and all she wanted to do was crawl in a hole forever. her mother convinced her to keep her original plan and try and forget about john. she took her advice and faked smiled and laughed all night. yn tried to have a good time, ultimately she was just tired and wanted to go home. she managed to sneak out of the building her party was being held and got some fresh air. that’s where she saw eddie.

eddie was too old for this scene. he didn’t want to come to begin with, but dustin kept going on and on about how his girlfriend, suzie loved this yn girl and wanted to get her autograph for her birthday coming up. he didn’t want to go alone and knew steve wouldn’t be able to get in without some kind of connection. eddie agreed to take him, get the autograph, and get the fuck out of there. eddie ended up getting stuck there when people noticed him. it was a good thing he also got steve to come along! dustin got his autograph, and steve ended up taking the brat home while eddie signed a few autographs of his own.

now he was outside enjoying a cigarette, away from the noise and the few fans in the front of the building outside. when he spots yn, he gives her a small smile. she returns it, at least attempt to.

“not enjoying your party, sweetheart?”

she shakes her head and looks down.

“let me guess, heartbroken, huh?”

she turns to look at him surprised. “how’d you know?”

eddie chuckles “im an old man, i know the face of heartbreak when i see it.”

this time, for the first time of the night, she genuinely laughs.

“who’s ass are we kicking?”

yn snorts. “his name is john. first guy i said i love you to.” and first guy she’s ever had sex with. but eddie didn’t need to know that.

“mind telling me what happened there?”

she shrugs her shoulders as he pats a space for her to sit. she walks over to eddie and sits right beside him as he continues to smoke his cigarette.

“he cheated on me with the girl he told me not to worry about.”

“dickhead!”

she hums.

“i know im still young. i have my whole life ahead of me, you know? but i always wanted to have a family early on in life. get married, have kids, live a normal suburban lifestyle. it sounds crazy, i know—”

“i don’t think that’s crazy! you’re financially stable and from what i hear smart as shit and talented. i think as long as you got all the means to start a family, why wait?”

yn looks at him and smiles. “my mama and papa met each other when they were fifteen and got married when they turned eighteen. had five kids and stopped for awhile until they had me. they’ve been together ever since. their love is what i want. something pure and beautiful.”

“i feel that. i didn’t have that kind of life growing up! just had my uncle wayne. that old geezer kept his dating life private for awhile. i didn’t think the man dated. turns out he had been seeing this woman for about eight years before introducing me to her. even asked my permission to marry her. wanted my approval and everything. i told the old man it was about damn time!” eddie shakes his head at his uncle.

“he sounds like he really valued you.”

“he’s my dad! i value him just as much. took me in when i needed someone.”

yn didn’t understand, and neither did eddie, but the two opened up to each other all night. it felt great to talk to someone. they ended up exchanging numbers and texting from then on.

a year goes by, they haven’t ran into each other anymore after that. yn invites him to her twenty-first birthday. when he turns up her heart skipped a beat. he was even more beautiful than she remembered. yn and eddie ended up sneaking off again and talking.

eddie couldn’t take his eyes off of her every time she spoke. something about this girl was mesmerizing to him. eddie wasn’t the type to date anyone younger than him, especially not over ten years! but this girl, she was fucking breathtaking. she was smart, beautiful, kind, just the most intelligent woman he’s ever known. yn noticed him staring and blushed.

“am i rambling too much? sometimes i don’t know when to shut up.” she states.

“naw, you’re perfect.”

yn gives him a smile. she loves how honest is. yn wasn’t the type to go after older men either. she stayed in her age range. eddie just does something to her she’s never felt before.

“i wanna kiss you, yn. may i kiss you?”

yn heart starts beating out of her chest. she couldn’t believe that he wanted to kiss her! she thought he just wanted to keep things platonic given the age gap. she slowly nods her head as he gently caresses her cheek and puts his lips against hers. the kiss was the most magical one either of them had. yn felt like her body was on fire. eddie felt like he was on cloud nine. they continued to kiss before eddie pulls away for air and rest his forehead against hers.

“may i take you out? next friday at eight if you’re not busy?”

yn thought about her schedule before humming in advance once she realized she was free. eddie kisses her once more before getting up. when he left the party was already dying down. yn got into her own car, leaving everyone else to continue to party. she had enjoyed herself already.

when friday night came she was a nervous wreck! she had a closet full of clothes and claimed to have nothing to wear. her sisters had come over and tried to help calm her down.

“why are you so jittery for? even in the past you’ve never felt this nervous for a date.” briella states.

“and when are you gonna tell us who this mystery guy is? even mom doesn’t know and you tell her everything!” kimberly adds as she looks through yn closet. she was the second youngest sibling, she most likely looking through to steal something of hers.

yn plops down on the bed as she sighs. “he’s—i don’t wanna jinx it but, he’s an amazing guy! cute and funny. he’s a musician as well. has his own band. we’ve been texting for about a year and i just—i don’t know but my heart putters whenever i get a text from him or when he calls me. god, he’s so sweet. just last night he sent me flowers! i never felt this way before. not even with john. it’s crazy, i know, but im already falling for him and i can see a future with him.”

all three of yn sisters look at one another and smirks. they’ve never seen her talk about anyone like that before.

“you’re totally smitten! wait until the boys hear about this.” jasmin smiles.

“do not tell seth or andy about this! they’ll never let me leave the house again.” yn groans at the thought of her brothers being over protective of her. she’s the baby after all! all her siblings had a soft spot for her due to their parents having her when they were a bit older.

“get up, come on! this outfit would look amazing on you. i think you should wear this. you’d look wonderful.” yn looks herself in the mirror and smiles.

“may you do my makeup bri?”

“you know i will! now let’s get you ready for this date before mom and dad come home and scare the poor kid to death.”

once yn was ready, her sisters kissed her goodbye before she waits patiently for eddie to come pick her up. she was home alone tonight. her parents out at some award show to promote her dads upcoming movie. when she heard the doorbell ring she got up, sighing before opening the door. eddie looked amazing. he was wearing a black metallica t-shirt, black jeans, a chain hanging on them, with his signature blue jean jacket.

yn had on a red dress that goes down to her knees. eddie thought she looked wonderful.

“you’re so beautiful.”

yn smiles. eddie hands her flowers. she takes them as she stands on the tip of her toes and kisses his cheek.

“you didn’t have to get me more.”

eddie shrugs. “i like giving the prettiest girl the prettiest flowers.” yn laughs. she gently closes the door as eddie takes her hand and leads her to his car.

“where are we headed?”

eddie smirks. “surprise, baby.”

hearing him call her baby made her heart flutter more than it already was. once they got to their destination yn was surprised to see that the place was empty. normally this particular restaurant was packed, filled with many celebrities or politicians. it was very hard to get a reservation. unless you’re eddie munson from corroded coffin.

“how’d you shut this place down?”

“i have my ways. come on.” eddie grabs her hand and walks into the restaurant. they greet eddie before eddie hears a familiar voice.

“hi, meathead!”

eddie rolls his eyes playfully. “hey, red! thanks for doing this by the way. i owe you one.”

“technically you owe me over ten grand, but since you’re basically my dad, ill give you a pass,” max states.

“max, this is yn. yn, this is max. i remember how you said loved max cooking and always wanted to meet her. thought, i know her, might as well take you to go see red!”

“i can’t believe you know max! hi, i love your food! my mom and dad buys from you almost every time we don’t feel like cooking. i even got all your cookbooks! im a huge fan!”

“thanks, means a lot! but i wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for meatball here. he encouraged me to pursue my dream of opening my own restaurant.”

yn looks at eddie for clarification and he smirks at her. “she’s the best damn cook from hawkins! even at the age on fourteen! she deserved to have her own restaurant.”

“now i have them all over the world thanks to mom and dad.” max states, referring to steve and eddie.

“what’s on the menu tonight red?!”

max goes to seat yn and eddie. she tells them about the dishes she’s been trying out for the last few weeks. the two try many dishes as they sipped wine and talked about everything. they got along so well and the food was amazing. once the night ended, eddie took her home, walked her to her front door, and kissed her goodnight. it was one of the best nights either of them had.

the two kept seeing each other. yn still keeping him a secret. she knew her family would freak out about the age difference. but she was falling head over heels for eddie and didn’t want anything or anyone to mess it up. she wanted to enjoy as much time as she could before spilling the beans to her family.

after six months of late night talking and many many dates, things began getting more intimate between the two. they went from small little make out sessions to heavy petting. yn was ready for that step, she was completely ready for eddie to take it to the next level.

eddie was beyond ready! he was only just a man after all. and the woman that he was seeing was beautiful, inside and out. eddie wanted to worship her body until the sunrises. he just didn’t wanna rush her into anything. he now knew that she had only had one partner in her life, her ex boyfriend john.

eddie didn’t want to pressure her into having a sexual relationship. “baby?” eddie hums as yn grinds against him while they kiss one another heavily and passionately in his bedroom.

“hmm?”

“maybe we should stop?” eddie states as yn sighs and gets off of him. she pouts a little before getting out of bed.

eddie frowns as he watches her pace in his bedroom.

“do you not find me sexually appealing?”

eddie frowns. “what?”

“eddie, we’ve been seeing each other for half a year now and all we’ve ever done was make out. which is amazing! i love kissing you. but when things get a little bit more, intimate you push me away. so what is it? am i not attractive enough? is it the age gap? what’s going on?”

eddie stands and gently grabs her hands. “baby, no! god, no! i think you’re the sexiest woman ever. i just—i don’t wanna rush you into doing anything, you know? im not trynna be like your ex boyfriend and force you into a sexual relationship. i want my girl to feel good and loved and special like she is. i don’t wanna be a shitty ass boyfriend, is all.”

yn smiles.

eddie looks at her confused.

“what?”

“you called yourself my boyfriend.”

they never really discussed that. eddie was older than yn. he felt childish asking her to be his girlfriend. he just knew her as such and that’s that! he didn’t feel the need to ask. maybe he should have though considering her age.

“yeah, i just assumed—”

yn cuts him off by kissing him passionately. “okay, boyfriend! im glad you told me how you feel. thank you for being considerate of my emotions. but eddie, if i wasn’t ready i would have stopped you at any point. yes, john was an asshole who peer pressured me into sleeping with him when i wasn’t ready, but i know you’re not like that, eds! so please, for the sake of my sexual frustration, make love to me!”

eddie smirks. he begins kissing yn passionately. he gently lies her on the bed and kisses her neck. eddie was too goddamn old to be giving hickeys. but he wanted to mark his girl up, let the world know that she was his. yn moans softly. eddie smirks as he lifts up and takes his shirt off before grinding against his girl.

yn had only had one partner in her life. and normally john would get himself off and leave her a horny, frustrated mess! she had to get herself off each and every time.

with eddie, he made sure the women he’d been with came at least once before cumming himself. never leaving a woman unsatisfied.

“my poor baby’s been feeling neglected, huh? im sorry.” eddie whispers in her ear. he tugs on her shirt before she lifts up and he pulls it off and throws it across the room somewhere.

eddie starts to kiss her chest. she was still wearing a bra. he unclasp it before groaning. yn nipples already harden.

“fuck, you’re so fucking sexy baby. can’t wait to claim your body.”

yn didn’t know words could be such a turn on. she was basically soaked underneath her clothed pussy.

“please, eddie!”

eddie smirks as he takes her right nipple into his mouth while he plays with the left and visa versa. eddie unbuttons her jeans and gently yanks them off.

“no panties? wanted me that bad, huh?”

yn nods as eddie chuckles. he gets off the bed, pushing her body on the edge, and gently rubs his fingers between her cunt.

“fuck! already wet for me, huh? what does my pretty princess need, huh?”

“just—touch me eddie.” eddie could tell she was shy. but he wasn’t having it! he wanted her to be vocal, let him know what pleases her so he can make her cum over and over again.

“gotta tell me what you want baby, else i can’t help you.” eddie states cockily.

“want—please need your mouth.” she whispers. eddie barely heard what she said.

“my what, baby?”

“want your mouth, eds! please?!”

eddie blows against her cunt before he gently licks between her legs once. he smirks as she wines before he devours her, as if he was a starved man.

yn grabs ahold of his hair. eddie hums against her clit and she nearly cums right then and there. no one has ever eaten her out before. this was very new to her and she didn’t understand why she’d never asked before. it felt so fucking amazing.

maybe it was just eddie! she didn’t know but she felt like she was floating. eddie continued to eat her out. he could tell she was close by how tightly she started gripping his hair. when she finally came, eddie smirks as he lifts himself up and kisses her passionately.

“you okay, baby? need a break?”

she shakes her head before grabbing him and kissing him once more. “please, fuck me?!”

eddie groans. he felt like a teenager again with the way he rushed to rid his pants and boxers. yn looks down and smirks. eddie was a good size. he was very thick and long! she was almost scared.

“see something you like, baby?”

yn hums. “want you inside me already, eds!”

“anything for me girl.” eddie gently taps his cock against her clit. she hums before he slowly pushes inside of her. they both groan.

eddie was stretching her in ways she’d never been stretched before. eddie stills, letting his girlfriend adjust to his size before she taps him on the back and he begins fucking her deeply.

“holy, fuck! pussy feels so good baby. gripping me tightly, yeah?” he moans out.

yn hands roam eddie’s body. she felt like she could feel him in her guts, rearranging her insides. it felt like nothing she had ever felt before. “fuck, eds! please?”

“what do you want, huh? what does my pretty girl need,huh?”

“harder, please?” eddie grunts before giving his girl exactly what she needed. her pussy was gripping him tightly, so fucking tightly he could cum.

“shit! this pussy feels so good, baby! best ive ever had, swear!” eddie said honestly. this made yn moan even louder.

eddie kisses her passionately and sloppily. yn was so close she could feel it in the tip of her toes.

eddie rubs his fingers against her clit. “gonna cum for me baby? show me how fucking good im making you feel?”

“mhm! so close ed. please don’t stop.”

“trust me babe, won’t stop until you cum all over my cock, yeah?”

a few more thrust later yn came with a loud moan. eddie was close behind. “where you want it babe?”

“on the pill, need it inside, please?”

eddie grunts at that before spilling his seed inside of her. the two ride out their high before eddie collapsed against her.

“fuck! that was amazing, love.”

yn hums in agreement. eddie lifts up a little, gently grabs her face, and kisses her passionately.

“i love you, yn.”

it was the first time he uttered the words. yn heart began to beat uncontrollably. “i love you too, eddie.” the couple falls asleep cuddled up to one another.

two months later yn had met eddies son. he was a four year old adorable little thing and she instantly fell in love with him.

her heart continued to break when eddie told her the story about his biological mom and why she wasn’t around.

“she chose parties, sex, and drugs over our kid. she died three years ago in a car accident. she was high and in the wrong lane. trucker hit her car and that was it.” every time she thought about it her heart broke for eddie and for little oliver.

yn realized that she should probably tell her family about eddie. especially because it was almost a year of their relationship and eddie had asked her to move in.

she was a nervous wreck whenever it was the day for them to meet. eddie was a bit nervous too. he hid it well though.

he loved yn and planned on spending the rest of his life with her. she meant everything to him. oliver had also grew to love her! he knew the age difference was a huge deal to most, but he wasn’t gonna let that break them.

“you sure you wanna meet my family? we could just run away. you, me, and ollie.” yn wraps her arms behind eddie’s neck.

eddie chuckles. “baby, we gotta do this some time. it’ll be fine! we’re a family now, yeah? the three of us will go in there as a family.”

yn sighs.

“please don’t be late, okay?”

eddie gently kisses her. “promise! ollie and i will be there eight sharp.”

“i love you eds! you and ollie.”

“we love you too. see you tonight.”

when the night came yn was pacing. she was very nervous. especially with her dad and brothers! she knew right away they wouldn’t approve. eddie was the same age as her brother, andy. yn knew this would end in a lot of questions and maybe even yelling.

yn just hoped her mom and sisters would keep the peace between everyone.

“why are you so nervous for us to meet him, baby! im sure he’ll be fantastic. and you know i won’t allow your dad or brothers grill him too much.”

yn gives her mom a small smile before she hears the doorbell ringing. she tries to rush and open the door first but seth beats her to it.

“may i help you?” seth asked.

“hi, im eddie. this is the right place yeah? the yln home?”

“eds!”

“yn!” oliver runs out of his dads grasp and into hers. yn picks him up and kisses his cheek gently.

“missed you.” he whispers into her shoulder.

“i missed you too ollie! why don’t you go ahead in that room right over there. left some toys for you to play with.”

oliver nods before walking into the direction yn pointed at. eddie walks over to her and kisses her cheek.

“hi, beautiful. missed you.”

she smiles as she stands on the tip of her toes and kisses him gently. completely forgetting her brother standing there. seth clears his throat before the two of them turned to look at him.

“dinners probably ready. we should go.” seth kept his thoughts to himself. not wanting to say anything just yet until the whole family was gathered together. yn ends up getting ollie as everyone gathered around the table for dinner.

it was an awkward silence. she could tell all eyes were on her and eddie. she didn’t exactly know what anyone was thinking. heart breaking in the process of the silence.

“how exactly old are you, eddie?”

“im thirty-five, sir.” eddie states as he clears his throat

“so, how’d someone your age meet our daughter?” yn father asked.

eddie clears his throat. “met on her twentieth birthday party.”

“and what exactly where you doing at a young lady’s birthday party?” seth glares at the older gentleman.

“his friends girlfriend is a fan. he wanted an autograph so eddie took him to the party. we met outside the venue and hit it off.” yn speaks for him.

“yn, are you outta your goddamn mind?!” out of everyone yn never suspected that jasmin would be the one to yell at her.

yn clears her throat.

“jas!” yn mother scolds.

“mom, she’s dating someone fourteen years older than her. you can’t seriously tell us that you’re okay with this?!”

“your sister is an adult! she can make adult decisions.”

andy scoffs. “she’s barely an adult mom! she’s only twenty one. he’s my age ma.”

“and? your sister is happy! she can make her own decisions. you all need to stop babying her. she can date whoever she wants.”

“i love your daughter and sister. i didn’t go out seeking for someone young. i fell in love with her because she’s smart, beautiful, and talented! she treats my son like her own and for that, she has my whole entire heart. none of you have to like me or be okay with us, but it won’t stop me from one day getting on one knee and asking her to spend the rest of our lives together. she’s my everything. she’s a sunflower in my eyes! a ray of sunshine. im not asking for your approval. im just telling you how it is. we’re a family and i hope that you all will be apart of that family. if not, so be it.” eddie states. yn grabs his hand under the table as she sheds a tear.

“i love you, eds.”

“i like him! moms right. yn is an adult. she knows what she’s doing! if she’s happy so am i.” kimberly shrugs her shoulders.

yn father gets out of his seat and walks towards eddie. “i still don’t approve. i think you’re too old for our child! but anyone tough enough to say how he feels like in front of anyone’s child, i say is a man in love. just take care of my daughter!”

eddie nods his head. “with my whole heart.”

yn dad hums as he sits back down in his seat. dinner finished up with no one leaving in bruises. for yn, that’s a win!

“ill see you tomorrow, yeah?”

yn hums as she kisses eddie goodbye and kisses the top of olivers head. once they were gone yn turns. she had a huge smile on her face as she heads upstairs to her room.

“think he’s the one?” yn mother asked her husband as they watch their daughter leave.

“yeah, i recognize that smile from a mile away.” yn father states as he holds on to his wife. watching as another one of their babies slowly start to leave the nest.

okay so this was longer than i attended for it to be! what do you guys think?

if you wanna be added/unadded to the taglist please let me know! im gonna enjoy writing this story!!! so excited for what’s to come <3

taglist:

n/a

#eddie munson x reader #older!eddie munson x reader #jqhotchner #jqhotchner masterlist #eddie munson x black!reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson x yn #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x you #eddie stranger things #eddie munson #dad!eddie munson x reader

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eddies-house · 7 months

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Smoke Signals

Chapter Eleven - Hoedown

W/C: 8K

Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader

"Got love-struck, went straight to my head."

"Slut!" - T.S.

A/N: it's been a while...

Masterlist

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The air smells of cinnamon and caramel corn, arguably the smell of Fall though if anyone were to ask you, you’d say Fall smelled of spice and smoke from the chimneys of your neighbors. The caramel corn was a tad overpowering, a huge batch being stirred back in the kitchen, courtesy of Donnie’s secret recipe. Her loving husband, Nathan was doing the heavy lifting, clearing the room so that the center allowed for a dance floor despite Eddie’s protests. Tables covered with checkered tablecloths along with chairs were set around the edges of the room and the boys had lugged in the hay bales that were stacked out back and set them where you and Donnie had instructed around the bar, the theme of the night coming together before your eyes.

Nancy was gently tossing the apples into one of the barrels in preparation for apple bobbing while Robin was organizing the table that had been designated for the pie eating contest, ensuring that they had all the pies queued up, ready to be devoured for the prize of free drinks the rest of the night. It wasn’t very logical, filling someone up with pie only for them to be rewarded with endless drinks and most definitely puke everything up, but you weren’t going to strike down the idea after Nathan insisted it would draw people in, that “they’d pay to see that kind of shit”.

Finishing off a quick makeshift arrangement of sunflowers and filler leaves in a mason jar, you set it among one of the tables proudly. It was simple but it did the job. Satisfied with your work, you continue placing the remaining flowers on each table. Nancy had assisted in putting them together, doing her part as you both sat at the bar earlier in the afternoon, chatting and giggling, squealing even, whenever you made a joke about Steve falling asleep again the second they got him in the door the previous morning at Eddie’s house.

It took a village, some would say, to get the man settled in his drunken haze. Steve had been babbling about how he could walk, meanwhile he would nearly crumble into himself the second anyone let go, his head going falling back and limbs going limp. Nancy insisted that you didn’t need to assist any further, that you should go get some sleep, but you didn’t want the night to end yet, you didn’t want to go home.

“Sunflowers.” Eddie mutters, his eyes glued to the arrangements. He stops what he’s doing, apparently searching for something behind the bar. There’s a twinkle in his eyes and the softest smile on his lips, lights creating a glow around him that leaves you in awe.

“Yeah, do they look okay?”

Suddenly, it was so easy to be insecure, even in the presence of a man who proved time and time again that you didn’t need to be. The people pleaser lurking within you had been awakened once again and it was targeting your downfall, plotting your demise. If there’s even a hint of displeasure in Eddie’s face, it would surely feed on it, ripping you apart bit by bit, declaring that nothing you ever did would be good enough for anyone ever again.

He’s lost in thought again, eyes glazed over with some kind of appreciation as he taps his ringed knuckles against the bar. He almost resembles a kid in a candy store yet you nearly take it as pity, that vengeful little monster within you ready to pounce on its prey and feast on you for the remainder of the night.

“Yeah.” He exhales. “Yeah, they’re perfect.” It’s said in a whisper, as if he had only wanted you to hear him although no one else was close enough to hear.

“Are you sure?” You ask, hands placed atop the bar as you lean closer to him, worry etched into your features. “Cause I can–”

“They’re perfect.” He affirms, louder this time. His gaze finds yours, huge chocolate buttons so filled with such adoration you become overwhelmed, palms turning clammy. The monster inside of you has been smothered for the time being.

“Yeah, yeah, the flowers are gorgeous, where do you want this?” Steve interrupts, carrying in another hay bale, gesturing to it with a nod of his head.

Before you can scan the room and provide him an answer, Nancy is pushing behind him, guiding him away as she instructs him where to set it before sending you a knowing glance.

Knowing what exactly, you weren’t sure.

–

Sparkly plastic jewels adorn the hatband of the once standard black cowboy hat. You’d catered it exactly to Eddie’s style, opting to only glue tiny silver jewels and graciously leaving out the little tassels you had so desperately wanted to add on. Then you decided, too flashy. This way, he could remain in all black and still have a little wow factor. He was the owner after all, he needed to make a statement.

What really made it scream “Eddie” though, was the bandana adorned in skulls and crossbones wrapped around the hatband just under the jewels. It was certain to gain his approval, being ‘metal enough’ and all, as he would say. You’d worked on it for hours before tonight, meticulously placing each jewel and criticizing your own work countless times. It hadn’t been easy sneaking one his bandanas away from him either although you were able to snag it from his back pocket one night and he still hasn’t seemed to notice. That, or he just hasn’t said anything.

“As promised, I have your final accessory.” You state proudly, standing in front of the desk of the tiny office, Eddie raising a curious brow at you from his seat.

You hold the hat behind your back, almost too giddy to continue hiding it from him but refraining from showing it to him a second too soon. He had changed his clothes since you’d last seen him about an hour ago after finishing up the final touches for Hoedown Night. By that point everyone was running around like chickens with their heads cut off. Now it was the calm before the storm, before patrons were let into the bar, before anyone could determine whether or not tonight would be successful or not, whether or not enough people would even show up.

From what you could see, Eddie wore his signature black jeans but rather than a regular black shirt or a faded band shirt, he wore a black button up that was slightly wrinkled and creased where it had obviously been folded previously. He had it tucked into his jeans just right and though the creases should ruin the look, it only elevates it.

“Yeah?”

His hesitation almost worries you although the slight purse of his lips and a raise of his brow indicate that he was more curious than anything. A darling expression that could’ve gotten him anything he wanted should he ask.

“Mhm.” Biting your lip in instant insecurity, you debate trashing the hat completely.

He’s going to hate it.

It’s ugly.

He’s going to laugh.

“Wait…” He interrupts your bombarding thoughts.

Oh god.

“Don’t tell me you got me a hat–”

“I didn’t!” You chirp, a lie clearly detected as you shut your eyes tight, the corners crinkling.

“You did.”

Opening your eyes only means being faced with the utter humiliation you’d brought upon yourself. Why would you decorate a hat just for him? You didn’t offer such courtesy to anyone else, he was going to think you were even weirder than you’d already lead on. What started out as a nice gesture has suddenly turned into some kind of stalkerish behavior, your mind blurring the reality of the actual situation.

Except when you chance a peek, a nosy squint, all you can determine is that he was wearing a shit-eating grin. Not the kind that was warning you that in seconds he would be poking fun at your little surprise. But if not that kind then you were clueless as to what to expect. No one sports a shit-eating grin without some kind of humor behind it, some kind of motive.

“That’s why you stole my bandana isn’t it?”

The tension in your neck releases, muscles relaxing though you hadn’t even realized they were straining until now. You should be tense and stressed at the soft accusation but it just further pushes you gently into familiar territory. The teasing tenderness between two complicated individuals who only seem to understand each other.

“I-” You choke out a laugh.

“You did steal it!” Eddie points an accusatory finger your way, that big stupid grin still adorning his face.

“You weren’t supposed to know!” You defend. “It’s a surprise!”

“You’re not a very good thief y’know.”

It’s not unlike you to shy away from someone’s gaze but the way he saunters out from behind his desk and towers over you causes your eyes to catch the ugly gray carpet. Large brown irises were only going to force your honesty to display itself across your face like a giant billboard advertisement; honesty that even you yourself hadn’t even taken the time to address.

“I don’t tend to steal.” You mutter bashfully.

A disapproving click of his tongue is all you can make out without viewing his face.

“No.” He says sarcastically, maybe with a dramatic eye roll although you’re not brave enough to glance up yet. “A shy little thing like you?”

You can’t help the tug at the corner of your lips, his perception of you somehow becoming so endearing despite your years of self loathing solely based on your timid nature and mumbled sentences. At the moment, being shy didn't seem to be such an…inconvenience. It didn’t seem so unattractive and repelling and moreso drew him in, it wasn’t a luxury you were often offered. “Shy little thing” would usually constitute as insulting but when it rolls off his tongue, all you can feel is accepted as you are. It didn’t secretly say “you need to get out of your shell more”, it stated “I like you as is.”

“I’m sorry!” You whine, arms dropping to your sides and in the process, you’d long forgotten about the very hat you set out to hide and planned a grand reveal for.

“Don’t apologize.” He gingerly grabs the hat, studying it from what you can see out of the corner of your eye.

Then it hits you.

“Hey!” You snap your attention to his face, catching a smug smile from him as he twirls the hat in calloused hands.

On instinct, you attempt to snatch it out of his reach, failing miserably as he extends it upward in the air, almost like a school bully would. Your hands continue swatting at the air as if it will grant you any success in retrieving it but to no avail. Once dull embers erupt into passionate flames within his eyes, something you haven’t quite witnessed yet, a playful and energetic aura haloing him effortlessly, like it had always belonged there.

“Whoa there, squirt.” He jokes, waving your greedy hands away.

“Just–just tell me you don’t like it so I can go fix it or–or something.” You demand with a childish stomp of your foot.

His features fall, gaze shifting between you and the hat in thought. You’re in crisis mode though you can’t stop thinking about how good he looks with his button down, the top few buttons undone and showing off a portion of his pale chest, faded tattoos peeking out.

“What?” He shakes his head in confusion. “Don’t like it?”

“Eddie, just hand me the–”

“I think it’s perfect.” He decides, plopping the hat on top of his frizzy curls.

There’s that word again.

Perfect.

–

The Bourbon had never been so alive-at least not in the past few months you’d become acquainted with it; in fact the closest it had been to being this animated was on Wednesday bingo nights. Dusty corners that had never been touched prior were now spotless and though no one else in their right mind would care to inspect such corners, you took pride in playing a part in sprucing up the aging building. The twang of a banjo and the squeal of a fiddle backed up by a cowbell filled the room, played by none other than Knife’s Edge famous trio, The Scott Brothers, also known as Donnie and Nathan’s lovely sons who had been musically inclined from a very young age, the band forming back in elementary school as Donnie explained. They specialized in family gatherings and local events, a rowdy bunch that kept the pulse of any party going.

Now you were witnessing it in real time, local superstars riling up the crowd that had accumulated in their best country attire, flannels and cowboy boots galore. The pie eating contest was just about to begin, a group of burly men accepting the first challenge, hopefully encouraging others to participate in the next round. Robin perched herself atop one of the haybales with her handy timer, a straw hat tossed over her dirty blond hair and a pale blue denim long-sleeve tucked into her high-waisted blue jeans.

Jett had been in better spirits than you’d recently seen him in, a win in your book. With a dramatic show of the boysenberry pies balanced in his hands, he made a point to “accidentally” stumble and nearly let the desserts fall face first onto the hay covered floor but managed to save them and earn himself a cheer from the crowd before setting them in front of the contestants. You were just content that he wasn’t pouting anymore.

“You gonna give it a try?”

His voice pipes up next to you, hands resting atop his flashy belt buckle as he nods to the commotion. He reminded you of an oversized toddler, his boots a size or two too large for his feet that had been trudging around all evening and his hat lopsided on flattened hair.

“What?” You cross your arms in a self-soothing manner, the act of becoming the center of attention inducing nausea in the pit of your stomach, blood pressure most likely spiking at the mere idea. “N-no, I’m okay.”

“C’mon, why not?” Jett shrugs. “Live a little, Bambi.” He chuckles.

It should have been harmless, though the name fell from his mouth and all you could detect was something vengeful within his intention. It was unknown what exactly happened between him and Eddie besides Jett coming off as jealous and the metalhead not taking well to the younger man’s attitude. Other than that, there was no determining what stirred up the disagreement in the first place and it only created more confusion in your swirling mind, why Jett felt some kind of possession over you.

“That’s not my name.”

You avoid his eyes, only gauging his reaction out of the very tiny window of sight in your peripheral. The goal was to set a very clear boundary however the task was proving difficult, confrontation never being your strong suit. A human doormat was usually the role you slouched into at the first indication of discomfort in any conflict.

His shoulders stiffen, head tilting in your direction as he ponders your response. You could just about choke on your breath, the air getting lodged in your throat as you held onto it in anticipation. You only wish you could scramble over to where Dustin had been cracking peanuts and shoveling them into his mouth like he was an addict. You didn’t even like peanuts.

“Not your name?” Jett questions with a scoff. “You sure about that?”

There’s no intimidation, only slight annoyance written across his face which was far better considering that you were expecting an outburst. Jett was still a stranger in a sense, he didn’t put any effort into really getting to know you and yet he had this sense of entitlement about him. He was only a few years younger and it only got you thinking, were you so blissfully ignorant just years ago?

“Mhm.” You begin fidgeting with your fingernail.

“Alright.” He shows you his hands in surrender, the sentiment only being drowned out by the way his face contorts into a cocky expression. “What are you being so short with me for?” He asks, a humorless grin on his face.

“Excuse me?” Your voice is smaller than you’d hoped for it to be. Realistically you had no bite to your bark and really, the most you had was a pathetic yelp if anything. “I-I don’t…Jett you’re the one–”

“Did Munson go off and start rumors about me?” He laughs though you’re certain he finds nothing funny.

Robin shifts her attention to the current conversation from her perch on the haybale a few feet over, confusion taking over her freckled face. You can barely make out “what the fuck” on her stained red lips, cherry pie most definitely that she had snuck more than a taste test of. Your eyes widen, communicating almost telepathically, a silent alarm.

“Why–I’m not understanding.”

“You can tell me.”

He’s no longer that sweet kid you’d met a few months ago, his words were like darts targeting you and you almost felt the need to squeeze your eyes shut so you could brace for the impact. He was calm but not civil, venom spilling from every syllable. And you’d never once been involved in the quarrel he created in his brain, it wasn’t fair.

“Tell you what!?” You manage to snap, desperately attempting to stand your ground and not scamper away like a wounded puppy.

“Bambi...” Jett singsongs condescendingly.

“Stop!” With clenched fists at your sides, you huff out a frustrated breath, no longer tiptoeing timidly around him. “Stop…stop calling me that.” Your warning tone has his facade faltering slightly, worry pressing into the lines forming between his eyebrows.

Robin makes her move the second your chest begins to heave and she can’t quite tell if it’s from panic or anger although she wasn’t going to wait around to find out as she throws a friendly arm around you to steer you anywhere else Jett was not, insisting that she needed your opinion on something.

Everything felt hot, your cheeks were scorched and your veins were burning with embarrassment and undeniable betrayal at the hands of someone who was practically a stranger berating you over nothing in public. Reality settled back in the moment Robin sat you down at one of the vacant bar stools, her shaky hands resting atop your shoulders. It was obvious the two of you had been riddled with anxiety.

“I-um, I didn’t know what to do and you were just–you were giving me that look. Y’know, that look.” She begins to ramble, big blue eyes darting around the room as if searching for her own reasons. “The kinda look that’s, like, screaming ‘help’. Like, get me the fuck out of here but also I tend to read things wrong so now I’m thinking I just booted you out of a conversation…” She glances across the room over at Jett and then back at you. “Oh god, did I–did I interrupt something–”

“No!” You blurt out, grabbing onto her wrists as a means to soothe her jumbled thoughts. “No, no, you did good, Robin. Promise.” A reassuring nod lets her know you’re sincere, her demeanor immediately relaxing. “I don’t know what that was, honestly. All I know is that I kinda feel like a piece of meat?”

Robin nods in agreement, some kind of panic settling back in her wide eyes which only further worries you. She had known Jett long before you afterall, maybe she knew something she wasn’t letting on.

“What–uh, what was he saying? I, um, I only caught some of it.” She questions with a nervous swallow.

“It…it’s stupid.” You whisper, gaze falling to the floor.

“Try me.” Her confidence momentarily overtakes her anxiety.

It was ridiculous. You felt ridiculous. The act of explaining why you didn’t take well to another guy calling you a certain nickname was the epitome of stupidity. And yet you spilled it all to Robin, voicing your distaste for the word falling from Jett’s lips while avoiding your mind screaming at you that only Eddie was allowed to use that name. Something told you Robin could read minds solely based off of the smirk she began to display amidst your ranting. You ignored it despite your face heating up and your palms becoming clammy at the mere thought of the doe-eyed man.

“Steve!” Nancy barrels out from the kitchen doors in her stylish checkered sweater tucked into the bluest of blue jeans. You wouldn’t know she was attempting a cowboy getup if it weren’t for her straw hat covering her perfectly permed curls. “Steve!” She grits, hot on the man’s trail.

Steve continues to nearly strut toward the crowd of people awaiting the bell to initiate the pie eating contest. Confidence drips from him, a cocky smirk painted on his face and a toothpick tucked in between his teeth as he rests his hands on his hips. Tassels hang from his tan jacket, a blue button down underneath and some insanely tight jeans fitting him in all the right places.

“Steve!” Nancy hisses again, gesturing down to her jeans, urging Steve to glance down as she widened her eyes at him.

“Alright, chill out, Nance.” He pays no mind to her, eyes scanning the room in wonder.

“Steve, your fly is down and your shirt is stuck in the zipper.”

His brown eyes nearly fall out of his head, hands rushing to cover the area as he rushes back toward the kitchen. You can’t help but snicker along with Robin, Nancy shaking her head at Steve’s negligence to his crotch.

“Whoa!” You hear a surprised Eddie, only eliciting more giggles from you and Robin.

“Steve, if you were happy to see me you could’ve just said so! No need to pull your dick out!”

Thankfully, no one else idled near the kitchen doors, unable to hear the sudden vulgar outburst. Covering your mouth and attempting to get a hold of your laughter, you rest your head on Robin’s shoulder in defeat, your body shaking with giggles while she almost squeals. Nancy attempts to shush you both although she can’t contain her own laughter, her hand pressed into your arm as she lowers her head.

“S-stop.” She gasps for air. “It’s, it’s not funny! Stop, he’s gonna be so embarrassed.” She finally gets out, the corners of her mouth almost appearing to be permanently upturned.

“What’s so funny?”

Steve stands behind Nancy with furrowed brows and cherry red cheeks, hands resting on his hips in his standard pose. Offense lingers in his voice, the kind that bantering friends exhibit only spurring the three of you on.

“Oh–oh c’mon!” He throws his arms up, shaking his head in disappointment. “You too?” He looks at you with a hint of a smile. “You already corrupted her into joining your little ‘mess with Steve’ club.” A harsh finger jabs against Robin’s shoulder, sending her stumbling back.

“I tried to tell you!” Nancy shoves his arm with a large grin. “You didn’t listen!”

“Not cool, Harrington.” Eddie emerges from the kitchen, the perfect image of a bandit in an old western with his all black getup. “You ever take a girl out before trying to get to third base?” He jokes, throwing an arm around Steve.

This was the first time this evening you’d seen him in his full outfit, hat and everything. You weren’t usually into cowboys but he made it look good. The hat was worn pridefully on top of his wild curls and he’d accessorized with his signature handcuff belt. The one thing you couldn’t convince him to do was wear actual cowboy boots, the man instead insisting that he would only be wearing combat boots but you weren’t complaining, especially not now as you witnessed the final product.

“Shut up.” Steve mumbles.

Eddie steals Steve’s hat with his free hand, ruffling his hair, no doubt messing it up in retaliation. Steve swats at Eddie’s hand, shoving him off and grabbing his hat back with a fond smile pulling at his lips, his stubborn act disintegrating.

“Buy me a drink first.” Eddie winks, only pulling more laughter from you.

“Very funny.” Steve says blandly, eyes squinting. “But I’ve actually got my eyes on that blonde over there. And I’m gonna ask her to dance.” He says matter of factly.

Eddie bows dramatically and gestures toward the dance floor, the center of the room covered in a healthy layer of hay. As if he couldn’t put on more of a show, he removes his hat and places it over his chest.

“Your maiden awaits.”

With a playful shove to Eddie’s chest, Steve makes his way across the room. You can vaguely make out Dustin’s voice amongst the loud cowbell and shouting, excitement bubbling out of him as he cheers on the contestant he bet on. A familiar tune begins to consume the room, each individual glancing to their peers in recognition.

Robin and Nancy begin to drift off into the center of the room, bouncing to the beat. The smile on your face physically hurts but you aren't complaining, you couldn’t remember the last time you smiled so big and uncontrollably. You couldn’t even remember the last time you’d connected so well with a group of people, if ever.

You were perfectly content, for once. A social setting that would normally have you chewing your lips to shreds and nervously rubbing up and down your arms was actually proving to be…fun. Observing from your stool, you didn’t even feel left out as you usually would under any other circumstances. You can’t quite recall a reason for your anxiety laying so low though you suppose it has something to do with the acceptance everyone had granted you. Nancy and Robin being so kind and taking you in right away, Steve and Dustin already treating you like a sibling amongst their little group. You didn’t know what you did to deserve such treatment but it’s apparent you had done something right if for only once in your life.

Tearing your eyes away from the scene playing out before you, several pairs dancing about the room without a care in the world, your gaze catches an awkward Eddie leaning against the bar just inches away. One of his curls twists around his finger, a nervous habit you’d picked up on. The room erupts into a collective, tipsy, rendition of Take Me Home, Country Roads. Loud clapping and hoots and hollers echo off the walls, and everyone sings.

You knew Eddie has always been considered an outcast throughout his entire life based on what he’d shared with you but you never would have imagined him looking as bashful as he did now, a true wallflower just like yourself. Though, while you were content in just observing, he seemed more uncomfortable, more lonely.

Glancing back to the dance floor, Donnie sways to the music with her husband, lovingly holding onto each other in a drunken haze. Every so often he jokingly spins her and dips her, something you’re finding yourself envious of but quickly swallow back the feeling. Anyone in their right mind would want to be treated like the sun.

Dustin makes his way over to Nancy and Robin, Robin making a scene by initiating that one dumb lasso dance move and pulling him in, earning them several cheers which only created bigger smiles among their faces. You’re sure you could just saunter over and fit right in. But it didn’t feel right, leaving Eddie to be a wallflower on his own. Especially since he didn’t seem too sure of himself, his teeth now chewing on his nail while his deep brown eyes surveyed the room.

“Wanna dance?”

It’s uncertain when exactly Steve made his way back over to you, it seemed like he had just appeared out of thin air but you could probably blame it on the fact that you were too enamored with the energy of the room. His hand extends itself toward you, his shoulders shrugging as if to say ‘got anything better to do?’.

“What happened to your blonde maiden?” You ask, hoping Eddie would hear and maybe you’d earn at least a chuckle.

You didn’t, Eddie hadn’t even been listening, too busy in his head it would seem. Steve shoves his free hand into his pocket, shaking his head in disappointment as he retires his hat from his sweaty head, abandoning it on top of the bar.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” He frowns. “Just need my friends.” A sincere smile tugs at his lips, his eyebrows knit together in that way that he almost looks worried though you know it’s his empathy coming through.

You nod, offering him a close mouthed smile as you hop off the stool and grab his hand, dragging him toward the crowd. Taking both his hands in yours, you start to sway to the song, playfully singing to each other in an overdone country accent. Steve assists you in spinning, getting more and more into the song with each passing second, his hair bouncing with every movement.

“I dunno how to dance.” You giggle, accidentally stepping on his foot.

“That’s okay!” He grins. “I’m not sure I do either.”

Amongst all the celebrating and the several toasts people are raising to each other, your eyes meet large round coffee colored irises, a certain sadness to them that was also diluted with a fond gaze. Over Steve’s shoulder, you watch Eddie, and he watches you. The biggest smile causes your cheeks to ache, your teeth on full display just for him. His shoulders shake with a laugh, a whiskey and coke now firmly grasped in his hand as he shyly looks down into the glass like it could give him some kind of advice.

As Steve leads you both in a circle of missteps and stumbling, he catches sight of what had made your face light up like a damn Christmas tree. It goes on for another minute or so, stolen glances between two pining individuals. He can see it, he knows it all too well. He’s worn that same look before. It’s too distinct to go unnoticed by him.

He used to look at Nancy like that.

“Hey, I think I want a drink.”

Steve wastes no time in dragging you behind him toward the bar. It takes you by surprise and in all honesty, you weren’t quite done dancing and at least would’ve liked to get to the end of the song before returning to your little stool of solitude. Steve calls for Jett’s attention behind the bar, ordering himself a vodka cranberry much to your surprise.

“I’m actually feeling a little queasy.” He grips his stomach, twisting his face in discomfort. “Think you could take over for me, Ed?”

Eddie nearly chokes on his drink, setting the glass down as he clears his throat repeatedly. He points to himself with a questioning look, knowing damn well that Steve knew he couldn’t dance. It was even more humiliating that he’d never danced with a girl before and Steve more than likely also knew that. Steve responds with a nod, his brow cocked, a look of urgency crossing his features.

“Steve, are you sure–” You attempt to chime in.

“Yes, go! I’ll be fine.” He shoos you toward the dancefloor, giving Eddie’s shoulder a rough push.

Eddie resembles a deer in headlights, ginormous eyes glued to you. His feet were stuck to the ground and as you tugged on his arm, he didn’t budge.

“C’mon!” You encourage him with a smile.

His mouth opens but words don’t form, a protest on the very tip of his tongue unwilling to make its way into your ears. He couldn’t say no to you but he also couldn’t dance.

“I don’t know how.” He manages to rush out.

Gently, you take his hand in yours, his calloused skin cold against your warmth. You haven’t had a sip of alcohol and yet your confidence was through the roof, only for him. You intertwine your fingers with his, his chunky rings giving you a challenge but you succeed.

“I don’t either.” You assure him with a squeeze to his hand, tugging him even further onto the crowded dance floor, much to his dismay.

The song continues, people bouncing around and getting bubblier by the minute which only seemed to overwhelm Eddie as his hand began to sweat. As a means to distract him, you pull his hat off of his head, his frizzy curls now exposed while you boldly fit the hat onto your head instead. His eyes shine but he remains stiff, not entirely convinced that he could freely move about the crowd.

“Let's learn together.” You speak softly, a stark contrast to the screeching fiddle being played loudly.

Without a second thought, your arms wrap around his shoulders, his whiskey coated breath fanning over your face. It’s evident that he’s unsure what to do with his hands, his arms limply hanging at his sides. Despite his anxious body language, his eyes give him away. He’s nervous but he’s giddy. Stars gleam and glimmer within his sweet and syrupy eyes, no longer sad pools of pity.

“Right here.” You guide him, using one hand to bring his touch to your waist. “Like that.” You whisper, unsure if even he heard you. “And like this.” You guide his other hand before resting yours around his neck once again.

“Like this?” He takes a shaky breath, a thumb swiping over your hip.

Humming in approval, you take the initiative to start swaying to the song, a temporary fear flashing in his eyes until he feels your fingers toying with the curls at the back of his head. He cutely stumbles every other step, suddenly becoming the equivalent of a baby deer though you don’t mind and actually prefer it, the image forever being burned into your brain, another moment for the wall you’d created in the depths of your mind.

You don’t know how, you don’t know when, but your hand lands on his chest-his bare chest where the buttons have been purposely undone as a small act of rebellion. His skin is warm and soft there, your fingertips gracefully tracing over a tattoo, skimming over the guitar pick necklace he always wore. As the chorus kicks back in, you peek up at him, finding heavy eyes staring right back at you in awe.

You start shouting along: country roads, take me home, to the place I belong. He remains silent, watching you like you hung the moon. You’re smiling, you’re happy, and god dammit he never knew he could be perfectly happy just watching someone else be happy but here he was. If he could personally give you the moon he would, he’s sure of it. He’d find a way.

An old memory resurfaces, one that usually only made him tear up out of sorrow but now, the perspective was shifting. In a simpler time, he is six years old, dancing on his mom’s feet to old Chicago Blues. He is young and innocent, full of life. He is naive and blissfully ignorant to the horrors of the world. And then in harder times…in current times, he is a Munson, a vessel for satan. A nearly bankrupt idiot who can’t keep up. A fuck up. But now…in this moment, he rekindles the same feeling he once felt with Momma, a sense of innocence that he hadn’t felt in years, innocence that had been snatched from him over and over. A warmth spreads throughout him, one that he thought was laid to rest when Momma passed. He was certain he had bid it goodbye forever.

Until now.

You make him lovesick. Utterly and purely lovesick. No doctor could ever cure him. Not that he’d even seek a cure. It scares him but he’d willingly die of a fever if it meant you’d keep looking up at him like he was someone. Like he was a man and not a menace. His legacy could end there with you, the girl that intruded on his life and made his stubborn ass soft. The shy girl who cries when she gets yelled at broke through Eddie Munson’s titanium walls and stole his heart.

You can feel him start to melt into you, his hands sliding around to the small of your back, his chest pressed into yours as he begins singing along, finally letting loose. Glancing over his shoulder at the feeling of a pair of eyes on you, you smile when Steve stares fondly, offering you a thumbs up.

The song ends though you yearn to continue holding onto him, afraid that letting go would mean losing the moment forever, your memory serving as the only souvenir. Before painfully parting, you glance up at him again, your nose accidentally brushing against his. The contact sends electricity racing through your body. It doesn’t help that he’s smiling so softly, so endearingly, his eyelids heavy and lazy. Even if it was a side effect of the whiskey, you still reveled in it.

“Sorry.” He whispers though you almost miss it as you study the crinkles at the corner of his eyes.

“Don’t worry about it.” You mumble, your voice now small.

The next song picks up, something slow and steady that had you both swaying without a second thought. You wanted to burrow into his chest, press your cheek into the skin and listen to his heartbeat. If only it were that simple.

“Thank you.” He speaks up again. “Y’know for…all this.”

A puzzled expression takes over your features, pulling back slightly to ponder his words.

“I-I just helped, Eddie. You should be thanking everyone else. They really pulled through for this place.” You remind him.

“I know, I know.” He suddenly seems insecure, his fingers grabbing at the material of your shirt ever so slightly. “I just mean–you didn’t have to get involved in any of this bullshit, my bullshit.”

“I mean…I kinda forced myself in didn’t I?”

He recalls the first evening you came into The Bourbon, the night you bargained with him, practically forcing him to hire you.

“I’m turning you away because you don’t belong in a place like this. Things can get rough and you’re…too dainty.”

God was he wrong. You were resilient. Tough. A badass.

“I’m glad you did.” His honesty surprises even him. He wasn’t big on getting mushy, never being offered the space to do so since his mom had passed. But he doesn’t regret speaking his truth.

“Yeah?”

Your lips are so perfectly pouty it devastates him, eyes so full of adoration that he wants to fall to his knees and officially devote himself to you even if you wouldn’t have him.

“Yeah–”

“Eddie!” Dustin screeches, hurling toward Eddie and eventually crashing into his side, eliciting a grunt from the two of you. “Sorry, sorry!” He breathes heavily. “Eddie, you’ve gotta see this.”

For a split second your heart drops, afraid that maybe something bad happened but you quickly backtrack those thoughts when you analyze Dustin’s grin. It was good news. It was definitely good news.

–

“Holy shit.” Eddie mumbles in disbelief.

“Holy shit indeed.” Dustin agrees.

You stare in awe at the piles of cash Dustin had counted in the back office, opting to act as The Bourbon’s temporary treasurer in the mission to save the place. According to the boy, there was enough to cover costs for the next three months if Eddie played his cards right. After that they hadn’t yet come up with a solution but it was something at the very least. It was hope.

“You keep hosting events like this every month and you should be able to keep things going.” Dustin advises, his mind quietly working out the logistics.

“Not only that.” Steve chimes in, leaning against the doorway to the office, the three of you glancing back at him. “What if I told you…that I know someone interested in investing?”

Your eyes catch Dustin’s then Eddie’s, an anxious fog overtaking the room.

“Who?” Eddie gulps, clearly nervous.

Steve only smirks, the anticipation building with every passing second. A flash of realization falls over Dustin’s face, his head shaking with a huge grin.

“No.” Dustin whispers.

“Yes.” Steve nods.

“Holy shit.”

“Do you mind letting me, the owner of said establishment that is being invested in, in on this big secret?” Eddie grumbles, his eyes narrowed at Steve.

“What do you think about being business partners?” Steve proposes, his eyes shining.

“W-what?” Eddie asks, almost choking on air.

“You know I’ve been working under my old man for however long now. Well I finally have my own startup and I didn’t wanna tell you, didn’t wanna say anything until I actually had the money.” Steve rambles. “And y’know, I always thought about investing. ‘S a great place. Would be a shame to let it fall apart.”

“What–what the fuck.” Is all Eddie can muster up in the moment.

“Also, I vote that we make Miss Bambi here the manager.” Steve snaps his fingers before pointing your direction. “Gotta trust the business in good hands and she’s definitely got a knack for running things efficiently. And putting you in your place.” He presses a finger into Eddie’s shoulder.

“I-I…” You were speechless.

“If you’ll have us, of course. Take some time to think about it.”

Glancing at Eddie, you can see the information still being processed, the gears turning in his brain. The state of shock leaves him blinking rapidly, unable to catch up to this moment in time. One second he was fighting for this business, expecting the worst case scenario and the next he was being offered an investment by his best friend.

“I knew there was a reason we kept you around.” Dustin makes his way toward the door, patting Steve on the back.

Steve playfully puts Dustin in a headlock, continuing on as if it were business as usual as the boy protests.

“So, how about it Munson?”

“Steve, I swear to god!” Dustin complains, making no progress in escaping the man’s hold.

“I dunno, depends.” Eddie clicks his tongue, seeming to finally fall back into his body as he stands. “I don’t like being told what to do.” Eddie begins. “And y’know I can’t have King Steve bossing me around, that won’t do…”

“C’mon man, you know I know nothing about running a bar.” Steve scoffs. “I’m just the sugar daddy here.”

“Steve!” Dustin gags.

You can’t help but giggle, beaming at Eddie as he grins.

“Alright then, we have a deal.” Eddie extends his hand toward Steve, making it official with a handshake before hugging him, a brotherly exchange that warmed your heart. In the midst of the hug, Dustin was released from Steve’s hold but somehow had gotten stuck in the middle of the embrace.

“I’m feeling the love and all but my neck is cramping.” The boy whines.

–

“To The Bourbon!” Eddie announces, standing proudly on top of the bar, tequila shot in hand as his closest friends raise their own shots in the air. “Grandpa Roy, may he rest in peace, would fuckin’ hate this whole Hoedown but in his defense he was a better business man than me and I’m the one who ran it into the ground.” Everyone laughs, smiling fondly. “I also wanted to thank all of you. If none of you cared this much we’d be fucked.” He grins. “In conclusion, you’re all stuck with Roy’s dickhead grandson for a long time to come, sorry.” Eddie shrugs, throwing his shot back.

The night had been more than a success. Customers had long gone home and there was still much to do in regards to cleanup but Eddie insisted that everyone call it a night, not without a celebratory shot though. Cheers and whistles fill the room as everyone takes their mandatory shot. Eddie hops off of the bar, earning himself several pats on the back as he insisted they give Steve the same praise. He was glowing.

Nancy and Robin rushed over, each of them linking an arm with him as they congratulated him. You’d never seen him so openly happy, so ecstatic. His grin was permanent for the remainder of the night, his cheeks must have burned from never relaxing his face.

And when all was said and done, when it was time to go home, it was your turn to congratulate him. You didn’t get much of a chance when the news first broke and now he was locking up the front as you waited patiently next to the bar. Steve insisted on taking Robin and Nancy home in Eddie’s truck since they had a few too many drinks. Dustin offered his assistance reluctantly after Steve sent him several expectant looks.

The bar was empty, completely trashed from the night’s activities though Eddie told you not to touch a thing, it was already nearing 3:00 AM. You just couldn’t help yourself, gathering glasses onto a tray and delivering them to the sink. A round of dishes wouldn’t kill you while you waited. At least this way you were occupied rather than just sitting around, waiting for him to lock up.

“What are you up to, trouble?” Eddie makes his way behind the bar to replace the cap on a bottle before returning it to its shelf.

“Trouble?” You smile, suds building up along your arms. Too much soap. “If you deem washing glasses as troublesome you’re really gonna hate that I take an extra minute on my breaks.”

You can hear him scoff from behind you, glass clinking as he tidies up, going against his own wishes.

“You think I don’t know that?”

“Thought you said no cleaning.” You utter under your breath.

His presence sneaks up on you, his quick hand suddenly snatching up a wet glass, drying it with a fresh rag, repeating the process with each one you’d just cleaned. Your nerves are on edge in the best way possible. The big lights had been shut off, only dim lighting encompassing you, creating a mellow atmosphere.

“Well some of us…” Eddie pinches the back of your arm. “...don’t listen, now do we?”

Something about the condescending nature of his words ignited a fire in between your legs. You knew very well that it wasn’t his intention although it didn’t stop you from releasing a shaky exhale. Goosebumps traveled up your spine, you were pathetic.

You hum in response, unable to trust your voice, the room becoming hot all too quickly. His gaze was trained on you, a hint of concern creasing his forehead. He was too handsome, his button down doing way too many favors for him.

“You okay?” He asks, his voice smaller than before.

“Yeah, yeah.” You manage to squeak out. “Just tired.”

Reaching over you, he shuts off the steaming water, tossing his rag onto the counter as he pulls you away by your arm. You want to whimper at the simple touch, every ounce of your body on fire, embarrassingly so.

“Let’s get out of here.” He sighs, clearly just as tired.

Guiding you out the back, he makes it a point to grab his hat that you had put so much thought into. Stepping outside, he locks the door while you admire the moonlight glazing over the parking lot. Everything is so…quiet. Snow flurries fall delicately from the sky, gracing your skin with tiny little ice crystals, intricate designs compacted into a singular art form now just melting with your body heat. It’s cold but you won’t complain. Not when Eddie is automatically draping his jacket over your shivering frame.

“Doors are locked, cash is locked up–”

“Eddie?” You call for his attention, big brown eyes immediately seeking yours like you’d just sent out a smoke signal.

When you don’t say anything, worry begins to settle into his features, the opposite of what you had intended.

“Yeah?” He asks hesitantly. “Did I forget to–”

The second your lips hover over his stubbly cheek he’s lost any and all thoughts. It happens in slow motion yet it’s over before he knows it. Your lips are so soft and delicate against his skin and he was finding himself wanting more, his selfish needs yearning to claw their way out of him.

“Congratulations.” You whisper, your breath tickling him before disappearing all too soon.

It lingers like a ghost, haunting him in the most breathtaking sense. You make your way to your car and he feels it, the apparition of your lips against his cold cheek. And he just knows. You hold the power to screw him up forever. You have his heart in your hands and god, he hopes you’re gentle with it.

~end~

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tags - @gravedigginbbydoll @ohauggieo @spicysix @lunatictardis @ali-r3n @batkin028 @mrsjellymunson @witchwolflea @emma77645 @emxxblog @eddiesxangel @angietherose @lottie-90 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @pullingattheroots @avalon-wolf @vintagehellfire @cryingglightningg @foreveranexpatsposts @winchester-angel @mmunson86 @witchwolflea @kurdtbean @micheledawn1975 @tlclick73 @erinekc @hazydespair @whenshelanded @corrodedcoffincumslut @ms1oftheboys @lma1986 @uglypastels @aysheashea @dashingdeb16

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson au #eddie munson imagine #stranger things fic #stranger things au #eddi munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader

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novamirmirsblog · 1 year

Text

Pt 2: Sunshine, Lollipops, and Rainbows

Pt 1

Genre: Smut. Icl, it’s basically just porn you dogs

Request: Kinda

Word count: 1945

Warnings: Smut, +18 please <3

Summary: Melissa has a crush on a parent. What happens when Jacob and Janine find out - the date

A/N: The gay gods are clearly blessing me this pride month as I have suddenly overcome my writer's block!

Nerves were not something Melissa often experienced. She didn’t feel them the first time she had sex, or when she handed Joe divorce papers, and not even the countless times she had to shake people down. Yet just the thought of you coming into her home had her heart fluttering like a trapped butterfly. The closer the clock got to 18:00 the more ill she felt. What if you hated her food? What if you thought her house was dated? What if you thought she was dated? She was old enough to be your mother. Before Melissa could spiral any more, her doorbell rang. She rushed over to the door, checking her hair in the mirror before opening it with a smooth smile in the hopes that her nerves would calm down.

You looked stunning. Your hair emphasised the softness of your eyes and the deep green of your shirt complimented her hair in a way that made her want to devour you right there. The two of you weren't even officially together and you were already acting like you were hers. The thought of that made Melissa clench.

“Hey Melissa.” You handed her a bouquet of sunflowers and a bottle of red wine. You hadn’t been sure which gift to get so you opted for both and Melissa’s slightly agape mouth made it worth the extra $15.

“Gorgeous…” Melissa had a dazed expression on her face, almost as if she couldn’t believe you were actually here.

You giggled, biting the inside of your cheek to try and suppress the full blown laugh that was threatening to escape.

“The flowers!” Melissa quickly recovered, inviting you in “The flowers are gorgeous, and you are too.”

Melissa shut the door behind you and you took in her house. You moved over to some of the pictures hanging on the wall and let out a gasp.

“Melissa whatever-your-middle-name-is Schemmenti, is that you as a teenager?” The picture you were currently looking at was of a young Melissa in denim jeans with a cigarette hanging loosely from her lips.

Melissa stood behind you, looking over your shoulder to see the photo “Ann” you tried to suppress a shiver at the puff of breath that made your neck tingle. “And sorta. I was 23 when that picture was taken.”

You subtly closed your eyes as Melissa continued to tell you about how she had stolen her cousin's motorbike and cigarettes for a dare. Melissa watched as you subconsciously leant back towards her, unintentionally allowing her to see the effect she had on you. A smirk grew on her face when she saw you bite your lip as her voice got a little more husky. Her eyes trailed from your lips, over your jawline to where your neck and shoulder met. Melissa bit her own lip in an attempt to ground herself before she did something a little too forward. Luckily, an alarm rang, jolting the two of you out of whatever fantasies you were both wrapped up in.

“Shit, the pasta.” Melissa rushed into the kitchen and you followed dutifully behind.

Melissa glanced over at you before turning her attention back to a sauce that was bubbling “Sit sweetheart, make yourself at home.”

You let out a quiet sigh as you sat down, ignoring the slight wetness Melissa had caused when she said ‘sweetheart’. You weren’t surviving the night.

~~~~~

Dinner had been pleasant; the food was excellent and the company was even better. The two of you had talked for hours about almost everything. It was getting late and you were dreading having to leave but you knew it was for the best.

“So I should probably get going.” You glanced towards the door, then back to Melissa. “Tonight has been amazing though.” You smiled at her as you put your plate in the dishwasher and began to collect your things.

“Yeah, we should do it again some time.” Melissa smiled back at you. “What time is Ivy’s sitter expecting you back?”

“Oh, no, Ivy is at my friend’s place tonight. She gets on with her two kids like they’re her siblings.” You laugh, fondly remembering all the times Ivy begged you to let her go to Aunty Sandy’s house so she could play with her kids.

“Okay, well I’ll see you later kid.” Melissa walked you to her door, getting lost in your eyes for a moment before placing a chaste kiss on your cheek. You giggled again and Melissa nearly dragged you back in to the house to fulfil her fantasies of fucking you over her kitchen counter. If your laugh was that sweet, she could only imagine how melodic your moans would be. You softly bid her goodnight and made your way to your car.

Melissa closed the door behind you and began to put the rest of the dishes in the dishwasher. Once she was finished, her mind couldn’t help but go back to that tight shirt you had been wearing. She knew it was wrong as her hand wandered underneath her tight pants to touch where she had been aching all night. She gently rubbed herself as she made her way to the sofa, forever grateful she had the hindsight to put plastic coverings on the cushions. Her face began to flush as her fingers worked faster, occasionally dipping down to where she needed it the most. Her breathing picked up and she threw her head back, seeing a flash of white. You had left your scarf behind. It wasn’t cold and she was sure you wouldn’t miss it. She pulled her other hand from where it was nestled in her underwear and reached for the scarf when, for the second time that evening, the doorbell rang, startling her.

“Hey Mel, sorry- I forgot my-” You noticed her flushed face and messy hair. “Are you okay?”

Melissa could do nothing but let out a whimper. You raised your eyebrows in shock before realising you had inadvertently walked in on her. “Oh shit- sorry, I’m just gonna… I’ll get out of your hair” You tried to rush out but Melissa grabbed your forearm before you could and dragged you into the house.

“Stay?”

You answered her with a searing kiss to her lips. Were you moving too fast? Probably but you had been dreaming of this moment since you first laid eyes on Melissa Schemmenti. You walked her back and she hit the wall, hissing as your teeth clashed together at the force. Melissa was silently thankful she now had the wall to support her as she felt her knees grow weaker. As you tried to pull away for a breather, Melissa tangled her hand in your hair and snuck the other one underneath your shirt. The two of you looked at each other, both panting hard.

“You sure you want this?” Melissa asks, her expression uncertain.

It takes you a minute to answer, too occupied revelling in the tingling feeling on your scalp as Melissa plays with your hair. “The only time I can cum now is if I pretend it’s your fingers fucking me rather than mine.”

The look on Melissa’s face was priceless.

She was sure she was going to cum right there so she dragged you over to the sofa and sat you on her lap. She slipped her hand into your underwear and gasped when she felt just how wet you were. She wanted nothing more than to make you work for your pleasure but there would be plenty of time for that. Your moans spurred her on as she worked her hand faster and faster. Your dishevelled look and the way your head was thrown back made you look heavenly. Melissa kissed your neck and chest, sucking and biting, before pulling away to admire her handiwork. She felt giddy as she watched your skin go red where she had marked it, knowing those marks weren’t going away anytime soon.

“Mel, are you sure marking me up is a good idea?” You said through laboured breaths, getting closer and closer to your climax “Iv might-”

“Shh, I have to mark you hon, how else will Gregory know you’re mine.”

Melissa’s possessiveness made you clench around her fingers and she drove them into you harder, enjoying the way your juices spread over her palm. Melissa watched you in awe as you came undone on top of her.

By now, Melissa was soaking. Watching you had just about pushed her over the edge and she was prepared to beg for you to finish her off. Luckily, you wouldn’t make her beg this time. You looked at her with lust filled eyes as you got off her and kneeled in front of her. You patted her thigh to signal to her that you wanted her to raise her hips and you took off her jeans and underwear. Her thighs were slick and it made your mouth water. You licked your lips before licking and nipping your way up her inner thighs. Melissa moaned and unconsciously spread her legs wider. Her breath hitched as she tried to hold back another, louder, moan when you finally reached her core. You pulled away from her, making her whine and buck her hips up.

“Nuh uh, I want to hear every one of your sounds or I’ll stop.”

Melissa removed her hand from where it was over her mouth and you returned yours to her core, licking and sucking where she needed you to. Melissa’s legs began to shake as she chased her high, weaving her hands into your hair to ground herself. You reached up and ran your nails under her breasts, making her shiver. You took your dominant hand from where it was tracing patterns on Melissa’s skin and dipped your fingers into her, pushing her over the edge and into bliss.

Once the two of you had both caught your breath, you let out a stuttered “Fuck”

“Not yet baby but I’ve got a strap that’s begging to have your mouth wrapped around up in my room.”

You let out a breathy laugh as Melissa hauled you to your feet, leading you upstairs to her bedroom.

~~~~~

It was 7:34 when you woke up. Light streamed through the curtains and you felt sore from last night’s activities. Melissa was a mess of hair and she had her arm swung possessively over your midriff. She snored softly and all you wanted to do was melt back into her embrace but you had to get Ivy. You attempted to sit up but Melissa pulled you back down, holding on to you tighter.

“Mel” you whispered out - not quite sure why you were whispering when you wanted her to wake up. She grumbled, but let go of you long enough that you could get up.

Melissa was a surprisingly heavy sleeper. You got changed, sighed at the amount of hickeys left on your body, and tried to find some paper and a pen to write a quick note for the sleeping redhead. You felt bad for leaving like this but if you were late for Ivy, Sandy would kill you. Plus, you were pretty sure if you woke her up you would either be killed or Melissa wouldn't let you leave her bed and you really had to go. You clicked the front door shut and made your way back home to hopefully hide any evidence of what you had gotten up to last night from your best friend and daughter.

You were just glad you weren't the only one covered in marks. You hoped Melissa had a hard time covering up the ones she had too.

#melissa x reader #melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti x reader #abbott elementary #Melissa schemmenti smut #melissa schemmenti imagine

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kodydrs · 8 months

Text

Sunflower Juice - Sabo

a/n: title has nothing to do with the story. sabo just reminds me of Sunflowers. I am incredibly out of practice when it comes to writing smut, and the ending is lowkey shit bc i kept reading it in my ex’s voice 😭

ib: this prompt from Portgas.D•Xiao’s on on Chai. “sabo just finished drinking with his friend, after he drank some alcoholic water he started to get drunk, then he wanted to go to his room and he saw you in the hallway And he started coming closer to you and hug you from behind.

warnings : fxm, sabo x fem reader, mdni, drunk sex, slight oral (f. recieving), vaginal fingering, p in v, hickies, (a lot of) pet names, you dated ace b4 his d3ath, reader is still kinda grieving ace’s death, she’s a bipolar abt her emotions as i am (it’s not funny guys, i’m actually bipolar), no use of y/n, not proofread, i’m bad at tagging

You flinch at the sudden attack.

‘ahh!’

It takes you a minute to realise who has just latched themselves onto you.

‘oh Sabo. it’s just you.’

You’d known Sabo for a little while. Ever since Ace’s death, you’d travelled with Luffy and the Straw Hats, and you’d met Sabo along the way. You wouldn’t say you’re exactly the closest of friends, but you both respected each other. But you did you best to keep a healthy distance because damn did he remind you of Ace.

‘Yeah. It’s just me. What are you doing here?’ You're not supposed to be alone right now.’ You felt his grip tightens around your waist slightly as he looks down at you. ‘Are you okay? Do you need anything?’

You turn to face him, confusion obvious on your face. But upon breathing in, you can smell the alcohol on his breath.

‘Sabo. Are you drunk?’ It’s more of a rhetorical question. It’s clear from how thick his breath feels. He wobbles a little to really upkeep the act.

‘Mmmm. Yeah. Maybe just a little bit.’ He pauses. ‘But I’m drunk with you so it’s fine.’

You go to say something to him, but you stop, deeming it useless.

‘Let’s just get you back to your room.’

He grumbles, audibly in decline of your offer.

‘But I don’t wanna go back to my room. I wanna spend more time with you.’

You can feel his arms trying to pull you closer to him like you aren’t already pressed tightly to him. He seems to give up on his efforts by resting his head on your neck and you can again smell the alcohol, reminding you of his drunk state. You groan.

Your plan for the night had been to hang out with Namu & Robin, but Nami got swept away by the Straw Hats stupid chef and Robin got distracted by Chopper's constant tangents. This left you sitting alone at a table with nothing but your thoughts. Your thoughts about how lonely you’d become since joining the Straw Hats. Now all you wanted to do was get to bed and sleep.

‘Sabo. Can you please just go to your room? I’m not in the mood for socialising right now.’ He pouts, nuzzling against your skin.

‘Don’t leave me all alone out here, please.’ He grabs your hands gently and place them on your stomach, holding them there. With a final long sigh, you give up.

‘Fine.’ He lets out a happy chuckle and spins you around, kissing you deeply on the lips for a few seconds before pulling away.

‘Yay!!’ He shrieks. He leans forward and hugs you tight once more, squeezing you so hard you can barely breathe.

You stand frozen in time, stunned by his actions.

‘S-Sabo??!’ He looks down at you with a confused look.

‘Yes. What is it? Are you hurt? Did I do somethi-‘ You cut him off by smashing your lips together, grasping his face tightly. He responds back with equal force and passion. Before you know it, his hands are everywhere. They’re gripping your hair, holding you hips, pressed to your spine.

You pull away, gasping for air. Letting it set in, you touch your lips. ‘Holy fuck.’ You think. ‘I just kissed my boyfriends brother.’

He looks down at you, not processing what the situation they’re really in is.

‘Hey. Why’d you stop? What’s wrong?’ You should protest, but you’re honestly too pent up to care right now.

‘Ah fuck it.’ Without resistance, you grabbed him by the collar and dragged him down the hallway to his room. You locked the door behind you and pinned him to it, crashing you lips back against each others.

The way you're kissing him makes him forget everything else around them. All he wants right now is to make love to you.

‘Oh god.’ He moans softly while wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing himself harder against you. You hum at his hand placement, getting intoxicated on the taste of his lips. He’s been drinking sunflower juice. His abdomen tensed as you ran your fingers along the divots in his abs. His excitement is evident in the way his hips bucked against you and you fail to push backs grin, grinding against his pelvis.

‘I want you so badly.’ He whispers in your ear.

‘Then take me.’ He pulls back, smug face as he looks down at you.

‘Yeah?’

Your voice is breathy and sweet, filled with the sudden need to be touched you’ve so desperately missed.

‘…yeah.’ He smirks mischievously and leans forward, placing one hand behind your neck and pulling you close enough that your noses touch.

‘Tell me what you want baby.’ He growls lowly into your ear, not breaking eye contact even though he's drunk as hell. Your mouth gapes at how hot he sounds right now.

‘oh fuck’ You whisper. ‘I want you to touch me, Sabo.’

With a sly smile on his lips, he brings his hand down and runs it down your arm, stopping at your hand and interlocking your fingers with his. He then brings your joined hands up to his chest, where he kisses them both.

‘Any particular way?’

Your voice is sickeningly sweet, and your words drip like honey.

‘Like you want me.’

His eyes light up in hunger and he once again slides his hand down to your hip, feeling every curve of your body.

‘Like I want ya, huh?’ He leans in to you, gently pressing his lips against your neck. ‘I’m sure that can be arranged.’ He takes your wrists and wraps them around his neck before hoisting you up like you weight nothing so your thighs also wrap around him. You pepper his neck with kisses as he brings you over to his bed and lays you down, straddling your hips.

You gasp as you watch him strip off his shirt and coat, revealing the chiselled abdomen you’d been tracing earlier. He laughs at your reaction before leaning back down and reconnecting your lips. Your hands move to his hair, tugging at the base of his scalp. He doesn’t break the kiss as he lifts your shirt to reveal your perk breasts. Instead, he runs his tongue along your teeth and sucks on your lower lip, basking in the heat radiating from your bodies. It’s driving him crazy.

He kisses down your neck into the valley between your breasts, massaging them gently. Your hands continue to tug at his hair, soft whimpers going straight to his dick.

You groan as he continues his journey down your stomach to the waistband of your pants, where he stops and looks up at you for approval.

‘Please.’ He grin. You nod. ‘Alright then.’ He slowly pulls them down, revealing your soaked panties.

‘So pretty.’ He cooes, kissing dangerously close to your core. He shimmies you out of your pants and then pushes aside your panties, tracing teasing circles around your clit with this tongue. Your thighs instinctively try to close around his head, but he pins them apart, not letting them interrupt his meal.

‘Be a good girl, baby. Good girls get good things.’ You can feel yourself melt under his touch. You’re embarrassed from how easily your legs are shaking due to being so touch starved, but you can’t really focus on that right now.

Your back arches as 2 fingers are inserted into your cunt, stretching you. And it takes everything to not cum right there and then.

‘You alright there, babygirl?’ Sabo laughs, hooking an arm around your thigh and nipping at the skin. You squeeze your eyes shut and nod, breathing deeply.

‘I just haven’t had sex in a while.’

‘We’ll take it slow. I wanna make this last.’ Slowly, his fingers pump in and out, letting you ease around them while he continues to kiss and nibble on your thighs, leaving little pink and purple marks that you’ll find in the morning. After a few minutes, he adds a third digit, watching your expression to make sure he wasn’t hurting you in any way. Your heads tilted to the side and you make eye contact, the lustful gaze drawing you in. He smiles and kissed back up your body to your neck.

‘Are you ready for me? Or do you wanna wait a little longer?’ You wrap your arms back around his neck, pulling him down into a chaste kiss.

‘I’m ready.’ You whisper, pressing your foreheads together. ‘But please don’t be harsh.’

He nods and kisses you deep but slowly as he pulls his fingers from your cunt. You hear the rustle of clothes from him removing his pants and boxers before feeling his tip graze your entrance.

‘Do you want a countdown?’ He teases, grinning at his own joke. You smile, hitting his shoulder and murmuring a quiet “asshole”. He slowly pushes himself past your entrance to your warm insides, revealing in the intense heat.

‘Shit.’ He curses against your lips. ‘Damn, you feel amazing.’ You try to reply, but all that comes out is a moan. ‘Are you ok? Can I move?’

You hum, already leaving scratches on his back from blunt nails. He carefully starts to move, burying himself deeper with each thrust and it drives you insane. It isn’t long before you feel your stomach twist into knots.

‘S-Sabo… gonna cum.’ You whimper, nuzzling into his neck.

‘Already, baby? Can you hold on for a little so we can do it together?’ He gets a babble for a reply, mixed with a harsh kiss to his jaw. ‘Good girl. You’re taking me so well, baby.’ He brings one hand to your face, gently stroking your face. He touch is comforting, and you feel him pick up his pace so you get to finish as soon as you want.

‘Fuck.’ He mumbled under his breath. ‘Shit. Do you want me to pull out or no?’

‘I-I don’t mind. Whichever you prefer.’ You babble. He nods.

‘I’ll come inside then, if that’s ok with you.’

A hum seals you fate as you feel yourself tip over the edge, quickly followed by feeling your insides filled to the brim. Your back arches at a ridiculous angle, pressing your chests together. Sabo rails you through your orgasm until you're a choked-up, panting mess. Not that he’s any different. He pulls out with a grunt and flops next to you, taking a minute to collect his breath before he stands to grab something to clean you both up.

In the few minutes you’re left alone, you want to cry. The way his touch felt on you felt so familiar and so comfortable, and the knowledge it was all caused by a drunk haze made you wanna cry. Tears collected on your lower lashes as you did your best not to let them spill.

‘Hey.’ Sabo cooes, leaning down beside you while he cleans up your legs. ‘What’s wrong, hun? Why are you crying?’

You shake your head, covering your face.

‘I’m not. It’s nothing. It’s just-‘ You stop, looking away from his gaze. ‘I miss him like freaking crazy, Sabo.’

The blond smiles, putting aside his cleaning supplies and lying next to you.

‘Same. Everyday.’ For a moment, it feels as if this isn’t a drunk conversation, but instead 2 people bonding through grief. You roll so you’re facing him, forehead pressed against his chest. ‘But I do wanna be able to protect you like he did.’

One of his hands strokes your hair gently, carefully tugging out any tangles. You’ve stopped crying, just listening to the quiet thump of your heartbeats.

‘Sabo?’

‘Yeah?’

‘I wanna learn to love you, the same way I loved him.’

A soft hum comes from above you and you feel his lips press against your temple. His arms wrap around you gently, keeping you warm.

‘Ok.’

©kodydrs

all rights and reserves are copyright to kodydrs on tumblr. this material is not to be copied or translated

#kodydrs #kody’s corner #one piece #one piece smut #one piece x reader #sabo x reader #sabo #one piece sabo #op sabo #sabo x y/n #sabo x you #sabo x female reader #i’m bad at tagging #not proofread

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carlossainzwho · 8 months

Text

do you get deja vu?

yep, it's part two time!

pairing/s: carlos sainz x ex!reader

warnings - swearing, not proof-read (sorry to my english teachers) and sexual references. (i sound like netflix help)

note - i'm really sorry you've had to wait so long for a fic!! this is part two, you can read part 1 for a little more background before reading this one. i really hope you enjoy! please reblog/like for support, it really makes me smile!!

car rides to malibu strawberry ice cream one spoon for two and trading jackets laughing 'bout how small it looks on you (ha-ha-ha-ha, ha-ha-ha-ha, ha-ha-ha-ha)

long long car journeys with carlos were the best, blasting out billie joe and queen all day, all night.

going to the same ice cream shop in mallorca

to get the classic ice cream

strawberry

with chocolate sauce

stuffing it all in carlos' face

ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha

feeling cold

wind blowing

exchanging your denim jacket for carlos' much thicker one

he looked funny

and handsome

and

he was hers, she was his

oh, ain't it funny

ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha

watching reruns of glee being annoying singing in harmony i bet she's bragging to all her friends, saying you're so unique, hmm

glee

making fun of his name

carlos science, carlos heinz tomato ketchup

singing 'smooth operator' till your throat hurt

but now rebecca's the one doing it with him

tight black dresses

at clubs

getting drunk

leads to

making out

leads to

the bed

So when you gonna tell her That we did that, too? She thinks it's special But it's all reused That was our place, I found it first I made the jokes you tell to her when she's with you Do you get déjà vu when she's with you? Do you get déjà vu? (Ah), hmm Do you get déjà vu, huh?

no amount of

kissing her

hugging her

fucking her

could change how he felt in his head

he knew

carlos knew

he did all that with y/n

with rebecca snoring by his side

he knew that the jackets

the singing

glee

he did it all before

with

someone

else

Do you call her Almost say my name? 'Cause let's be honest We kinda do sound the same Another actress I hate to think that I was just your type

rebecca, y/n

rebecca.

y/n.

they both had kind of similar accents

search her up

rebecca donaldson: model, actress and carlos sainz's new girlfriend!

y/n was nothing

she meant nothing to carlos

I'll bet that she knows Billy Joel 'Cause you played her "Uptown Girl" You're singing it together Now I bet you even tell her How you love her In between the chorus and the verse

how many more times should she say

how much she missed him?

through the singing

crying

laughing

he was there by her side

but now y/n knew

that carlos was singing and crying and laughing with someone else

Strawberry ice cream in Malibu Don't act like we didn't do that shit, too You're trading jackets like we used to do (Yeah, everything is all reused) Play her piano, but she doesn't know (oh, oh) That I was the one who taught you Billy Joel (oh) A different girl now, but there's nothing new

y/n drove past mallorca

past the same ice-cream shop

that sold the strawberry ice-cream

the wind blowing

clutching onto her denim jacket

the one that would never fit carlos

now he's doing all that with someone else

but she doesn't know

that

it was all y/n

and now

he probably seemed funny

and handsome

not long ago

he was hers

she was his

but not anymore

ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha

taglist: @styles-sunflower @marsinout @queers-of-marybelltownship @alonsogirlie @hoeforevery1 @charlosgoggles @albonsluvr

hope you loved it! so sorry it took long :(

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atinylittlepain · 9 months

Text

Tougher Than the Rest

no outbreak!joel miller x fem!reader

Hungry Hearts masterlist

wordcount | 5.5K

warnings | smut, angst, the usual

a/n | we have reached the last chapter of this story. thank you to everyone who has followed along with this one, it has truly been a treat working with these characters, so your love for them means a lot. as always i'd love to hear what you think, drop me a line!

...................................

“Ellie, school in thirty! You better be up if you’re catching the train! Sorry about that, my daughter is– well, you know how kids can be. What was the question again?” She hates these things. These fluffy little interviews that her agent forces her into whenever she has a new book coming out. Good publicity and all that. Bullshit, if you ask her. Why can’t the book just speak for itself?

“No worries at all, I was wondering if you could tell me a little about your writing process for this last book, did you have a set routine or any rituals that propelled your work forward?” Rituals, gag her. She tries not to let out a dejected sigh over the phone, settling instead for an eye roll as she attempts to get Ellie’s lunch put together with one and a half hands, her phone settled precariously between her cheek and her shoulder as she puts together a pb and j, except not because Ellie’s school has a thing about peanut butter. So, sunflower butter and organic apricot jam from the co-op down the block that she somehow got wrangled into as a member.

“You know, I try not to be too precious about routines. I write as much as I can whenever I can. And as a mom, I have to take whatever time I can get.” The interviewer most certainly didn’t like that answer, a long right, okay crackling over the line. But what did he expect? Some sort of meticulous, meditative bullshit no doubt. Sorry, not her style.

“So, last question here, you have certainly established yourself over the last decade as a prolific writer. What is it that keeps you writing?” Well, that’s simple, isn’t it? If she keeps writing, she keeps herself from thinking about the past, about things she shouldn’t be thinking about. But her agent would probably throttle her for saying that, so something else in its place instead.

“I always wanted to be a writer growing up. It’s just– instinct, maybe impulse, frankly. I write because it’s what I know how to do, it’s how I figure out this world.” She tacks on that last bit hoping it will make up for the entirely unsexy rest of her responses, and judging by the hmm the interviewer lets out over the phone, it will suffice. All the usual niceties and a long sigh when she finally hangs up.

“Ellie, if you aren’t up I’m–”

“Jesus, I’m up, woman.” Her eleven-year-old has developed a new habit of calling her woman like a despondent husband in a loveless marriage, marching out of her bedroom and into the kitchen as she shoves papers into her backpack.

“Lunch for you, and I will be outside of the school at 3:30 to walk home with you, okay? Do you– I can walk with you this morning too if–”

“No, mom, I got it.” It stings, just a little, smarting, and then a small swell of pride that her girl is so independent.

“Okay, okay, let’s get some breakfast in you, huh? Smoothie, that sound good?” Ellie’s face scrunches up, but she doesn’t give her an abject no, and that’s enough for Cherry to get out the blender.

“Mom?”

“Hmm?”

“What’s in Texas?” Cherry freezes, her hand holding half a banana (non-GMO, whatever the fuck that means) suspended over the blender.

“What– where’s that question coming from?”

“On the computer last night, you had left it open to some construction company in Texas.” Shit, her smart girl. That was how Ellie found out that Santa wasn’t real two years ago, hopping on the desktop and finding the order confirmation for the pair of glow-in-the-dark Converse she had asked for in her letter addressed to the North Pole.

“Oh, um, that– I have a friend who is, uh, moving there and I’m helping her find someone to do work on her new house, yeah.” Ellie doesn’t seem to buy that answer, brow pinched up, but before she can question it, Cherry flips on the blender, letting it whir just a little longer than it needs to.

“Alright, breakfast of champions, you can drink it on the train, yeah? You’re gonna be late if you don’t get a move on.” A quick flurry to pour the smoothie into a to-go cup and then out the door, love you, be safe, bye. A big sigh when she slumps back against the shut door, close one.

Yes, maybe, a moment of weakness yesterday. A moment of weakness while she was working over edits for her next book. Somehow, up until yesterday, she had managed to not let a moment of weakness creep in. But before she knew what she was doing, she was googling his name and Austin, Texas. And there he was, with his own business no less.

Yes, maybe, she had left a tab open on the Miller’s Construction website’s About Us page. And yes, maybe, she had left the page zoomed in on the picture of Joel in the top corner. And yes, maybe, none of her edits had gotten done because she was a little busy looking at said picture for the better portion of the afternoon.

So the first thing that she does after cleaning up the small cyclone in the kitchen is log onto the computer to delete that tab, not letting herself linger on the photo any longer. But he looks good, she thinks. Doing good for himself, she thinks. Not letting that thought get any bigger, that want crack open any more than it already has, right back to work on her edits.

But her mind is fickle this morning, still stuck on that photo, still stuck on him in a way she hasn’t been in a while. Maybe it’s because of the appointment she has at noon. An impulsive choice she made and, for some reason, has kept. A way to hold onto something she should have let go a long time ago. But she can’t.

And yes, maybe, her morning is spent in a constant toggle between the open tab of her word doc, and that damn About Us page on the Miller’s Construction website.

…

He’s nervous. And he’s not sure why, because it’s her, right? It’s them. Except this is new. Not something they ever got to do in the past. Not like this at least.

“Hey there.” She’s in a dress when she opens the door, and his mind has to quickly configure around the fact that this is the first time he has seen her in a dress in two decades, though he probably should have expected that, right? Because people dress up for these things, something that Sarah said to him very slowly like he was an invalid, prompting him into a button-down before he left.

“Hey, Cherry, you look, uh, yeah– look real good.” She smiles, still leaning in the doorframe, but before she can speak, someone else beats her to it.

“Wow, real smooth, man.”

“Ellie.” Cherry hisses it over her shoulder, but Joel never sees the kid, just hears her lowly murmured what? I’m just saying, geez. Already off to a great start.

“Sorry about the peanut gallery, but I’m ready if you are.”

No more sneaking around, no more questioning if this is real or not. They’re doing the thing that normal people do, normal people in a normal relationship. They’re going on a date.

“I like this.” She hums it, reaching across the console from the passenger seat to thumb at the collar of his shirt, her palm smoothing down over his chest.

“Yeah?”

“Mmhmm, you clean up very pretty, Miller.” Just a little snark tinging the end of her words, making him huff as she keeps rubbing distracting circles into his chest.

“Well, you’re in fine form, huh?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” With that, her hand trails up, palm slipping behind the nape of his neck, her fingers threading through the errant curls there while he fights the urge for his eyes to roll back in his head.

“Sure, Cher, at this rate we’re not even gonna make it to the restaurant.” He regrets saying it instantly, because just as soon as the words leave his mouth, she’s taking her hand away, sitting prim and perfect in the passenger seat where she had been completely turned toward him before.

“Right, sorry, best behavior.” Her words slant with the simper of her smile, and he has to remind himself that they’re doing this normal thing now. No need to hurry, no need to hide, no need to steal time. Because she’s staying, and so is he.

By some stroke of luck, they do make it to the restaurant, and it’s right about then that Joel realizes it has been a woefully long time since he has been on a date. He has to stutter himself into all the motions, trying to remember the right moves, opening the door for her, a bit flustered when he pulls her chair out for her and she snorts.

“Well you don’t get this kind of treatment in New York.” To make the matter of his quick creeping flush worse, she presses a kiss to his cheek before she sits down. He gets to have that now, totally normal. He’s still getting used to totally normal.

“So how is the book coming along?” He’s not sure if he’s allowed to ask that, what might still be a sore subject. For a moment, her face falls, fear flickering in his chest that he has fucked up, though she smooths it out, something like a smile still at the edges of her eyes.

“Do you really want to hear me talk about that?”

“Only if you want to.”

“Can I ask you something first?” He nods, of course, taking a cursory sip of his wine as she does the same.

“Did you– what did you think? About the other ones?” She asks it shy, her cheek propped in her hand, smile crumpled to one side. His mind reels with what he could say, though he’s not sure if any of it’s right. It’s not like he has some dazzlingly intellectual thing to say. But she’s asking him, she wants to know what he thinks, and he muses to himself that she’s been wanting to know what he thinks for a while.

“I was amazed by every single one, Cher. And I was proud of you too, even though I had no business feeling that way. It was– I thought about you, a lot, over the years. And getting to read your books, it felt like I could be a little closer to you that way.” He surprises himself with the stark honesty of his words, but how could he offer her anything else when she’s looking at him like that? Smile softening in the dim light of the restaurant, cheeks brimming up with the praise.

“I always wondered, you know, if you were reading them. I– I guess that’s a little ridiculous.” He’s still getting used to this too, being able to reach out for her, taking her hand in his across the table.

“Not ridiculous, and I’m looking forward to reading the new one.”

“I sent the second draft in two days ago.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmhmm, my editor fucking destroyed my first one, so we’ll see how this draft goes over.”

“You know, I’ve been wondering, Cher, when the hell did you get that trucker’s mouth of yours?” She laughs big and bright, shoulders shrugging up to her ears, a little flail to her hands that makes him laugh too.

“I mean, it’s definitely a New York thing. That, and people just started pissing me off a lot more, so I kinda had to.”

“I tried to cut back on it when Sarah got old enough to start picking stuff up. She still managed to slip a few fucks into her vocabulary in the first grade.”

“Oh god, I actually got called into the school when Ellie was in the first grade because she told a boy at recess to leave her the fuck alone. Honestly, I was more proud than anything else, is that bad?”

“Fuck no, it’s not bad. I’d probably take Sarah for ice cream if she did the same.” She sighs around a smile, and he finds himself doing the same, settling into this ease. Yes, he thinks, it’s going to take some getting used to. But he’s more than happy to be getting used to it with her.

…

“I’d like to get it on my right shoulder, if that works okay.” If her mother could see her now. She doesn’t look in the mirror until the tattoo artist has stamped the stencil into place, a satisfied hum in her throat when she gets a look at the design.

Frankly, she wasn’t sure if she was going to keep this appointment. She had made it under the pleasant flush of two glasses of wine late one night about a month ago, surprised to receive an email from the artist saying that they loved her idea and wanted to get her on the books. And for some reason, she didn’t say no, didn’t cancel, and is now laying out on a tattoo table and bracing for the first pass of the needle.

It’s not too bad, a little cringey when the artist is working right over the cap of her shoulder, but otherwise it passes quickly, and before she knows it, she’s standing back in front of the mirror on shaky legs, looking at the twining cherry branch now wrapping around her upper arm.

“It’s perfect, thank you. I love it.” Ellie has rather different feelings about it, her jaw dropping loose when Cherry meets her outside of her school, still warm enough that she’s only in a t-shirt, showing off part of her still-wrapped ink.

“What is that?” There’s no playing it off, Ellie refusing to move until Cherry gives her an answer.

“That is a tattoo, and before you ask, no, not until you’re eighteen.” Ellie balks at that, though Cherry is quick to sling her arm around her girl’s shoulders to set them both walking toward the subway.

“Is it– what is it?” Ellie takes the one leftover seat in the train and Cherry hooks her elbow around the rail in front of her, a perfect opportunity for her kid to get a better look at her new tattoo.

“It’s a cherry tree.”

“I can’t believe you got a tattoo.” She says it with a sigh, like somehow, this is the worst news ever. Cherry has to hold back a laugh, knowing that it will only put Ellie in even worse of a tiff.

“What’s wrong with tattoos?”

“Nothing, but you’re my mom, you’re not supposed to get tattoos.” Ellie grumbles out the last words, crossing her arms over her chest with a huff, perfectly petulant. Cherry gives her little episode about twenty more minutes before she forgets all about it and asks what’s for dinner.

When they do get back to their apartment, Cherry just barely catches the ringing phone, surprised, though pleasantly, when she hears Will on the other end.

“Hey, what’s going on? Everything okay?”

“Hey, yeah, I just thought I’d give you a call.” She knows exactly what that means. It’s only been recently that she and Will can talk like this, call like this. She got out, and he did too, and for a while that had to be enough for the both of them, slinking around the past like they could somehow forget it. It was Will that reached out to her first, and she was relieved for it, not sure if he resented her, or even hated her for the way she left. He didn’t, he understood, and he wanted to know how his big sister was doing.

“Mom?” He sighs over the phone, exactly what she thought. For some reason, their mother still reaches out to him, an errant phone call that he somehow can’t seem to dodge.

“She called to tell me that they’re moving to Arizona.”

“Oh, lovely.”

“Yeah, so I guess that means Austin has finally been fumigated.” Cherry snorts, trying to let that be funny, though all it really feels is bitter.

“You’re not thinking about going back, are you?” Because suddenly, she is. An impossibility for so long, now a little more possible.

“Hell no, Portland has been good to me. I only just managed to lose the accent.”

“I liked your accent, Will. I’m afraid mine has started sounding a little too Brooklyn lately.”

“Yeah, you have that kinda eternally angry thing going on in your voice now.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know that my eternally angry voice is what gets me book deals.”

“Sure, that’s what it is, miss New York Times bestseller.” She scoffs, a flustered murmur of yeah, yeah, whatever, always quick to change the subject from anything like that.

“You’re still coming for Christmas though, right? I’d– we’d really love to have you. I’ve been telling Ellie about you.” Something new, she never thought Ellie would get any kind of extended family. Definitely no grandparents, but an uncle would be nice.

“Yeah, I’m looking forward to it.” He has something else to say, she can tell by the way his words fizzle out. She doesn’t push though, just waits.

“You don’t think about going back, do you? To Texas?” Her throat tightens, a quick glance down the hall to check that Ellie’s bedroom door is still closed.

“No, why would I want to?”

“Oh come on, out of the two of us I’d say you’d have an actual reason to.”

“What are you talking about?” Like maybe she could bullshit her way out of this, but he is her brother, after all. He always liked Joel, definitely looked up to him. And he was also one of the only people that knew about their relationship, always willing to cover for her sneaking around, for the flat rate price of a new comic book.

“Not what, who.”

“Will, that’s ancient history. That’s– that’s even past ancient history. It was another life.”

“I know, I just– I always thought you two were gonna be it, you know? Even before that summer, y’all were always something else.”

“Careful, they’ll throw you out of Portland for saying y’all like that.” That gets half a laugh out of him, just enough to drop the subject.

“All this talk of Texas must be getting to me. Anyways, just wanted to call and tell you the big news or whatever.”

“Alright, well, big news aside, it’s always good to hear from you. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

“Yeah, sis, love you.”

“Love you too.” That’s new, she’s glad for it.

Afternoons, after school, but before dinner, this is her favorite time. Sometimes, Ellie will still let her help with her homework, or at least allow her presence on the edge of her bed while she works, might even answer a few questions about her day or her friends. Eleven going on thirty, or something like that. By the time dinner rolls around, her girl has warmed up to her enough to sit at the kitchen counter while she chops vegetables.

“So, why a cherry tree?”

“Oh, it’s an old story, a friend of mine from a long time ago, not interesting. Hey, I saw the email from the school about career day next week, were you gonna tell me about that?” A quick change of subject, two birds with one stone, really. Ellie’s face scrunches up at her question.

“Yeah, but like, you’re too busy for it anyways.” She barely looks up from her math worksheet as she says it, like no big deal, though Cherry’s stomach immediately sinks.

“Woah, woah, babe, I am absolutely not too busy for that. I’m never too busy for you, what– why do you think that?” Ellie just shrugs, still intent on her fractions.

“Because of the new book and stuff. You’re very preoccupied.” One of her new vocab words for the week, preoccupied, right.

“Els, will you look at me, please? I am never too busy for you, okay? None of that shi–stuff matters more than you do. And I’d really love to go to career day, if you want me to be there.” Ellie seems to consider that proposition, a big burst of relief when she nods.

“Yeah, you’re cooler than a lot of the other parents anyways. They all do boring stuff for work.” She’ll take it, trying to temper her grin at her girl’s small praise as she gets back to prepping dinner. She’ll have to remember to wear long sleeves for career day, not wanting to give the PTA moms any more gossip fodder than they already have about her. Single mom, single writer mom with no family to be heard of. Not a very good look to all those upper-crust types, not that she could give a shit about it. But she doesn’t want her black sheepness to rub off on Ellie, play dates and hang outs to be scheduled and all that, so, definitely long sleeves for career day.

Much later, Ellie in bed reading, and no impending emails or phone calls, Cherry finally takes another look at the tattoo before getting in the shower.

If nothing else, ever, at least this.

…

“So.” She says it all long and drawn out, her hands clasped behind her back as she sways a little in front of his truck, sooooo. It’s dark out by the time they leave the restaurant, both of them a little loose, a little languid from a few glasses of wine, though he’s still sober enough to feel a lick of nerves run up his spine as he tries to figure out what’s the right next move, what normal people do on a date like this.

“Sarah is at Tommy’s for the night, if you don’t have to be home just yet?” No, probably not what normal people do on a first date. But no, not their first date either, not really. And nothing normal about this either, not really. Cherry, smiles, all crooked shadows in the faint glow coming from the restaurant. She really is a sight. He’s been stealing sweeping glances all night, collecting her up in pieces in his mind. The bare skin of her thighs, just a suggestion of it with the slip of her dress. Her dress, he thinks she knows that it’s just a little cruel that she’s wearing that dress judging by the way she moves, shoulders rolled back, always a ghost of a grin like she’s getting away with something. Instinct or just plain impulse to reach out for her, to let his knuckles graze along the neckline of her dress, the smallest shiver when he trails from the sweet plunge up along the slope of her shoulder.

“Ellie was going to a sleepover, so I don’t have to be anywhere until my chauffeur services are needed tomorrow.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmhmm.”

He is trying, all of his effort, really, to focus on the road when they start driving back to his house. But Cherry isn’t exactly making it easy with the way her hand is splayed on his thigh, and he has to clear his throat when her nails graze along the inseam of his pants.

“Everything alright?” He only glances away for a beat, though it’s enough time to see the smug curl of her smile.

“You– you’re–” His breath hitches before he can finish that thought, Cherry’s knuckles grazing against his already aching cock through his pants, though her hand is gone just as soon, settling lower, just above his knee.

“What am I, baby?”

“I think you know what you are.” Her laugh comes in bells, chirping high as she tips her head back, the shock-white flash of her teeth in the corner of his eye.

“I think you like it.” High, like wings fluttering each word she says. He doesn’t say anything, his eyes still on the road while he reaches across the console for her, his palm slipping from her shoulder up the slope of her neck, fingers curling around her nape and his thumb stroking the hinge of her jaw, his own silent answer, his.

They’re both quiet stepping inside his house, lights off so the rooms are washed down in dark swaths of shadow. Up the stairs and into his room, she doesn’t look at the books this time, all her attention on him.

No need to rush, no need to hide, no need to lie about what this really is. A first for two decades later, they can take their time with each other, because there will be plenty more of it to offer, to receive.

“I thought about you, you know.” He knows that she’s talking about a particular kind of thinking about him, her eyes heavy with it.

“Show me, Cher.” Broken thoughts that somehow still get pieced together, the easy slip of her dress falling around her feet, stepping out of fabric and laying back on his bed. Perfect like this, her knees bent and falling open to the sides. He finds himself sitting down on the edge of the bed, his palm cupping the slope of her calf before sliding down, fingers curling loosely around her ankle. Something to tether him, to convince him that this is real, that all her want is for him. From the start, she was always surprising him, always finding some fresh way to make his head spin. She still is. Propped up on one elbow, her other palm trailing down the center of her chest, pausing there to let her fingers graze against her nipple, the smallest hitch of her breath making his cock pulse. And then lower, his eyes going heavy watching her hand move over the soft clench of her stomach before settling just over her pelvis. Forefinger and middle spreading herself open for him to see, swollen and pearling pleasure, obscene and a little world-ending.

And it’s his name. His name that she whispers when she dips two of her fingers into her cunt, his hand curling a little closer around her ankle at the sight and sound. A slick smear of heat, the way the tendons in her hips jump with the effort of staying splayed for him, slack and then tense all over when the pads of her fingers catch against her clit.

Please, not enough, please, want you. But he wants to see, her preening pleas falling on deaf ears. Because he wants to see how she thought about him all those miles away, years away, and aching for him. And he was aching for her too. Go on, Cher, just like that. She huffs, brow pulling down in a pinch of frustration, but she still allows, the small jump of her wrist, the veins in her hand jittering as two fingers find a stuttered rhythm, her hips tilting into each thrust. And he’s mean for doing this, cruel even, slipping sorry beneath his palm as it skates up her shin, smoothing and soothing. I know, I know, it’s not enough, is it? Never enough he thinks, it was never enough.

“Stop teasing, come here.” Never saying no to her, and he already knows it, making as quick work as he can of the buttons of his shirt, the warm flush of bare skin against bare skin when he finally settles between her legs, one palm splayed next to her temple and the other bunched in the sheets beside her hip. All brilliant machinery, two bodies moving together like they never stopped, her knee hitching up along his hip as his palm slides down along the soft skin of the inside of her thigh. He rests his thumb over her clit, presence more than anything else, though Cherry doesn’t allow that for long, another huff, another don’t tease that he chases after with a hard stamp of a kiss.

And when he finally spreads her open with one shuddering snap of his hips, his breath gets caught in his chest, pleasure finally catching up to him and crackling down his spine. His mouth rests open and wanting below the dip of her clavicle, the slight press of skin that comes with each of her inhales, like a bird beating around in her ribs, short and stuttered and certain.

Quiet whispers, need you to move, baby, that word never failing to snare his mind, all he can do to give her what she wants with a slow roll of his hips that’s already turning greedy in the way he grinds into the plush of her ass at the end, a high sound stopping itself in the back of her throat.

And no, not taking their time, both of them growing desperate for that tight furl of pleasure settling between them. Just a little obscene in the way the bed scrapes against the floor with every thrust, the sound melding and mixing with the breathy little moans Cherry can’t seem to stop, not that he would want her to. He groans when he reaches between them to thumb at her clit, her cunt dripping around him, a dizzying flutter of heat that he wants more of. And when Cherry says more, right there something snaps in him, animal, incessant in the way he slips his palms under the swell of her ass, lifting her hips up so her thighs rest over his, fucking up into her from his haunches, strong enough that he can do that now, move and make her with his hands like this. Pulled taut, her body one long line of pleasure, he watches the perfect tendons in her throat jump with a whine of his name.

It’s a devastating heat when she does come, spine arching before she slumps down in his grasp. He stills inside her, a whimper in her throat when his hips absent-mindedly shift against hers. C’mere, c’mere, pulling him down, her palms running up his sides before slipping over his shoulders, mapping him out as she catches her breath.

“I love you so much, Joel.” The sound he makes is pathetic at best, a little broken battering in his ribs. And he should ask if she’s good, if he can, if it’s okay for him to, but he needs it so bad, needs her so bad that he’s already finding that rhythm again, harsh breaths with each thrust. Not far behind her, not with the way she’s murmuring all her want into his ear, something that sounds like love when that pleasure finally snaps and shimmers under his skin.

Perfect like this in the after, holding onto each other, mouths finding whatever slip of skin they can, kissing it better.

“It’s you and me, Cher. I love you.” Her fingers still in their gentle sweep through his hair, a little tug to get his eyes up to hers.

“Plus two.” Confused at first, he has to laugh when his brain catches up to what she’s saying.

“Right, you and me, plus two.”

…

Her least favorite time of the day, or night, really. Ellie asleep, just her and the blinking cursor in her word document. It’s about this time every night that it settles back in under her skin. She doesn’t know what to call it. Loneliness feels pitiful, and patently untrue because she has her girl, and that’s all she needs. It’s like an ache, like a physical lack that she manages to forget about in all the fret and fuss of the day, still there, still sore.

Tonight, something particular to soothe that ache. That damn web page, and that damn photo of him. Different, older, but still him. A small part of her, a young part, wonders if he has read her books, if he’s seen her photo on the dust jackets and traced all the small nicks and nips of time the same way that she does now, her face pressed close to the screen of her computer to collect up any new detail.

She quits while she’s ahead, sigh, shut the whole thing off, rubbing the heels of her palms into her eyes to try to stamp out the picture of him.

An ache, a want, that has been there for nearly two decades. When Will had told her about their parents moving out of Austin, hope had been quick to flicker up and around her ribs, a silly thing. Silly to ache like this, to want like this, to presume that he’s been waiting around for her.

She’s been waiting for him though, she realizes. Wanting for him. So would it be so crazy to think that, maybe, he’s been wanting for her too?

........................................

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discokicks · 5 months

Text

THE KIDS AIN'T FINE, FINE - ROY KENT.

PART THREE of ACES AT THE WATER'S EDGE.

(series masterlist!) (AO3!) (series playlist!)

pairing: roy kent x fem!reader (no use of y/n!)

summary: in 2012, roy’s summer olympic training camp is going (surprisingly) well. the same can’t be said for your new and current arrangement at richmond. and while you two think you’re doing a good job at keeping your bickering discreet, certain people are starting to notice that something’s up. and some are handling it better than others.

word count & rating: 11.8k (holy shit), R (typical roy kent fruity language)

chapter warnings: swearing, minor allusions to sexual assault and harassment, a sprinkling of sexual tension (we'll get there y'all), talk of alcohol and alcohol use, ploooot, lots of football/soccer/coaching talk, major angst, typical bickering, slight fluff.

author's note: i’m baaaaaaack and we're in it now, folks! we're covering A LOT of ground in this part. whole lotta relationship building and exposition. we're getting to the fun stuff soon, promise. and for the sake of my plot/pacing, we're pretending there was a week of time between last chapter and this one, despite them both taking place within the 3x02 timeframe. thank you for the love on the last chapter, i'm truly having so much fun writing this, so it's so exciting to see that people are enjoying it. ok, shutting up now, love u all tons, let's goooo! - mags

PRESENT DAY. (MID-AUGUST, 2023)

There are two days until Richmond’s first game of the season and you think you’ve slept approximately four and a half hours this entire week.

Despite the fact that your days weren’t too intense (pre-season practices were typically a little more involved and could stretch longer, and your Coaches' meetings never kept you past an unreasonable hour), your nights were rather rough. They seemed to be endless while also never offering quite enough time.

This was all self-inflicted, though. From the second you returned home from Nelson Road, you dove back into work, studying game film and your new players, attempting to figure out exactly what made this team tick. You thought about potential plays and formations in the shower, nearly slipping and cracking your head open each time you raced out to draw something up. You rehearsed things you wanted to say during practices, making sure each line was insightful and understandable, without overstepping any sort of boundaries.

Boundaries were key, here. You were hyper-aware of those now.

However, it wasn’t like you were saying the majority of these things. For the first time in almost a decade, you’d found yourself biting your tongue more often than not. You were friendly and encouraging like any good coach was, but you were agreeable. Quiet. Hesitant.

Those were issues and you knew that. That’s not what a coach was supposed to be, especially the coach of an AFC team. But that stupid fucking anxiety that you couldn’t shake had muzzled you. The fear made you weak. And while you hated it, you couldn’t rid yourself of it. That only made you feel more pathetic.

And it wasn’t like the Richmond team hadn’t done everything in their power to make you feel welcome. The ‘primary school-level art’ Roy had spoken of on your first day had been a large ‘Welcome to Richmond’ banner held by the team in the locker room, each of the players greeting you with a wide smile on their faces. While, yes, it did look like it’d been put together by a couple of third-graders (with the exception of a wildly intricate sunflower in the corner done by Dani Rojas), the thought behind it nearly made you cry.

All of the players had personally introduced themselves to you throughout the week, some keeping it short and sweet like Jaan Maas, others, such as Sam, approaching with lists of questions; not just about your professional life, but personal life, too.

They each were respectful and kind, listening to the few things you did work up the courage to say and seemed to take them to heart. They listened to you. They wanted to hear from you. They wanted to get to know you.

And you couldn’t fucking allow yourself to do it.

Your distant and rather closed-off behavior hadn’t gone unnoticed. While you thought you were keeping it cool and polite, certain players and people (AKA your entire coaching staff and boss) couldn’t help but see through what you’re doing.

This becomes evident early one morning, approximately five days after you begin. You’re the first one at the Richmond facilities, having stayed up for so long that night that you figured you might as well just stay awake for training. You’re only the slightest bit delirious and are trying not to vibrate due to the three cups of coffee that are currently coursing through your system.

You’re about to take a sip of your fourth when you hear a knock on your office door. The sound makes you pause— nobody’s supposed to be here until eight, at least.

The voice behind the knock reveals the identity immediately. “You’re here early, Coach.”

Unconsciously, your body goes rigid. You thought you’d be alone. You’ve only been here for a couple days, but nobody seemed to come in this early. Especially not Jamie Tartt.

What was he doing here? Why was he here so early? Was it just him? Or were there others with him? Anxiety floods through your veins at the idea of being alone in your office with this team’s star player. It creeps along your spine and into your mind and taunts you with ‘what ifs’, It’s stupid and it makes no sense and you hate yourself for it, but you can’t find a way to stop it.

And it’s not even his fault. It has nothing to do with him. But you can’t seem to convince yourself of that.

Without turning around, you greet him. “C-Could say the same for you, Jamie.”

Jamie Tartt chuckles from your doorframe. “Having trouble sleepin’ lately,” he tells you, sounding slightly confused by your refusal to face him. “Thought I’d show up early.”

You force yourself to turn, crossing your arms over your chest. You ignore how clammy your palms are as your hands ball to fists. “Is that… typical for you?” you ask. “To show up at this time?”

“Not at all,” he replies with a shake of his head. The smile on his face is easy. Polite. Comfortable. “Just got a lot on me mind lately. Makes me sleep shitty.”

“Sorry to hear that.” You attempt the same politeness but your words come out clipped. You can’t tell if he notices.

Jamie nods. “Oh, it’s whatever. I’ll get over it.”

The dead air you’re met with is almost painful. You know you should be better at this. You know you should be engaging in this type of small talk, trying to get to know your team. You’re their coach, for fuck’s sake. You know what you need to do.

But as you stare at Jamie, you can’t get anything to come out. You don’t want to say the wrong thing. You don’t want to overstep your boundaries or his. You don’t want to screw this up too. One wrong move and it could be over for you.

The hesitation clearly reads on your face and this time, you can tell Jamie notices. However, what you notice is the way he lingers at your door.

Finally, you muster up the courage to ask, “Is there something I can help you with?”

That seems to be what he was looking for. His shoulders sag as he nods, glancing behind him to see if there’s anyone around. “I was just…” He enters your office, plopping himself down into Roy’s desk chair with a lazy spin, and the action makes your throat tighten. “Is, uh… Is Zava really coming to Richmond?”

You don’t know what you were expecting from him, but it certainly wasn’t that. The question catches you off guard. “Oh,” you say. You shrug, arms uncrossing. “Uh, I mean… it’s being talked about. I’m still kind of new, but it seems like every team’s kinda trying to get him. I know West Ham was trying hard for sure, so… not sure if we’ll win him over.”

Jamie nods. “But it’s on the table?”

His tone doesn’t match the question. Everyone else— each player, coach, fan, everyone has the same type of excitement when talking about the prospect of Zava. And you get it.

But Jamie doesn’t seem to be in the same boat. And immediately, you get that too.

The realization makes you part your lips, something like sympathy rising up inside you. Jamie’s the star. The Ace. He’s Richmond’s playmaker and he thinks he’s going to be sidelined because of it. And honestly, he may just be right.

“Yeah,” you reply. “It’s still on the table.” He nods once more, like he’s confirming a reality he didn’t want to face. In an attempt to reassure him, you awkwardly try, “But there’s still a lot of ‘what-ifs’ that have to happen before that does. The probability of it happening is like, super low.” Jamie looks at you. “So, I wouldn’t worry about it until it does.”

That makes Jamie shake his head. “I’m not worried about it,” he nearly scoffs. You can’t help the way you look at him, eyebrows raised and calling him out on his bullshit. “I’m not!”

“Good,” you say, backing off from this type of conversation before it can start. The idea of getting into any type of argument makes you tense. “You don’t have to be.”

That seems to satisfy him. Momentarily. Because then he asks, “But if he does…” As he trails off, he meets your expectant eyes. “Could we… Could you help me out?”

The question gives you pause. “In what way? Giving you updates on where we are with Zava?”

“No,” he chuckles. “I mean, like… training me. One on one? Or even just giving me more notes in practice?”

The second he says training, your entire body freezes. He wanted to do one-on-one training sessions with you? Just the two of you? Alone? The last time someone you’d coached had asked you that…

Jamie’s expression contorts in confusion as he sees the look on your face. “I just thought that, like, we played the same position? And y’know, I’ve seen your film and I know what you do and… I think you’d be able to help me.”

You try to answer him but the words don’t come out. Your throat’s dry, jaw tight. However, luckily, before Jamie has time to fully panic about his questions, you crush them. “Uh, I’m—” Your voice cracks. “I’m not sure I’d be comfortable with that just yet.”

Your answer seems to surprise him, but you’re surprised by how quickly he backs off. He physically takes a step back, throwing his hands up. “Oh, yeah. Of course,” he says. “You just got here. Don’t really know us yet. Totally get it.”

You hadn’t expected that. The last time, you’d been fought. Begged. Coerced. You’re the only one who seems to get me, Coach. You just know how to teach me. C’mon.

But Jamie doesn’t do that. And you’re not sure what to do with that.

“I-I’m sorry,” you manage to get out. “Nothing against you, but I’m just—” You interrupt yourself with a new offer. “Maybe ask Roy?”

That Jamie actually scoffs at. “Right.”

“I’m serious,” you tell him. “He’s actually a pretty good trainer.”

“No, he’s uh…” Jamie swipes at his mouth as he laughs. “He’s not my biggest fan.”

His admission makes you laugh and relax for a moment. “Well, at least we’ve got that in common, Tartt.”

Jamie’s gaze snaps to yours at that, but his oncoming question is interrupted by a voice from the hallway. “The fuck are you two doing here so early?”

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Roy’s voice is a welcome one for the first time in eight years. Your eyes flash to him as he stands outside your shared office, glancing between the two of you in confusion.

“We both had trouble sleeping,” you respond. “Felt like being early for once.”

Jamie nods in agreement. “Was shootin’ a bit outside. Saw the light was on and wanted to say hi to Coach.”

Roy nods but says nothing to that. He just continues to stare at Jamie in that vaguely intimidating, wildly annoying way. Jamie’s brows raise before Roy says, “You’re in my fucking chair.”

Jamie rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Because you weren’t here. I was gonna get out when you got in.”

“Well, I’m in now,” Roy says. “So get out of my fucking chair.”

Jamie glances at you with a cheeky smile. “Grandad doesn’t like people in his chair.”

The corners of your lips twitch up. “Grandad doesn’t like a lot of things,” you reply, a strange sense of pride rising within you as Jamie’s grin widens.

“Grandad’s about to go out back out into the car park and drive through the facility if my chair’s not empty in three fucking seconds,” Roy grits.

You bite back a smile at the empty threat, watching as Jamie shakes his head and stands. “Easy there, geezer. I’m out. Going back to the pitch,” he tells you two, making his way out of the office. Before he leaves, he glances back at you. “And Coach? Don’t worry about what I said.”

You can feel Roy’s eyes on the side of your face as you give Jamie a small, grateful smile. But when he exits, it drops and you fail to hold back a heavy, shaky sigh. God, why the fuck can’t you do your fucking job? Why does this have to be so hard?

Less than a second of silence passes between you and Roy before he asks, “What did he say?”

You shake your head. “Nothing. Nothing important.”

Roy doesn’t take the hint. He’s never been good at that. “What did he say?” he repeats.

“He—” You slump into your desk chair, running a hand down your face. You know avoiding this is no use. He’ll ask until he gets it out of you, so you might as well get it over with. “He asked me for extra training.”

Roy’s brows shoot up. “You?”

You glare at him from behind your fingers. “I’m a fantastic coach.”

“I know you are. But there’s no way he could have known.”

Your glare only gets more intense as you drop your hands. The implication of his statement isn’t lost on you. No one knows anything about you because of how little you’ve spoken. You get that. But he doesn’t need to be a dick about it.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “I said no, so.”

“You said no?” He sounds incredulous. “Since when do you say no?”

“Since—” The words get caught in your throat again, and it tightens horribly. Since West Ham. Since you said no more times than you could count and it went ignored.

You shake your head like it’ll clear your thoughts. “I’m just not comfortable with it.”

Roy’s suspicious. In your experience, a suspicious Roy Kent is just about as bad as a deceitful Roy Kent. Every fucking move you make for the next week will be under scrutiny until he can pinpoint whatever he thinks is happening. The idea makes you want to take him up on his offer to drive through the facility.

His eyes stay on you, calculating stare never breaking. “Why?” he asks, as if he’s expecting a simple answer.

But it’s not simple. It’s so unbelievably, wildly, completely the opposite of simple.

But you give him a simple answer in return. It’s a bullshit answer, but it’s simple. “Boundaries,” you say. You’re out of your chair before he can respond to that. “I’m going to get more coffee.”

He says nothing as you exit, but you can feel his eyes on you.

LONDON OLYMPICS. (LATE JULY, 2012)

As it turns out, Roy Kent’s Olympic Boot Camp is wildly more effective and insanely more fun than you thought it ever could be.

The two of you had met up twice since the night of the Opening Ceremony, at the same field, typically at the late-night same time. Roy had continued to send Roger the Driver for you, something you’d taken gladly advantage of, especially with your limited knowledge of the London area. You’d actually grown to love Roger despite his rather talkative nature, and he’d clearly taken a liking to you.

(“Be kind to this one, Roy!” he’d yelled from the window as you’d exited his car. “The States need her much more than England needs you!”

“Fuck off, you old twat!”)

However, while these trainings had been way better than you’d expected, it’s also way fucking harder than you anticipated.

You knew Roy was good. He was an AFC star. A Chelsea legend in the making. He was as well known as he was for a reason, and it wasn’t just because he frequented a tabloid cover. Roy was good.

But you think you may have underestimated just how good he was.

And it wasn’t like you weren’t keeping up with him. You could go shot for shot with him, run the same length and duration, and score on him with the same type of precision. Of course, he had his things that he was better at than you were (as a midfielder, he was a smart, fucking brick wall of a defender and wasn’t afraid to push you around) and you had your strengths over him (you were quicker than he was and your striker nature made you better at anticipating him). But there were certain things he’d do in the midst of a 1v1 drill that you would have never thought of, or he’d stop a play to give you a direction that had never occurred to you.

(Or, it would have occurred to you, but just not as quickly.)

That, coupled with the fact that he liked to run these practices until your lungs gave out, made for an intensely more challenging but rewarding experience.

But you didn’t think of them as rewarding until they were over. Case in point, your current and third meeting with him. It was 1:30 in the morning at Mabley Green on the 2nd of August and here you were, growing more and more frustrated with the fact that you couldn’t get around Roy despite the aggressive amount of fakes and footwork you were throwing around. He’d been in your ear the entire time, somehow encouraging you while still being a shit, and when you thought you had him, he stuck out a leg to stop the ball, effectively tripping you in the process.

You hit the ground with an ‘oof,’ taking advantage of your new horizontal position to lie for a minute and catch your breath. Your chest heaved up and down and you stared up at the huge lights illuminating the field. You could hear Roy walking toward you as you threw your arm over your eyes in exhaustion.

“You’re a dick,” you told him. “That fucking hurt.”

Roy’s scoff was loud. “That was a fucking dive.”

“You tripped me!”

“Bit dramatic.”

An affronted sound left your lips and you put your other hand up in a way that resembled a phone. “I’ve got the kettle on the line right now if you’d like to tell it it’s black.”

You were surprised to hear him chuckle at this. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

Your eyes roll from behind your arm. “I’m serious,” you say. “All you boys act like you were shot the second someone marks you. It’s pathetic.”

“Refs miss shit. You gotta put on a show.”

“Is that show The O.C? Because I’m always expecting an auto-tuned ‘mmm, whatcha say’ to sound off each time one of you losers hits the ground.”

Roy’s standing above you now, looking down with a half-amused expression. “I don’t know what the fuck that means.” He’s talking again before you can explain. “Get up. We’re not finished yet.”

A loud, ugly groan escapes you. You still haven’t completely caught your breath. “I think I’m dying.”

“You’re fine. Get up.”

“I’m serious,” you say again. You finally remove your arm from over your eyes, squinting up at him. He’s as unamused as ever. “I think I’m dying and you killed me. I think if you tried to get me up right now, I’d collapse and stroke out or something.”

“And it would be a fucking loss for us all,” he replies dryly, earning a scowl from you. “I’ve got you for another thirty. We’re wasting time.”

You release another groan and squeeze your eyes shut once more. “Can I please just have, like, five minutes?” you plead. “Not all of us have this military-regimented training style that you seem to. I haven’t been this dialed in since college. Still trying to adjust here.”

(You’ve also never trained like this with someone as good as him before, but you keep that one to yourself. He doesn’t need the ego boost.)

You don’t hear anything in response for a moment. Confused, you open your eyes, expecting to find him still staring down at you with a frown, but he’s not there. Before you can rise to find him, a plastic water bottle lands right next to your head. You flinch in surprise, shooting up to glare at him.

Roy sits down across from you before you can complain. “Five minutes,” he agrees.

“Oh, thank God,” you mutter, opening up your water to take a long gulp. You glance at him. “Are all of your Boot Camps as intense as this?”

Roy rolls his eyes at your question. “I’m sure you’ve been to worse.”

“I have. But in like, high school. This shit’s got nothing on my two-week sleep-away soccer camp in Western Massachusetts.” You pause for a moment. “Or the one in North Carolina. That one sucked.”

He looks over at you. “Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. Six A.M. early training sessions into all-day drills and tournament game play? Followed by a lovely nine P.M. late-night training?” You shake your head. “Insane. And that early and late-night stuff? Totally optional.”

“But you still chose to do it,” he states, brows raised.

“I still chose to do it,” you repeat. “That, and my psycho coach would keep tabs on me to make sure I was going.” You chuckle despite yourself and shrug. “But I did it. Without complaint.”

“I see you picked up the complaining later in life.”

You make a face at the way he smirks. “I’d be a masochist if I didn’t complain about this,” you tell him, biting back a smile. “I assume you were born with that trait?”

“Just fucking about,” he mutters. At your inquisitive look, he shrugs. “Sunderland scouted me when I was nine. Training was pretty fucking rough until I went into the AFC.”

“I forgot you guys could start that stuff that young over here,” you say, taking another sip of your water. “Was that tough?”

“I kept up,” he answers. “They were hard on us but—”

“No,” you interrupt. “I meant like, doing that shit at nine. Being away from your family. Being on your own that young. Was that hard?”

With every reason you listed, you could see him stiffening. His expression became harder and you figured if he could push a button to put a wall between you two, he would. Your stomach sank as you tried to figure out if you’d said the wrong thing or pushed too far. Maybe that was a boundary he wasn’t willing to cross. Despite the amount you’d spoken these past three sessions, maybe you weren’t yet friendly enough to ask about his upbringing.

But then again, he barely talked about himself in any capacity, so maybe it wasn’t just that. Maybe it was everything.

He was quiet for a moment before he shook his head. “No,” he finally said, though the one word alone let you know the answer was the opposite. He glanced down at his watch. “Five minutes are up.”

And that conversation is over. Got it. No questions about his childhood. Understood.

Still, the dismissal catches you slightly off guard. “O-Oh,” you stammer. “Right. Okay.”

Roy said nothing else as he stood, making his way back to the end of the pitch. You suppose you should have expected that from someone like him. While he’d gotten better as a conversationalist as the days had passed, you still led the majority of the talking. And you were fine with that. You were a pretty open book yourself and often forgot that most people weren’t the same way. Maybe that was on you.

You sit for a moment, allowing him some distance before you stand. You throw your water bottle to the sideline and follow behind him, feeling a bit like a dog that just got scolded. But you quickly shake that feeling away as he stops where he left the ball and turns to you, kicking it in your direction.

You put your foot on it as you receive it and look at him expectantly. “I’m setting a timer for thirty seconds,” he tells you, starting to fiddle with his watch. “We’re staying in the box. If you don’t score on me within that time, you run a lap.”

Well, that just sounds like your own personal hell. You frown. “And if I do score?”

“You won’t,” Roy replies quickly, and you don’t know if you’ve ever heard him sound more sure.

“No, but when I do score?” you repeat, emphasizing the word to see him roll his eyes. “What happens? We subtract a lap?”

Roy shrugs. “Sure. But—”

“No,” you say, eyes lighting up. “You have to run.”

“I’m not the one being trained here.”

“Yeah, but I’ve got a match tomorrow. And if my legs like, give out on the field I’m totally blaming you.” You roll the ball against your cleat. “‘I’m sure that ‘Roy Kent being the reason America loses’ isn’t exactly the headline your PR team’s gonna want.”

“I don’t give a fuck about PR,” he replies.

Images of rather negative tabloid covers and online gossip articles starring the man before you start flashing through your head. “Clearly.”

“I just don’t want anyone knowing I’m fraternizing with a fucking Yank,” he finishes, a smirk tugging at his lips.

An overly fake and affronted gasp leaves your lips. “Fraternizing?” you parrot. “Is that what we’re doing?”

“Guess not,” he says. The smug expression intensifies. “Suppose I could tell them we’re training. Because the girl who’s supposed to be America’s fucking Ace needs it.”

That sparks a fire in you that you haven’t felt in a while. You can’t remember the last time someone challenged you like this. Sure, the women you played against would talk a fair amount of shit to you on and off the field, especially during a tight game when tensions were running high. But this was different. It was different hearing it from someone like him.

You’d never liked having to prove yourself. You knew it came with the territory of your chosen career path. You’d been doing it all your life. For every team you joined, every game you played, and every interview you gave, you’d been given an opportunity to prove yourself. And each time, you did. You were good at showing people up. But that didn’t mean you liked it.

You figured at some point people would just get the message. But unfortunately, that had never been the case.

So, as you look at Roy (who, by this point, knew he’d hit a nerve and had gotten the exact response he’d wanted), you know exactly what you’re going to do. You’re going to prove yourself and show him up like the rest.

With that settled, you nod at him. “Start the clock,” you say.

And as soon as he does, you’re on.

You attack without caution this time around. You’d never held back when practicing with Roy (mainly because he’d reprimand you if he felt you weren’t trying hard enough), but you also rarely had an edge to you like this. It’s new and aggressive and just a bit exciting.

Roy’s fucking ecstatic to see it. His chest meets your back as you attempt to pass him and you can feel him chuckling against it. “That’s it,” he says lowly. “Get around me. I fucking dare you.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, attempting a fake before moving to go the other way.

Said attempt ends up being less than successful as Roy fails to fall for it and kicks the ball out from beneath your foot. You swear under your breath, watching as it sails out of the box.

You’re close enough to him to still feel his chest moving up and down against your back, and his breath tickles your neck when he asks, “Is that seriously the best you’ve got?”

Your jaw clenches, but you refuse to look at him. “I’m gonna fucking destroy you.”

The certainty in your voice makes Roy grin, something you don’t see as you jog to retrieve the ball. The remnants of the smile stick around as you whip around to face him, commanding that he start the clock once more. The moment he does as he’s told, you’re coming at him again, nothing but determination to be seen in your expression.

This time, you’re quick. You anticipate his classic defensive stance, knowing that he’ll block your first shot. As soon as the ball bounces off his foot, you’re there for the rebound. You stop short, pulling back the moment he makes yet another move to take it from you, and he slips.

You easily score on him not a second later.

After watching the ball fly into the net, you glance over at Roy. While he doesn’t look thrilled to have been bested, he doesn’t look sad either. Again, it’s like there are remnants of a smile left to be seen.

“So,” you say. “Are we at zeroes for laps? Or one for one?”

Roy shakes his head. “One for one. Let’s keep fucking going.”

PRESENT DAY. (MID AUGUST, 2023)

It isn’t until the end of practice that you can feel it. How much Roy wants to fight with you.

It sounds stupid to phrase it like that, but it’s the only way. He’s pent up, a week into your ‘no fighting’ deal, and ready to burst. And while it’s worked (only because you two strictly talk about work and nothing else), now that he’s got something more personal to say, it’s like you’re waiting for an active volcano.

To be fair, your deal has worked in terms of not making a scene and not raising most people’s suspicions. But every other level, it’s been torturous. And right now? Roy’s ready to kill you.

He can’t, for the life of him, understand why you’re acting like this.

He knows you. You’re warm. You’re friendly. You have this innate ability to make everyone around you comfortable in your presence, an ability to talk to anyone and everyone and actually get through. All of these things, coupled with the fact that he could never shut you up, made you who you were; a great teammate and an even better coach.

(They were also all qualities Roy wished he had himself, which is why he was so fucking drawn to you in the first place, but that’s neither here nor there.)

He doesn’t know who this is. But he knows for a fact that these changes aren’t just because of time.

Roy’s breaking point, however, occurs toward the end of your Thursday practice. It’d been a good day, the boys showing more promise than ever. End-of-pre-season jitters (as Ted called them) were in full force and it was clear that the team couldn’t be more excited to get started with the season.

In your return back into the facility, Sam Obisanya trails back to fall into step with you with a wide smile on his face. He doesn’t miss the look of surprise you give him as he says, “I really liked what you said about passing around the box. I’ve been thinking that for all of pre-season, but did not know how to get it through to everyone.”

The point he’s referring to was one of the only things you’d said all afternoon. It was a quiet direction on your part, told more as a recommendation than an instruction. But Sam, Jamie, Colin, and Dani had taken it in stride, and it worked. Cleanly, too. You straight-up almost cried out of relief.

“Oh,” you say to him lamely, offering a small smile. “Thank you. You guys did great with it.”

Sam’s grin gets wider. “We all are going to eat after we’re done here,” he tells you. “You should join us.”

You can feel your stomach drop at the offer. You don’t want to turn him down. Poor Sam was trying so hard to make an effort with you and you feel completely awful giving him nothing in return.

But you just… can’t. Boundaries. Boundaries.

Sam gets his answer from the way your smile turns apologetic. “I wish I could,” you say, knowing that it’s the truth. “But, I, uh— I’ve actually got plans tonight.”

“You could just come for a drink?” he offers. “I’m only going for a little while myself. I have some things at the restaurant I need to do.”

Your heart clenches. “I really wish I could.”

Thankfully, Sam takes the hint. He nods at you, still smiling. You don’t think he’s ever stopped. “That’s alright,” he says. “Another time.”

You nod back. “Yeah. Another time.”

With that, Sam goes to catch up with his teammates and leaves you with an overwhelming amount of guilt on your shoulders.

He’s trying, you tell yourself. They all are. It’s different than West Ham. They’re not the same. Nobody on this team is like him—

You can feel yourself getting nauseous at the mere thought of him. It completely takes you out of the moment and your hands begin to shake back and forth as you attempt to continue walking, clenching your teeth as if that’ll rid your mind of him.

How strange it is to be haunted by someone who’s still living.

You’re already disoriented enough when you feel a hand grab your arm and yank you to the side. Your world spins for a moment and when it stabilizes, you realize you’re in the Boot Room staring at Roy Kent.

He slams the door shut and whirls around on you. “What the fuck are you doing?”

You do a full, cartoon-like double-blink at him. “What am I doing?” you ask him incredulously. “What are you doing? Why the hell did you pull me in here like that?”

“You don’t have plans tonight,” is what he replies with, like that’s a reasonable answer to your question.

“And how would you know that?” you question.

He gives you a look. “Because you fucking don’t.”

“I do,” you say, crossing your arms. Your mind scrambles to find some excuse that’s suitable. For whatever reason, you decide on, “I have a date.”

Roy’s brows rocket up. “Do you?”

You know he can see right through you, so you don’t even bother trying. “No,” you admit, watching him roll his eyes. “But I could have. You don’t know my schedule.”

Roy doesn’t seem to want to linger on this. “That’s the third fucking time one of them has invited you out since you got here,” he tells you, ignoring the way your eyes widen. “Why do you keep turning them down?”

“Why are you keeping track of that?” you shoot back.

“Because you’re being a fucking hermit.” As if he knows exactly what you’re going to say next, he holds out a hand. “And that’s my fucking job. That’s not who you are.”

His words make you deflate, and your arms get tighter over your chest. “I’m not being a hermit,” you mutter, looking away from him. “I’m just not trying to take work home with me. I don’t see anything wrong with keeping the two separate.”

Roy isn’t having it. “No, you’re not,” he says. “You’re not keeping the two separate. You’re shutting out every fucking person around you when you’re at work too.”

“That’s not true—”

“Did you or did you not refuse to train Jamie yesterday morning?” he snaps. Your silence answers his question for him. “It is fucking true. And even if it weren’t, unfortunately, that whole keeping-work-separate fucking bullshit doesn’t work here. Trust me. I tried.”

You scoff. “Well, that sounds like an HR issue.”

“Well, when Ted stops leaving fucking flowers for the HR women every week, I’m sure they’ll start to take your complaints seriously,” he tells you, and you sigh. Heavy. “Now, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

This question earns him a glare. “There’s nothing wrong with me,” you bite. “And if there were, it surely wouldn’t concern you.”

“Yes, it fucking does. You know why?” he asks. You stare at him expectantly. “Because last week, I remember someone telling me that if this was going to work, we have to tell each other things.”

Your own words come back to bite you in the ass and it makes your chest tighten. You scoff in an attempt to play it off, but that panic starts rising inside of you and throws everything off course. You know that it’s stupid, and you know that it’s Roy, and that despite it all, deep down, nothing bad would come from telling him… it’s still scary.

You didn’t want to talk about it and he didn’t deserve to know. Not yet, at least.

“Not this,” you say after a beat. Your voice sounds meek and it makes Roy’s brow scrunch. “I’ll talk to you about anything else you want, but not…” You interrupt yourself with a breath. “Not this.” Then, you utter a word you haven't said in eight years. "Foxtrot."

It’s then that Roy’s expression turns from confused to shocked. His lips part in surprise, like he can’t believe that just left your mouth. And then he looks at you. Like, really looks at you. It almost intimidates you in a way, and it would intimidate you more if you didn’t know this look of his. Not only is he evaluating you, you can tell he’s holding something back.

You’d said the word. Pulled that thing out of the trenches and threw it in his face. But he's still staring at you, determined to figure out exactly how to approach this situation. Attempting to figure out if he should say something.

Because, unfortunately, as well as you know Roy, he knows you better. And he knows how to get through to you.

(And it’s fucking irritating.)

He, in fact, does choose to say something. And it’s not what you’re expecting. Because before he says in, he reaches into his pocket for his wallet, filing through it.

Your mouth parts in question. “Are you trying to bribe me into—”

“Shut up,” he mutters, and you do so until he seems to find what he’s looking for. He holds out a slip of paper-- something that appears to be a newspaper clipping from ages ago. “Here.”

You blink at it. “What is that?”

“Just fucking—” Roy sighs, adjusting his grip on the page. “Read it.”

Hesitantly, you reach out to grab it. Your fingers brush his when you take it, and the action alone makes the two of you glance at each other. You look away as you unfold the paper, quickly scanning it.

Newcomer Roy Kent is an over-hyped, so-called prodigy whose unbridled rage and mediocre talent rendered his Premier League debut a profound disappointment.

Your gaze shifts up at him knowingly. Roy can’t help but notice that most of the anger has slipped from your face. “Crimm?”

Roy nods once. “Crimm.”

“Was this your first game?” you ask, and when he nods again, things start to make a little more sense. You sigh, shoulders slumping. “You were seventeen.”

“I was seventeen,” he repeats, reaching out to take the clipping back from you. He only seems marginally surprised that you remembered that. “I was fucking seventeen years old and fucking debilitated by how nervous I was. I didn’t sleep for days before the game and then I went out there, I fucking survived it, and then read that shit. Didn’t sleep for days after it.” He shakes his head. “And then that prick fucking waltzes in here with his notepad and his stupid fucking hair like he didn’t fucking destroy me and wants to write a book about my team? Not a fucking chance.”

The outburst makes you stare at Roy in shock. He’d never mentioned anything like this to you. By the way he spoke of his earlier AFC days at Sunderland, you’d always assumed that it was smooth sailing. That while his career didn’t really take off until he joined Chelsea, he didn’t hold any resentment for anything that had happened. And while this may have seemed insignificant in the grand scheme of things, especially looking back at his career and other things people had said about him, this was Roy. Of course, he’d hold on to something like this.

“So, yeah,” he says, shifting uncomfortably under your gaze. “That’s why I won’t talk to Crimm. I don’t give a shit if you don’t get it, but that’s why.” He motions to you. “I showed you mine, so you show me yours, or whatever the fuck. That's how the counter-Foxtrot works, right?”

You do get it. You understand it better than anyone. But more importantly, you understand why he’d hold on to that. Roy, who could hold a grudge almost as well as you could. Roy, who hated the media and press and the world knowing shit about him more than anyone you knew. Roy, who felt and internalized things so deeply that he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

It’s the first thing he’s clued you in on in years. Even if it was vague and minimal, he told you. And you know how much he didn’t want to. That’s good enough for you to allow yourself to clue him in too.

(God, he really does know how to get through, huh?)

You blink away from him, gaze focused on the door. “I just…” You clear your throat, throwing a hand up pathetically. “I don’t get why they want to get to know me so bad.”

“Because they’re good fucking lads,” he responds.

“I know. And it’s pissing me off,” you mutter. Your arms are still crossed and right now, that feels like the only thing that’s protecting you. The weight is comforting. “I know it sounds ungrateful and dumb and it doesn’t make sense, but I just wish they’d…”

“...Fuck off?”

“Yeah,” you huff. “That.”

Roy’s head tilts. “Why?”

You don’t want to tell him. You know how stupid he’ll think it is, you know you’ll get told you’re an idiot. But he’s already told you something. In your world of deals, that means something. And your words return again to taunt you.

If this is gonna work, you have to tell me things, okay?

Your eyes shut and a shaky breath escapes your lips. It all comes out at once, like you’re trying to exterminate them. “Because the last time I got to know the team, I got fired,” you tell him, and his entire demeanor shifts. “And I can’t do that again. That can’t happen again. So, if that means I have to be distant and a bit unfriendly, then so be it.”

The inquisitive look he wore vanished entirely, replaced with something harder and much more serious. “What do you mean?”

You can feel your skin start to crawl. Your shirt suddenly doesn’t feel right on your body. It’s too hot in this small Boot Room and it’s all suddenly too much. “N-Nothing,” you say, chest tightening. “It doesn’t matter. You asked for the reason, and I gave it to you. That’s why I’m being weird.”

Roy’s not buying it. He’s seen all your signs and he knows there’s more to this than you’re letting on. You can tell he’s battling whether or not to press forward, and if so, how to do so. Your eyes are pleading for him to drop it.

“It wasn’t leadership differences,” he decides to land on. He says it like he’s always known. Like it may be confirming another suspicion. But it’s vague enough that you’re okay with it.

You chuckle, but there’s no humor in it. “No,” you say. “Not exactly.”

Roy nods, silence filling the room. He’s still staring at you and you’re starting to think he won’t ever stop. You notice the sliver of anger in his eyes but see it’s more subdued than usual. It’s not directed at you. It’s like he’s filing it away for later.

He speaks a moment later. “Whatever happened there,” he begins, voice low. “It won’t happen here. It would never happen here.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “I’m starting to get that,” you answer honestly. “But it’s still hard.”

“I know.” Roy says, and the way he nods tells you that he does know. His mouth opens, wanting to say more, but it doesn’t come out immediately. “Just…” His eyes cast up to the ceiling. “If anything, just fucking… speak up in practice more. You’re their coach now. If you don’t want to get fucking personal with them, at least get to know them on the field.”

“I know them on the field,” you reply, because you do. You know your new players inside and out. You’ve studied them. You know their strengths, their weaknesses, what makes them tick. You know what works. “I do.”

“I know that,” is Roy’s immediate response, just like this morning. He points to the door. “But they fucking don’t. And they won’t know it until you fucking show them.”

This time, you look away from him because you know he’s right. A decade ago, Roy was just about fifty-fifty when it came to right and wrong, but now? He was consistently on target. You’re not sure which switch flipped in him or when, but goddamn, was it maddening.

You ask him such as you huff in annoyance. “Since when are you right all the fucking time?”

Roy’s clearly not expecting that, and it’s evident by the way he barks out a laugh. But, he figures, if you’re going to be nice, he supposes he will too.

“You were gone,” he replies with a chuckle. “Figured I had to pick up the slack.”

Involuntarily, your eyes go soft at his words. They’re kind and truthful and genuinely civil. It’s only for a moment, but Roy picks up on it in an instant. It makes the tiny, less resentful piece of him want to make it happen again, but he tells that piece of him to shut the fuck up.

He watches you as you sigh, shutting your eyes as if you’re readjusting. “Okay,” you finally say. “I’ll be better. I’ll… actually do my job, I guess.”

“About fucking time,” Roy mutters, though it’s slightly encouraging.

“But,” you continue, “I can’t… I can’t train Jamie. I can’t do one-on-one. That’s my non-negotiable.”

Roy wants to ask why. He wants to understand. He knows he’d be shit at helping you through it, but he just wants to get it. However, the look on your face keeps him from saying what he wants to. So, instead, he simply nods. “Okay.”

The relief you feel is written across your face. “Okay,” you agree. Then, you add, “I, uh, did tell him to ask you, though.”

Roy’s expression goes blanker than usual. “You fucking what?”

“You’re a good one-on-one trainer,” you offer, voice going up an octave. “I’m, like, your top reference.”

“Yeah, but you’re you,” Roy responds. “I can work with you. Not Jamie Tartt.”

You shrug. “What’s the difference?”

“Jamie Tartt is a fucking prick,” he states, as if it’s obvious. “You’re infuriating. And annoying. And a fucking headache. But he’s all those things on top of being a fucking prick.”

Your lips part at this, squinting at Roy. “I’m sorry, and you wanted me to train him?”

Roy doesn’t acknowledge your comment. “I’m not fucking training him.”

“I’m not saying you have to,” you respond, raising your hands in surrender. “I’m just letting you know that I passed him off to you.”

“Appreciate it. I’ll tell him to fuck off.”

“Glad you have a game plan.” While those words were lilted with annoyance, your next are a bit softer. “He… seemed a bit worried about Zava.”

Roy’s brow draws slightly. “Zava?”

“He tried to play it off,” you explain, “but he wasn’t subtle. Jamie’s obviously used to being the best on the team. I’m not sure he’s loving the competition.”

“The twat will get over it,” Roy says. “Sometimes you’re the best on the field, sometimes you’re not. That’s fucking life.”

You shoot him a look. “I don’t think he shakes things off like that. He’s not like you and me where we either don’t care or immediately use that type of shit for motivation.” Your eyes cast up to the ceiling as you speak, spilling out every thought you’ve had since Jamie came to you. “Guys like him, they need that reassurance. That ego needs to be healed when it’s been shot down, and then they’re finally ready to get motivated…” You trail off as soon as you see the way Roy’s looking at you. Head-tilted and slightly satisfied. “What?”

“Nothing,” he replies with a shrug. There’s a ghost of a smile on his face. “It’s just nice to get to see you finally fucking coaching.”

Warmth rises up your neck. It’s a mixture of embarrassment, being called out, and something else. The feeling makes you itch and in an attempt to shake it off, you shrug. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

There’s a brief moment of silence and for a second, you think he’s going to make you sit in this air. However, he seems to take pity on you. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

It’s a soft agreement, one that you weren’t sure you were going to get. But it takes a bit of the weight off nonetheless. “Thank you.”

“He’s still a prick,” he adds, like he can’t help himself.

You nod in faux assurance. “Sure, Grandad.”

Roy casts his eyes to the ceiling. “Fuck’s sake, not you too.”

You can’t help it. You laugh. For the first time in eight years, Roy sees you laugh. It’s quiet. Light, even. But it’s lovely. It’s sweet. Roy can’t believe he’d allowed himself to go so long without hearing it.

Yet another silence passes between you two. Maybe it’s to savor the moment. Maybe it’s to remember. Perhaps it’s both. Perhaps it’s neither.

Whatever it is, it suddenly feels way too comfortable. There’s a split second where you’re back in 2015, just before everything went to shit. And that can’t happen. You can’t allow that to happen.

However, before you can move past that, Roy just has to catch you off guard. “So, you’ll start fucking coaching and I’ll… consider training with him.” He says the words like they take effort. And then, he looks at you and completely throws you off. “Should we shake on it?”

The words are hesitant and you know why. You have to refrain from taking a step back from him simply because of the weight that they carry. All you can do is stare at his outstretched hand. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say his hands were shaking.

But, you snap yourself out of it, and when you meet him in the middle, you’re certain yours are.

He holds eye contact with you as you make the agreement, hands grasped around each others with the intention of a promise. It’s too real. Too familiar. Too… much.

So, before you can freak out in front of him, you cut it short with a nod and remove your hand from his. You glance out the window of the Boot Room door to see the team pass by, all packed up and ready for their outing. One you know you should be joining, but just aren’t there yet.

When you turn back to him, the small smile on your face is tight. But you’re truthful when you say, “Thank you.”

Roy doesn’t need to ask what for. He knows. Of course he does.

But luckily for you, he seems to be on the same page, blinking at you like he’s pulling himself out of some self-induced trance. “Right.” He awkwardly returns your nod, avoiding eye contact as he heads for the door. “Don’t make me say any of that shit again.”

And, as soon as the door shuts behind him, you’re finally left with more answers than questions about your place at Richmond for the first time all week.

(The same can’t be said for your questions about Roy. But, you figure, what else is new?)

PRESENT DAY. (MID-BOOT ROOM FIGHT WITH ROY KENT, 2023)

If you hadn’t been so consumed by your conversation with one of your fellow coaches, you would have noticed the other two watching you from the window. And as for questions, they had many.

The first is asked by Ted, approximately one minute after he and Beard had stationed themselves outside of the door. “Should we break it up?”

Beard shook his head slowly. “They’ve been tiptoeing around this one since she started,” he replied. “We break this up now, you might lose an arm.”

Ted shifted back on his heels. “You don’t think we can get them to hug it out, do you?”

“That’d be the reason you lose the arm, pal.”

“Yeah, Roy’s not much of a hugger, is he?” The silence that passed between them spoke as an agreement. The two watched as you crossed your arms over your chest, rolling your eyes as Roy seemed to reprimand you. “Do you think this thing between them goes deeper than he let on?”

Beard’s response was immediate. “Oh, yeah. Way deeper.”

“Did we sign ourselves up for something crazy? Something we can’t handle?”

“Oh, yeah,” Beard repeated. Then, he shook his head. “But nothing we can’t handle.”

“Well, then, what do we do?” Ted asked. “Because we can’t have them ‘fine, fine’-ing each other like they’re Sam and Diane all season. The kids ain’t fine, fine, Coach.”

Ted turned to his friend, who’d gone quiet. He followed his sightline to the corner of the Boot Room where Will was hiding, looking as though he were praying to any God who would listen that the two of you wouldn’t notice him.

Pity overtook both of their expressions. “I…” Beard drew out, brow furrowing as he watches Roy pull out his wallet. “...may have an idea.”

When Beard did look over at Ted, there was an excited look in his eye and a wide smile threatening to break out. “I know that voice,” he said. “Am I thinkin’ what you’re thinking?”

“Parent Trap ‘em?” he asked.

Ted grinned. “We really should go on The Newlywed Game.”

“It wouldn’t be fair. We’d sweep.”

LONDON OLYMPICS. (LATE JULY, 2012)

It’s nearly three in the morning when Roy tells you that your next rally will be your last for the night.

To say you’re thankful would be an understatement. Your lungs are screaming at you and have been for the last fifteen minutes. You can feel the early signs of shin splints with every move you make, and you already know you’re going to wake up tomorrow morning with a ridiculous amount of pain in your hamstrings.

But you didn’t care. That didn’t matter. What mattered was getting your newfound training companion to shut the fuck up. And the only way to do that was to beat him in this little game he created to a pulp.

It was tragically ironic to find that Roy Kent, a man who was typically of so few words, couldn’t seem to keep quiet when he was playing against you. He had a special sort of talent for getting under your skin, somehow saying the exact thing that would press a specific button that you didn’t even know you had. He was frustrating. Infuriating, even. And there was no shot in hell you were losing to this jackass, especially when you’d managed to tie the score.

(But you’d be lying if you said that you weren’t having at least a little bit of fun.)

However, the relief on your face at his declaration is palpable, and your expression makes Roy raise his brows. “Don’t tell me you’re fucking tired,” he says. “We’ve still got laps to run.”

You throw your head back with an exaggerated groan. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I know,” you say. “Can we just go so I can beat you and leave?”

Roy’s head tilts. “You’re confident for someone who looks like she’s gonna drop fucking dead.”

“Like you look any better,” you shoot back, eying the grass and dirt that had stained his legs.

To be fair, you hadn’t lied. Roy didn’t look any better than you did. He was just as roughed up, if not more. There was a sense of pride in that, knowing that he’d had to try as hard to beat you as you did for him. You felt equal. This game had never been equal before.

He seems to know this too. “Well, fucking get on with it then.”

The ball’s at your feet, and you stare down at it as you try to plan how you’re going to attack. What haven’t you done yet? What won’t he be expecting? How can you ensure that--

“Don’t fucking think about it,” you hear him say. When you look up at him in annoyance, he shakes his head. “Just fucking do it.”

But you can’t not think about it. Thinking is what you do. It’s how you stay ahead, it’s how you’ve beaten him in this little game before, it’s how you’re going to beat him now.

But now you’re frustrated. You wanted to get this over with and prove him wrong and show him up. You’re so sick of hearing him say that and you kick the ball out in front of you to shut him up. And suddenly, you’re playing.

He’s guarding you before you know it. You cut the ball to your left, kicking it through his legs as he tries to meet you. You push your elbow against his chest as you chase down the ball, gritting your teeth when you feel him whip around to recover from his misstep. His chest presses against your shoulder, repeatedly bumping into you each time he works to get the ball from you.

“Come on, Fourteen,” he chides in your ear. “Finish me off like you said you would.”

You shove your shoulder into him again. It’s more forceful this time and the soft sound he makes in response feels like a victory. He drops back to follow you to the goal, which gives you the space you need to maneuver your body into a more comfortable position.

You’re just outside the box, but you know that whatever move you make next, he’s going to be there to block it. You know his tricks. You’re on track to figuring out how his mind works on the field. Maybe you can outsmart him. Rely on your footwork to psych him out and—

Roy then seems to see you thinking. And he chooses that time to attack. So, footwork it is.

As he nears you, you roll the ball in the opposite direction, keeping an eye on him in your peripheral. Your foot pulls the ball back in a V, then you move it forward to creep into the box.

He’s still in front of you. While you were quicker, Roy was never one to give up. It was what made him so great on the pitch and so annoying to play against. An idea then sparks: if you can get him to bite, get him close enough to you, you can chop the ball to get him off balance, then spin to get a better angle on the goal.

So, you do exactly that. Or, at least try to.

You swear he can see in your head. That he can read your mind and every thought that crosses it. Because while you do catch him slightly off guard, he recovers the second you try to spin. He’s behind you and before you know it, you’re the one caught off balance. He kicks the ball away from you and out of the box, leaving you to fall on your ass and stain the backs of your thighs.

Fuck. Fuck.

You’re on your back again for the second time today, eyes screwed shut in frustration and disappointment. How had he done it? You swore that was going to work. It’d worked millions of times before, how could it possibly have gone wrong now?

There’s a piece of you that wants to cry. That frustration, that exhaustion, that need to prove yourself had all come crashing down onto your chest, and here you were, in the same place you were before the drill had started.

You don’t even want to look at him. You’re almost too embarrassed to do so. You know that it’s all a part of your deal, that you’re supposed to fail and get better with him, but it’s still a kick in the teeth to end a session like this with a loss.

You’re able to feel Roy’s presence before you hear him. “Get up,” he tells you.

A loud, shaky sigh escapes you. “I need a second before you run me into the ground, Coach.”

If he notices how your voice wavers, he doesn’t say anything. “Not your coach,” he replies, though he’s speaking softer. “But I’m not running you either.”

You crack an eye open. “Really?”

“C’mon,” he says, holding his hand out for you to take. “Up.”

You stare at his hand for a moment, then cast your eyes up to the starless sky with another heavy sigh. Then, you begrudgingly take his hand, allowing him to yank you up with a strength you’re not expecting.

His hand lingers in yours as you get your bearings. It’s rough and just a bit clammy, but you can’t imagine yours are any better. You’re not looking at him when you remove your hand from his, but find his eyes when he taps your shoulder.

“C’mon,” Roy repeats. He nods over to the track around the field. “Let’s go.”

“I thought we weren’t running,” you mutter.

He glances at you from over his shoulder. “We’re not fucking running,” he responds. “But you need a cool down. Stop your fucking whining and walk with me.”

A scowl appears on your lips at his words, but you relent and follow him. “Fine.”

It’s quiet between you two, giving you a moment to catch your breath and think about what just happened. While you’re thankful that you don’t have to do your laps, so still can’t believe you lost. Yes, it’s just practice, and yes, it doesn’t mean anything, but it’s still… it’s the principal of it. You’ve never been a good loser. You’ve never—

“We need to work on your footwork,” Roy says abruptly, interrupting your train of thought. You glance over at him. “It’s your biggest weakness besides your overthinking.”

A frown pulls at your lips. “My footwork is fine.”

“Yeah. Exactly. It’s fine,” he agrees. “And that’s the fucking problem. Nobody out there can fucking catch you, so you’ve never had to worry about it. But the second you get tighter and more concise…” He shakes his head. “Pair all that with your unpredictability and fucking annoying defense, you’ll blow them all out of the fucking water.”

Pride bubbles in your stomach and rises to your chest. You know that you’re good. And you know that he thinks you’re good. He wouldn’t have taken a chance on you if he hadn’t. But it’s still validating to hear. Especially from him.

But still, you can’t help yourself; “I’m not annoying.”

Roy scoffs, but you can tell he’s biting back a smile. “You are. You’re like a fucking gnat.”

“I am not a gnat,” you gasp.

“You are. Fucking buzzing in my ear and shit.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being aggressive. You’d know something about that, hypocrite.” When Roy huffs a laugh and shakes his head, you bat him on the arm. “I’m serious. When I crossed you up and hit that corner goal toward the end?” You blow an exaggerated breath and raise your brows at him. “I haven’t seen you that mad since that Arsenal game in like, 2007.”

His response to your jab isn’t what you expected. While you’d anticipated a classic eye roll, a reaction of his that you’d become very familiar with, you get a look of intrigue. “You watched that game?”

“Of course I did,” you respond. Your lips tug into a smile. “I’m a huge Arsenal fan.”

Then you get the eye roll. “You must have been fucking distraught to see your team lose.”

“It was heartbreaking,” you say. “It was fun to see you get thrown out, though.”

“That was a fucking bullshit call,” he scoffs.

“You almost broke Lewis Fox’s leg. And then tried to fight him from the ground.”

“Exactly. Fucking bullshit,” he says. “It shouldn’t count when he’s a prick.”

You allow for a beat of reflection before you respond. “Yeah, he really is a prick, isn’t he?”

That gets you something you haven’t seen from him yet. A smile. A real one, where you can see teeth and all. It’s jarring. And suddenly the pride you felt from his compliments is nothing compared to the feeling you get from this.

It grows as Roy carries on. “The fucking King of them.”

“Prince,” you say in disagreement. “He’s too much of a jackass to honor with a King title. Prince Prick. Duke of Prickland. Court Jester. Whatever.”

“Court Jester?”

“Absolutely,” you reply. “He’d look good in the stupid little hat, too. Would hide the fact that he’s balding.”

Roy barks out a laugh. “He’s going fucking mental over that.”

“I can imagine.” Teasingly, you add, “I guess that’s the one thing you’ve got over him.”

“My hair?”

“Yeah. You’ve got enough to share with him.”

Roy shakes his head again, smile refusing to fade. “Well, thank fucking God it’s something important.”

“Hey, football skills are forever. Hair starts to fade when you hit twenty-five.” You shrug and return his grin. “I’d say you’re winning this one, Kent.”

A labored sigh leaves Roy, like he can’t believe he’s having this type of conversation with you. Frankly, you can’t believe you’re talking like this with him. You’re talking like… friends. It’s strange. Especially after he completely shut you down when talking before.

That thought sinks deep into your mind and you know it won’t go away until you address it. Huh. Maybe he’s right. Maybe you do overthink.

Before you can question that further, you’re speaking. “Hey. I—” You awkwardly cut yourself off as his gaze returns to you. “I just… I wanted to say that I’m sorry if I like, overstepped a boundary back there.” He continues to look at you in response, cueing you to elaborate. “Asking about Sunderland. Leaving your family. That.”

The second you say ‘Sunderland,’ he looks away from you. You grit your teeth as you refrain from cringing, hoping you didn’t ruin what was almost a normal, nice, and friendly moment. That anxiety makes you talk more.

“You don’t owe me any answers, or anything. We can keep this professional and talk about soccer and how much we both hate Lewis Fox only.” Roy still hasn’t looked at you. “You don’t have to talk to me at all, if you don’t want to. I’m just… pretty open. And I forget that other people aren’t the same way. So…” You trail off, fiddling with your fingers. “I’m sorry.”

He’s quiet for approximately ten seconds. Each feels like agony as you rot in the awkwardness of the silence. Then, he says, “Don’t… fucking apologize for trying to get to know me.”

Well, that’s not what you were expecting at all. “O-Oh.”

“I’m fucking obviously going to talk to you,” he continues, in a way that makes it sound like he’s choosing his words carefully. “But there’s just certain things that I… really fucking hate talking about. And that was one of them.”

You’re nodding before he’ss finished speaking. “Completely understandable.”

Roy looks over at you cautiously. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree. “Like I said, I’m not entitled to anything. You just let me know when I’ve crossed a line or something.” Your eyes light up in a way that Roy refuses to find endearing. “We can have a codeword or something.”

“A codeword?” he asks wearily.

“Yes, Roy. A codeword.” You stop him in the middle of the track. “Okay, Kent Rule number one. If either of us—”

“What the fuck is a Kent Rule?”

“If either of us,” you repeat, “don’t want to talk about something, we say…” Your eyes scan the field. “Goalpost.”

Roy blinks at you. “That’s a stupid fucking codeword.”

“Okay, you don’t get to shit on my idea and then shit on my codeword, dick,” you say, ignoring the tiny smile that’s growing on his face. “Let me hear yours.”

His eyes scan you up and down. “Gnat.”

“Oh, look who’s fucking annoying now.”

“I think that’s a great one.”

“I think I’m back on Lewis Fox’s side now,” you mutter. Before Roy can roll his eyes, you point at him in excitement. “Fox! That’s our codeword.” Then, you interrupt yourself, by throwing both your hands out. “Wait. Foxtrot. That sounds so much more legit.”

Roy’s had only gotten blanker as you spoke. “I think you should be institutionalized.”

“Kent Rule number one,” you say, ignoring him. “If you don’t want to talk about something, say Foxtrot. We move on, no questions asked.”

“Great.”

“But,” you continue, “you only get one Foxtrot a day.”

“Only fucking one?” he asks.

“Why are you saying it like that?”

“Because you ask a lot of fucking questions.”

You huff. “Fine. No one-a-day rule. But use them sparingly.”

“Can I Foxtrot this conversation?” Roy questions.

You don’t give him the reaction he clearly desires. “Look at you, you’re getting the hang of it!” you cheer, clapping him on the shoulder. “So, does Kent agree to the Kent Rule?”

You receive yet another exasperated shake of the head. “Fucking fine. Yeah. I agree.”

“Wonderful,” you reply, sticking your hand out to him. When he looks down at it, you wiggle your fingers. “We have to shake on it.”

“What?”

“Because it’s not a real agreement if we don’t shake on it,” you answer, as if it’s obvious. “Duh.”

Roy stares at your hand, then at you, and then back at your hand. After a ridiculous amount of time, his shoulders slump in defeat. His hand meets yours and when it does, you beam.

“Institutionalized,” he tells you as you two shake. “I’m fucking serious.”

“And risk your life being way less exciting without me in it?” You put a hand over your heart. “You’d miss me too much.”

And when you grin at him, there’s a piece of Roy that already knows that there might just be a sliver of truth in that.

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