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upsidedownwithsteve · 8 months

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Simmer #6

CH6. Spilled Milk | The Menu [4.3K] Eddie Munson x shy fem!reader: a line cook au.

The diner was busy.

Too busy. In fact, it was chaotic. An unusual brunch time rush on the hottest Saturday in August. The first in the month and the official marking of your two month birthday at Jim’s Grill. Not that it mattered, no one was able to celebrate it, not even yourself.

A greyhound and a private coach had pulled into the parking lot within ten minutes of each other, tourists pouring out of them in big families, clusters of hikers, campers and back water town enthusiasts ready to order everything from the menu. Jim had lit up at the sight, the bell above the diner door jingling over and over and over again, before the man looked at Eddie through the hatch and his face fell into a panicked expression.

“Shit.”

Steve was already smiling until his cheeks ached, his customer service voice ringing out through the din of the crowd as he tried his best to get everyone seated, him and Jonathan pushing tables together to cater for the family that arrived with seven kids in tow.

Jim was on the phone in his office, barking out orders before they turned into pleas, the garish orange receiver clutched between two hands before he closed his eyes, mouthed a prayer and then pumped his fist in the air. Twenty minutes later, Dustin Henderson was storming through the diner with two other teens trailing behind him, looking far more begrudging about whatever they’d obviously been roped into.

Hopper handed them aprons and promised, “cash in hand at the end of the night and an extra twenty if you get through this without breaking anything.”

A deal was made and soon, a red headed girl called Max Mayfield was flying between tables on bright green roller skates, bussing tables with a bored expression on her freckled face. Behind her, Jonathan’s little brother Will was delivering trays of drinks, narrowly avoiding Dustin as he brought Eddie’s famous stacked burgers out by the dozen.

It was chaos. It was too warm, and god, it was so loud. But fuck, the tips were great. Your apron was stuffed with bills and order tickets, your fingertips red from the amount of times you’d caught them between the metal clips you hung them from above Eddie’s station. It was too busy to talk, to chat and flirt quietly in this new way you’d both grown brave enough to do. The boy was frazzled, side by side with Argyle by the grill as the flipped patties and fried eggs and bacon, a new batch of rolls dangerously close to burning in the oven. The timer was screaming, something else was buzzing, the workstations were the messiest you’d ever seen them and there was a puddle of spilled milk by the door.

“Door! Behind!” You yelled out amongst the noise, eyes wide at the orders sitting by the hatch still to be delivered. Nancy and Robin were taking plates six at a time, hands and arms full, their balance nothing short of impressive. “Eddie, sorry, but table six wanted extra hash browns with their brunch combo not an egg—”

You didn’t get to finish your sentence before Eddie was taking the plate from you and sliding the perfectly fried egg into the trash. He barely looked at you, something you tried not to frown at because his mouth was set in a strained line and there were beads of sweat gathering at curls on his forehead. “Argyle, time on those hash browns?” Eddie barked, eyes still on the burgers he was placing cheddar slices on top of.

Argyle was scraping crispy potato pieces around the griddle, salt and pepper and some other spices poured on top as he worked at breakneck speed. “Three minutes, chef,” Argyle called back and Eddie grunted in return.

You felt stupid, standing there aimlessly with a customer's plate in your hand and before you could get out of the way, Eddie was moving you himself. Big, wide hands on the tops of your arms, guiding you out of the path of the door just before Steve burst through it. He narrowly missed the spilled milk.

“Door!” He yelled a fraction later than he should’ve. Eddie glared at him. “Corner! Fuck, where’s the fucking syrups? Eddie? Ed! Where’s the syrup!”

You watched Eddie squeeze his eyes shut before he groaned, killing the heat on the grill just as Argyle appeared at your side to slide the freshly cooked hash browns onto the plate. You smiled, grateful. “Thank you.”

“Open your fuckin’ eyes, man! They’re on the shelf!” Eddie was furiously wiping his hands on his stained chef whites, a dish towel tucked into the ties of his apron as he started assembling burger after burger.

Bun. Sauce. Patty. Cheese. Bacon. More sauce. Lettuce. Pickles. Tomato. Fried egg. Perfect yolk. Crispy onions. More sauce. Bun.

“What shelf?!” Steve yelled back, the pantry contents rattling as he pushed his way past huge bags of sugar and jars of homemade jam. “Eddie, it’s not fucking there!”

Robin barged in the door, not announcing her arrival to anyone and the edge of it slammed Argyle as he walked past carrying piles of grease filled frying pans. “Oh shit, I’m so sorry dude!” Eddie glared at her. “Door?” She said weakly.

“Why is everyone in my fuckin’ kitchen!” Eddie yelled and diners closest to the hatch peered in at him, disapproving expressions on their faces as their kids with ketchup smeared chins laughed. “Buckley! What is it?”

“There’s like, seven tables asking for maple syrup. Where is it?”

Everyone groaned, eyes rolling and Eddie threw his hands to the ceiling. “It’s on the fuckin’ shelf, but Harrington is too blind to see them. Christ, Argyle, start getting these burgers out, Harrington fuckin’ move man—”

It all happened a bit too fast, that’s all. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, not really. Just a classic case of spilled milk. No need to cry over it, right? That’s what they said.

Argyle dumped the pans into the sink with a crash, slipping between you and Eddie’s workstation as he tried to get to the burgers before they went cold. Eddie was pushing past Robin to get to Steve who was still arguing and well, Robin might’ve stepped forward at the same time you stepped back to avoid Argyle. Plateful of hash browns held high, you tried to stop them from falling. You tried not to elbow Argyle in the face and god, you tried really hard not to completely crash into Robin despite the way her shoulder caught yours.

You stepped back again, someone yelled ‘door!’ and the sound of Max’s roller blades ripped through onto the kitchen tiles, sending everyone into a loud panic. Your foot found the puddle of milk, sneakers slipping through the liquid and the inevitable happened.

There was an awful crack when your head hit the worktop on the way down. Ass hitting the tiles, a horrible spine numbing pain licking up your back. The bones in your hips tingled with it before tears sprung to your eyes as a searing pain set in everywhere at once. You heard the kitchen go quiet for just a second, a blissful peace before the plate you’d been holding finally joined you on the floor and smashed into a hundred different pieces. Argyle’s perfectly crispy hash browns skittered under the workstation and you heard someone swear.

Then everyone was clamouring at once, hands hesitated to touch you as you brought your own to the back of your head and held it there. There was a strange kind of heat to it that made you hope it wasn’t blood, but you were too scared to look. Milk seeped into your wrinkled sock, your legs splayed out in front of you like a forgotten doll, but you didn’t feel half as pretty as one. You gazed mournfully at the smashed plate and couldn’t help the way your bottom lip twisted and trembled. God, your head hurt.

“Oh my god, are you okay?”

“I’m sorry, shit— I’m sorry, I should’ve said I was coming in, right?”

“It’s fine Max, it’s not your fault—”

“How many fingers am I holding up? Can you stand? Hey, who’s the president—?”

“Lil’ Chicago slice got laid out.”

“Everyone move.”

Eddie’s voice rang out the loudest, clear and gruff with an authoritative tone that bordered on scary. Everyone listened, the kitchen and its team quietening down again when they all saw how you winced at the noise. Eddie pushed past Steve, and Robin, dropping down to hunker next to you. His brows were stitched together with concern and he tutted softly at the tear slipping down your cheek. You hadn’t even noticed, but his thumb brushed it away before anyone else could see.

He murmured your name and it sounded like a question you were supposed to answer, so you hummed, face scrunched up as more sharp needles of pain prickled at the back of your skull. Your hand was still pressed to it, scared to let go as if your whole head would simply roll off of your neck.

But Eddie’s hand curled around your wrist and he tugged gently, murmuring words of nonsense that were nothing more than soft placations. With a bit of coaxing, you let him take your hand away and you slammed your eyes shut before you could look. No one hissed or gasped, so it seemed safe enough.

But still, you asked, “there’s no blood, right?”

The boy gave you a soft smile as everyone circled closer to peer at your hand. “Nah,” Eddie told you reassuringly. “No blood, you’ll live.” Then he was cupping your chin in his hand, thumb pressed to the corner of your mouth and his brow wrinkled with more concern. “Can I take a look though?”

You wanted to say no. All this fuss and attention was making you feel too hot, embarrassment from falling starting to roll in with the pain and it mixed in your stomach to create an awfully uncomfortable concoction. Steve and Robin were still gazing down at you, eyes wide with shock and Max looked stricken with guilt, as if she thought her coming into the kitchen unannounced caused this. Argyle was already moving between everyone, sweeping broken pieces of plate and squished food out of the way.

But you nodded and let Eddie peer at the back of your head. His hands gentle as he turned you this way and that, parting your hair so he could look for any cuts. He whistled at the sight of a bump and ran his thumb over it softly. You winced and he murmured a sorry before squeezed your knee, a comforting thing that Robin raised her brows at.

“Think you can stand?” Eddie asked.

You didn’t get a chance to answer, because Hopper was bursting through the doors with a red face and seven ticket orders clutched in his hand. “Why is half my staff on the kitchen fucking floor?” He yelled. “It’s crazy out there! What’s going on?”

You brought your knees to your chest as Steve explained what had happened, gesturing to the puddle of milk, the broken pieces of plate in the trash. Eddie didn’t move, didn’t take his eyes off you, even when you winced in embarrassment and tried to hide your face in your hands.

You heard Jim sigh and then he was clapping his hands and demanding that Steve and Robin went back to the dining floor. “There’s four tables waitin’ for coffee, never mind food, c’mon! And Max— Jesus, Maxine, take those skates off before someone else ends up with a concussion.”

Argyle was sent back to the grill before Hop patted Eddie on the shoulder and told him to do the same. Eddie screwed up his face, confusion wrinkling his brow. “What? No, Hop, someone’s gotta take her home.”

“Ed—” you started to interrupt, mortified at the idea of causing an upset.

Hop laughed, not meanly, just amused. “And what? You think you should be the one to take her, Casanova? You’re the only guy I got here that knows how to cook an omelette, you’re not going anywhere Munson.”

Eddie’s ears burned with the quip, cheeks flushed pink and he scowled at his boss, uncaring about the repercussions. But his attention was quickly stolen by you as you made an attempt to move, standing shakily as you protested that you were fine. The boy scoffed, holding your forearms so you could grip his, knuckles white as the shock of it all set in.

You did feel a little dizzy.

“She’s not going back out there to take orders,” Eddie told the older man as they both looked at your peaky expression, your glassy eyes.

“Well, I ain’t got the bodies to get someone to take her home, kid,” Hop shrugged regretfully. “Wayne at the garage?”

“Fishing trip,” Eddie answered sourly. “Here, c’mon, sit down, yeah?” He guided you to the stool by his station and helped you onto it, eyes filled with concern as you clutched the edge of the worktop and closed your eyes. “Should we be callin’ a doctor?” Eddie asked Hop.

“Don’t you dare,” you managed to bark at him, even though your voice sounded shaky. “I’m fine. I’ll just, I’ll just sit for a bit.”

You couldn’t hear what the two men were whispering about, but embarrassment told you it was most definitely about you. You only looked up when someone set a glass of water in front of you and you smiled in thanks at Argyle before he squeezed your shoulder and went back to flipping pancakes.

“Drink that, please,” Eddie mumbled softly as he appeared by your side. Hopper had left, standing awkwardly in the middle of the diner instead of his office as he wrote down orders listed off by a frantic Nancy. “Okay, we’ve come to an agreement.”

You snorted into your glass. “We have?” You asked as you wiped at your lips.

“Hop’s gonna take over and I’ll drive you home when this place finally calms down. Or we run out of eggs, whatever comes first.”

You rolled your eyes but the action was fond, just like the smile on your lips. You could barely bring yourself to look up at the boy for fear of giving too much away in your gaze, but when you did, you saw the same softness in Eddie’s own expression. “You don’t have to do that,” you told him. “I’ll just sit for a bit and then walk home.”

Eddie snorted and began chopping slices of tomatoes at a speed your eyes could barely keep up with. “No you fuckin’ won’t,” he told you. “Part of this agreement was that you park your cute ass where I can see you. No passing out in the walk-in, alright?”

You tried not to dwell on the compliment too much. Weeks had passed since the night you’d gotten high with the boy, too close on his bed, too close to doing something that was interrupted. You’d been back to the Munson trailer since, but you spent evenings on the sofa with both Eddie and Wayne, yelling at Alex Trebek and trying out new dishes that Eddie created for late nice dinners. No other attempt at a kiss - if that’s what had been about to happen. No other attempt at asking for a date - if that’s what the boy had been about to say.

“Are there any other conditions to this agreement?” You asked, wincing when Argyle dropped a pot into the sink. “Or did you just sell my soul to Jim without me knowing?”

Eddie laughed as he threw some mushroom halves onto the grill, dropping in some butter until they sizzled. “Sweetheart, c’mon now, you did that yourself when you agreed to work in his hellhole.” Eddie moved away just for a few seconds, long enough to return with a new glass of ice water that he replaced your empty one with. “But he did say you’re not allowed to sue him.”

You smiled, laughing weakly because your head still throbbed and the diner was too loud but Eddie Munson was grinning at you with his dimples on show and a stray curl falling into his big, brown eyes.

“Damn,” you tried to joke. “There goes my plan.”

—————

You’d been slumped on the stool for the best part of two hours before someone roused you from your semi sleeping state. Heels of your hands pressed to your closed eyes, the sounds of the diner sounding further and further away as you let yourself be lulled into haze by the sounds of Eddie and Argyle talking over the sizzle of the grill, the popping of bacon, the whir of a whisk.

Then, a palm on your back, wide and warm. You startled only slightly, sitting up and reappearing from behind your hands to see a bowl of soup being slid in front of you. A deep red, flecked with cracked black pepper and smelling like tomato and basil. There was a swirl of some cream in the centre, artfully placed, and a spoon was dipped into the middle of it.

“Eat up,” Eddie instructed softly. “Then I can try ‘n’ find you some Advil or somethin’, Nancy probably got some stashed somewhere.”

You eyed the soup with a sudden greed, mouth watering at the aroma, your fingers finding the spoon. “You didn’t even ask if I was hungry,” you gently scolded the boy.

Eddie knew what it meant. ‘Thank you. You shouldn’t have.’

“Don’t start,” he grumbled back, already going back to cracking more eggs into a bowl. Only six this time, which meant service must’ve been slowing. “You’ve had a coffee and half a slice of toast all day, eat your fuckin’ soup.”

You knew what that meant too. ‘You’re welcome. Please eat, so I stop worrying.’

So you ate and Eddie made omelettes, folding each so meticulously that you couldn’t help but watch. Butter on top, chives diced, fresh tomato and Italian ham in the middle. He knew you were staring, he always did. But now he smiled instead of scowled, let his gaze flicker to you every time he put his knife down and he nodded appreciatively when your spoon scraped the last of the soup from the bowl.

“Good?” He asked like always, sliding the omelette dishes out of the hatch for Steve to deliver to the waiting tables.

Jim was back in the office and the younger kids were long gone, sent home with leftover doughnuts from the pastry cabinet and an extra twenty in each of their back pockets. Regular slowness has resumed. Only Mr Creel sat at the bar, under the television as always, nursing a lukewarm cup of coffee he wouldn’t let Jonathan refill. There was a family at one table, an older couple at another, and three teens sharing a plate of fries in a booth at the back.

You nodded, humming. “So good, Eddie. Best soup I’ve had.”

Eddie grinned and tried to hide it, bashful and pink in the face at your praise. There was a lull in the kitchen as Argyle disappeared into the walk-in and for the first time that day, there was nothing on the grills in danger of burning. So the boy cleared his station and leant his elbows on it, so close to you that you could let your hand touch his, if you’d felt brave enough.

“How’s the head?”

You made a face at the reminder, reaching back to gingerly feel at the small lump there, tender and embarrassing. “It’s fine,” you told him. “Just another injury for the collection.”

Eddie snorted, knowing about your bumps and bruises you’d gathered working in the diner. You were insistent someone was moving table eight a few inches to the right each day, just to fuck with you and your hip. “Gonna have to keep you in a bubble.”

You smiled, “can’t feed me in a bubble, Munson.”

Another grin from Eddie, shy and pretty and so incredibly genuine. The boy that had scowled at you from the minute you’d appeared now couldn’t hide how happy you seemed to make him. Pink cheeks and dimples, a shine to his eyes that made your knees a little weak and you wanted to tell him then, right there, kiss me please.

Kiss me without smoke between us, kiss me without having an excuse to be close. Kiss me ‘cause you want to.

“Yeah, yeah you’re right, that seems— that would be, uh, less than ideal,” Eddie coughed, suddenly nervous. He straightened up and took his hands away from the counter, away from any ideas you had about holding them in your own. “I could, uh, I could - y’know - ask you if you wanted to grab dinner later, instead.”

You sucked in a breath, eyes wide. You didn’t say anything, you just blinked and your silence urged Eddie to fill it, so he rambled on further, voice coming out rushed and a little rough. “Like, I mean, so I can make sure, you know… you eat. God. And you don’t hit your head again, ‘cause you could totally have a concussion and that would su—”

“Eddie?” You interrupted, heart beating too fast, your chest too tight. It felt like it was ready to crack in two, ready to bloom. Excitement was caught in your throat, maybe hope. “Are you asking me on a date?”

The boy faltered and then smiled, a dopey, lopsided thing that you were sure was the most endearing sight you’d ever come across. Those cheeks went pink again and suddenly he was the furthest thing from the grumpy line cook that grunted his greetings to everyone. But maybe, you guessed, he just didn’t do that to you.

“I’m definitely trying to, yeah.” Eddie grinned then, only once he saw your smile too.

Giddy, feeling like a schoolgirl with her first crush, you squinted at him, eyes crinkling in the corners with a new type of joy. You wanted to laugh at his attempt, his shyness for a change instead of your own but you couldn’t keep it together. You were bursting at the seams, chest splintering as the butterflies roared. You felt breathless, you felt warm, you felt like you could look at yourself in the mirrored edge of a frying pan and watch yourself glitter.

“I’d love to,” you told him, soft, quiet, happy.

The boy lazed back against the worktop, the stainless steel between you littered with spilled sugar and the lonely top of a carrot. He played with the edge of his dish towel that was tucked into the front of his apron, narrowed his eyes at you comically and tried to contain his own grin. He was beaming.

“You’re not just saying that ‘cause you’re concussed, right?”

You laughed, a bright, sharp sound and you shook your head. “I’m not concussed.” You hummed, happy. “And even if I was, I’d still wanna go on a date with you.”

Eddie looked brighter than the sun.

—————

That evening, Eddie picked you up outside your apartment with freshly washed curls and a shirt that didn’t have any rips in it.

His boots were clean and his jeans weren’t creased and you’d have said something about it all if you weren’t as nervous as he looked. With what appeared to be a permanent flush on his cheeks, he hopped out the van as he saw you lock up, jogging round the front so he could open the door for you.

“You look nice,” he murmured as he helped you in, his hand holding yours, his gaze unable to stop from wandering over all the bare thigh your dress showed off.

A summery thing, cherry red with a hem that erred on the side of almost too short, with short sleeves and a pretty frilled neckline. It was lower than your uniform, showing off more skin and cleavage than he’d ever seen before. You’d changed seven times between getting out of the shower and watching the window for Eddie’s van, throwing your rejected outfits on your bedroom floor as you stood in your pyjama shirt, wondering if it was far too presumptuous to change into your best lace underwear.

The butterflies inside your ribcage were rattling.

“Thank you,” you answered politely and you let yourself look at him too, like you were allowed to now. He still had the rings he wore outside of the kitchen, a plain black T-shirt that smelled like he always did, like lemongrass and freshly spritzed cologne. “You look nice too.”

He went pink at your words and duked his chin to hide his smile. And when he got back into the driver's seat, you looked at him expectantly, nervously.

“So, uh, there’s only really one place to go for food in this town,” Eddie cleared his throat awkwardly and he smiled, nose scrunched. “And rumour has it, the chef is out on a hot date…”

You laughed, tension broken for a second or two and you hummed, nodding. “Hot date, huh?”

Eddie nodded furiously, letting his eyes dip to look over your bare legs, the short hem of your dress, scarlet against your skin. He looked bravely, not trying to hide it the way he used to. “The hottest,” he confirmed.

“Where are you taking me then?” you asked softly, leaning your cheek against the seat. It was dangerous looking at him like this, like you wanted him, like you were over trying to hide it. Your workplace crush had bloomed into something else, something more and it made your chest ache.

“Wayne’s not home,” Eddie replied just as soft, just as quiet. His gaze kept falling to your mouth, the way it turned up in the corners. “I have it on good authority that the food at Casa Munson is top tier.”

It made your stomach flip, the idea of being alone with the boy. It barely happened, a rarity, really. The butterflies in your stomach were pushing at your bones, gnawing to get out. You were dizzy with it.

“Yeah?” you smiled at him, putting Eddie’s own nerves at ease. “Think you could get us a table?”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fics #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson smut #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson imagine #linecook!eddie

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cosmicdumbass · 1 year

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Lockwood and Co Civilian memes pt 7

I'm so excited about the show! I've really enjoyed watching it, and it's incredibly exciting that so many new people will know about this awesome series :) Have some memes in celebration <3

previous masterpost

#lockwood & co #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #quill kipps #george cubbins #george karim #i love the show im so happy #chats with crispy

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the-crow-dawns-at-midnight · 2 years

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I hate that I legit can’t eat half my comfort foods bc it would cause me to experience death on a spiritual and a physical level

#all I want is some crispy fried chicken #a buttered bread roll #and some good mashed potato’s with gravy #like why is that too much to ask #crow chats with the void #celiac life

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mrskokushibo · 6 months

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Warnings: Explicit sexual content, mention of BDSM. Strictly 18+. MDNI. SMUT. NSFW.

A/N: This little drabble is inspired by the Upper Moon Car H/Cs by @flametrashira , fic discussions with my dear @koku-shibou , and the character of Bruce Wayne from The Dark Knight.

MASTERLIST

Billionaire Kokushibo who meets you at an art gallery opening party. After your eyes meet, he can’t take them off you and neither can you take yours off him. The instant attraction draws you both to work the room toward each other while politely mingling with the other attendees.

Billionaire Kokushibo who finally gets close to you at the bar and chats you up with a polite ‘Would you like a drink?’ From then on it is just you and him, moving from small talk to flirting as the evening continues.

Billionaire Kokushibo who convinces you to leave early and go for drinks at his place. Your inhibitions are as blown away because despite wanting to take it slow and be a good girl, waiting with one-on-one time until the second date, your pussy has already determined the outcome of the evening for you. Yes, you are wet. Very wet. Because who are you fooling here, he is beyond ridiculously hot.

Billionaire Kokushibo who leads you outside of the venue and lends you his suit jacket while you wait for the concierge to bring his car. He has chivalry engrained in him and would never let a lady freeze. When the car arrives, you almost squirt. It is your favourite black Bugatti W16 Mistral. He opens the door for you and lets you in and then quickly walks around the sexy vehicle and jumps into the driver’s seat.

Billionaire Kokushibo who revs the engine a little extra just to show off. He drives fast and smooth, you can tell he has advanced racing skills. He doesn’t speak much while he drives, doesn’t touch you, or makes any indecent comments, but you can see in the corner of your eye that he has a small fleeting smile on his lips every time he casts a quick glance your way.

Billionaire Kokushibo who arrives at his modernist mansion in the most expensive part of town and gets welcomed by his butler. They exchange a few words and the butler takes care of the car while Kokushibo leads you into the house and into the minimalistic but luxurious living space with a view of the city. Politely, he directs you to the comfortable lounge sofa and asks about your drink preferences. He gets the drinks and sits down opposite of you in an armchair.

Billionaire Kokushibo who, after getting your next drink, sits down next to you and initiates a kiss. He is a great kisser and smells intoxicating of purple lilies and white musk. His hands caress you just enough to make shivers run down your spine in arousal and your pussy throb beyond control.

Billionaire Kokushibo who undresses you slowly as if he was unwrapping an expensive Ming vase that he just purchased from an auction at Christie’s. He kisses you down your neckline and goes straight for your breasts. While kissing you he is taking off his crispy white shirt that was already slightly unbuttoned showing off a glimpse of his trimmed, perfectly toned chest.

Billionaire Kokushibo who now unbuckles his belt and the two of you finalise your mutual undressing. He stops for a moment to have a good look at you and you can’t help but drool internally at the sight of the magnificent muscular apparition that is Kokushibo. His perfect cock draws most of your attention as it is large and girthy and leaks everywhere.

Billionaire Kokushibo who takes you on the sofa. He is gentle at first, making you come only by using his mouth, but once he enters you, his pace increases in speed and intensity. The elegant space is filled with lewd sounds of skin slapping skin and the loud squelching of your wet pussy being pounded relentlessly by this utterly hot male. Soon enough he is cumming inside you eliciting a deep, quiet growl to accompany his release.

Billionaire Kokushibo who leads you to his bedroom where you spend the rest of the night fucking each other’s brains out until you are both covered with sweat and cum, needing to shower several times in-between sex. You fuck in the shower, too, by the way.

Billionaire Kokushibo who is very embarrassed in the morning as he needs to ask his butler to change his bedding. The two of you made an indescribable mess. And this will not be the last time that happens.

Billionaire Kokushibo who buys you a penthouse in the city so that you can walk to your work as a store manager. He lets you design the place but takes the initiative to have your bedroom soundproofed so that the two of you can be as loud as you want to be. He also orders to have a sex room and adjacent specialised wardrobe built for you two, where you can store all the sexy lingerie you already own and will purchase, as well as sex toys and other gear.

Billionaire Kokushibo who is into BDSM and the sex room is made purposely for that. Both of you are switches so that the games you play are hot. To say the least. You love being tied up in Shibari and used like a slut when it is his turn to be the Dom. He goes hard as steel when you gently put the collar around his neck when it is your turn to be the Dom. He leaks all over and squeals when you peg him.

Billionaire Kokushibo who buys you lavish gifts and orders catering from Michelin-star restaurants when you decide to stay in for a longer sex sesh. He knows the value of a good woman and will spoil you beyond belief. He buys you a matching Bugatti W16 Mistral so that you can think of him when you need to go for a drive to visit your friends.

Billionaire Kokushibo who asks you to marry him when on a holiday in Paris. He books the Eifel Tower just for you two and proposes on top of it. Afterward, you go out for a lavish dinner and spend the rest of the night fucking at the Suite Imperiale of the famous Hotel Ritz and indulging in the most expensive champagne the hotel has to offer. Yes, you don't just drink it, you bathe in the champagne as well, and, of course, have sex in the bath.

Masterlist

Image: Marsiankaa on Pinterest

Tagging 💜: @horror4themasses @doumadono @muzansfangs @crescentmoontsuki

Banner by @cafekitsune

Pictures in title: Pinterest and Bugatti Motors.

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roosterforme · 1 year

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Right Girl, Wrong Time Part 5 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: You do your best not to let Phoebe and Jeff derail how perfect your weekend with Bradley has been. After dinner, the two of you start asking what comes next, and you take him to a spot on campus he has dreamed about but never seen before.

Warnings: Smut, fluff, swears, and angst

Length: 4900 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader (former fuckboy college student Bradley)

This is a sequel to accompany my story Old Habits Die Hard (you'll want to read that one first)!

Check my profile for my masterlist

You should have known the two of them would be here to ruin your perfect night with Bradley. Your perfect weekend, really. But it was nearly impossible for you to think back on your time with Bradley ten years ago without Jeff and Phoebe popping up.

You tilted your face to look up at Bradley again, but his eyes were still focused across the room. "It's okay, Beer Boy. Let's get a drink."

Bradley turned toward you and nodded, and you ordered two beers from the bartender and handed him one. He laced his fingers through yours and let you guide him back toward the table where you had set down your bag.

"Sorry. I just haven't seen or talked to either of them since I left for Rhode Island. Crazy."

"I wish we didn't have to see them now, either," you said, glancing over to their table again. You kissed Bradley's lips and whispered, "I will physically fight Phoebe if she tries to touch you."

Bradley laughed at that, and you smiled too. "You always were a little scrappy," he said. "But I don't think either of them could hurt me now, even if they wanted to. Which I certainly hope they don't."

"They better not."

You couldn't stop stealing glances at them though. Jeff looked exhausted, and he was losing his hair. Phoebe still looked pretty enough, you supposed, but she appeared to be with her husband who was plainly ignoring her and staring at his phone. And it looked like her hair was brittle and crispy from dying it several shades lighter than it used to be.

Both of them looked miserable. Maybe they should have married each other.

"Bradshaw!" came a booming voice, and you watched Bradley stand and accept a hug from Tyson.

"Hey, man. It's been awhile," Bradley said as you stood up as well. "Is your wife here?"

You watched Tyson's eyes grow to the size of saucers, and Bradley casually reached for your hand.

"No," Tyson said, still looking at you in surprise. "She's pregnant again and not feeling well. Decided not to come at the last minute." He smiled softly at you before glaring at Bradley. "Hey, why didn't you tell me you two were together again?"

Bradley cleared his throat awkwardly. "Well, we're not-"

"It's recent," you blurted out, earning a surprised look from Bradley. "It's good to see you, Ty."

"Yeah.... damn. This is such a flashback!" he said. "Bradley moped for months after you dumped him. But I guess you know all about that now."

You squeezed Bradley's hand tighter, but he was still looking at you like he wasn't sure what was going on.

"I can assure you that I also moped for months," you told Tyson, letting out a shaky breath. "You guys chat, I see someone else I know."

There was in fact nobody else that you recognized, but you needed a moment to yourself. Why did you insinuate that you and Bradley were together again? You weren't together. If he wanted you in that way, he would have told you where he lived. He'd had a full day to do so. And now he was flying home in the morning.

You felt like leaving before you could start crying. You were going to ruin what was left of your time with him if you couldn't accept this for what it was: one perfect reunion weekend with your first love.

"I thought that was you."

You spun around and almost bumped into Jeff. He was staring at your cleavage as you moved your beer bottle in front of yourself to try to block his view.

"Hi," you managed to say, but you couldn't bring yourself to smile like he was.

"You look great."

Since the same could not be said about him, you just kind of shrugged. "Thanks."

"I can't believe you're still with Bradshaw."

You took a deep breath. "He's wonderful," you managed to say. "What are you doing these days?"

"Oh, selling used cars," he mumbled. "You?"

Your eyebrows shot up. He had the same math undergraduate degree as you. "I work here. Teaching. Mostly computational physics and linear algebra, but I have a calculus lecture as well."

"Wow," he said, looking both annoyed and impressed.

"Yeah. Looking at some other schools for tenure positions for the fall."

"Must be nice," he mumbled.

You nodded and looked him square in the eyes. "I worked really hard."

When you noticed Jeff's eyes looking over your shoulder, you felt a warm hand on your lower back.

"Hey, Sugar," Bradley whispered in your ear, and you looked up at him over your shoulder.

"Hi, Beer Boy," you whispered back, and without a single glance in Jeff's direction, Bradley guided you back to your table, leaving Jeff gaping at the two of you.

"You okay?" he asked, pulling out your chair as dinner was about to be served.

"Of course. You didn't want to talk to your old buddy Jeff?"

Bradley rolled his eyes. "Fuck no. Figured you didn't really want to either."

You laughed and took his hand as he sat down. "You figured right."

Bradley raised your fingers to his lips and kissed them before reaching for the leg of your chair and pulling you closer to him. When your graduating class president and the dean of admission gave their speeches, Bradley wrapped his arm around you, and your head came to rest against his shoulder. Of course his fingers found your tattoo, blindly tracing along your skin there.

Your eyes found his when he smiled down at you. His impossibly handsome face and his warm, brown eyes and his perfect lips. How had you managed to go ten years without him? You reached up, stroking his mustache with your thumb until he was almost laughing.

You whispered, "Missed you," and then he was no longer smiling. He was looking at you intently when suddenly everyone was applauding for the finished speeches, and the waitstaff started rushing around with plates of salad.

So you ate your dinner with your thigh pressed up against Bradley's, sharing food off of each other's plates. You laughed at the throwback music the band was playing, and Bradley eventually went to get you both more beer.

Everything was comfortable in a way that you didn't know you were craving until you were experiencing it.

"Do you want to dance?" Bradley asked you as the band started up again and several people made their way to the center of the room.

"Yes," you replied, and he pulled you to your feet. He guided your arm over his shoulder with a smile and wrapped his hands around your waist. You traced his faded scars with your fingers while he sang along to the song.

"You have the best singing voice," you told him, your smile growing wide. "I forgot just how much I loved listening to it."

"Think they know any Grateful Dead?" he asked. "That was my favorite to sing to you."

"Remember when you made me watch like eighty four hours of their concert footage?"

Bradley rolled his eyes and pulled you fully against him. "It was only like a fifteen hour DVD, Sugar. And we didn't even make it all the way through."

You licked your lips. "You're right. We found a different way to occupy our time."

Bradley's face was earnest and open, but there was still a smile dancing along his lips. "We sure did that a lot, huh?"

You nodded and leaned up to kiss him before you said, "We've been doing it a lot since yesterday, too. This is one hell of a reunion weekend."

You watched the long scars on Bradley's neck as he swallowed. "Is that it though? Is this just for the weekend?" His eyes were searching your face intently.

The idea of ending things tomorrow morning was too much for you to take, but when you spoke your voice was tiny and unsure. "Do you want more?"

Bradley's eyes drifted closed and his hands slid up your back, holding you in place as his dancing slowed. Your heart was pounding, and you could feel his racing pulse beneath your fingers on his neck. After a pause, he was looking intently at you again.

"I wanted more ten years ago, Sugar."

The truth of his words stung you a bit. You'd wanted more, too. But you had also wanted him to get a chance to fulfill all of his other wishes and dreams, without making him feel tethered to you while you were so far away.

"But what about now?" you asked. Then you took a deep breath and forced yourself to add, "Why didn't you tell me you live in San Diego?" Your voice broke on the last words, and you could see the look of panic in Bradley's eyes.

"How did you know that?"

You tried to pull out of his grasp as you swiped at the tears welling in your eyes. "I saw your luggage tag. In the hotel room. You live in San Diego, and you weren't even going to tell me, were you?"

When you squirmed away, trying to put some space between you, he held you tight. "No. I wasn't going to tell you. Not yet."

"Why not?" you asked, your voice barely audible over the sound of the band. "You don't want me now."

"That's not it!" he insisted loudly. "Sugar. Come on, baby. That's not it."

You just shrugged helplessly and looked around the room, the colorful lights obscured by your tears. "What is it then?" you asked, not meeting his eyes.

He was stroking your cheek now, and although you tried your best not to, you could feel yourself melting into his touch. "Please look at me." You met his eyes and sniffed, and he kissed you softly, reverently, and you let him. "You're so smart, Sugar. And you work so hard." You watched him struggle with his words as so many other couples danced around you. "And I can't be responsible for derailing your career if Miami is a better choice for you. I can't do that."

"Bradley."

But he just shook his head. "No. You need to visit both schools. You need to remove me from this equation."

"But Bradley!"

"Sugar, you let me do what I needed to do ten years ago. It nearly fucking killed me at first, but I never blamed you for what you did. You kept me safe. And made sure I knew how you felt about me first. And you let me make my decisions for myself and not because I was focusing all my energy on you. It hurts me to say it, but thank you. And now you need to do the same thing for yourself."

You sucked in a deep breath. "And what if I choose San Diego? What if that's the right choice for me? Where does that leave us?"

Bradley smashed his lips against yours and you wrapped your arms around his neck once again. His kiss was demanding, but it ended as soon as it began. "Ask me that again after you make your decision. Either way, whatever your decision is, ask me again, okay?"

You nodded at him.

"And please forget about my luggage tag and my address and promise me you'll visit both schools."

"I will, Beer Boy. I promise."

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

Bradley held you tight in the middle of the dance floor, cradling your head against his chest and singing you another song. He was so close, once again, to telling you he loved you. He wanted you to know it, was pretty sure you already did, but he was too scared.

More than anything, he wanted you to choose San Diego. Because it was the right fit for you. Not because he was there. But he'd be lying to himself if he didn't want to play a part in your future plans.

"Beer Boy?" you finally asked him.

"Yeah, Sugar?"

You were smiling again. You seemed to be more at ease now that you got the information about his address off your chest.

"Can we go? This is nice and all, but I just want to be with you. Alone."

"Let's go," he replied without hesitation. "Should I call an Uber?"

You nodded as he reached for his phone, and he followed you willingly to grab your purse. "I'm going to run to the restroom. Meet me in the lobby?" you asked.

Bradley kissed your cheek. "Yep. Ride will be here in nine minutes."

You disappeared through the crowd, and Bradley made his way toward the lobby at a slower pace. He opened up the airline app when it prompted him to check in for his flight, but instead he started to scroll to see if there were any seats available on a later flight. He really needed to be back in San Diego tomorrow, but if he could stay with you for just a little bit longer....

"Bradley?"

He thought he was alone in the lobby. He knew that voice. He spun around and came face to face with Phoebe.

"Hi," he managed. "Phoebe."

"Wow," she sighed. "You look great. Even better than you did ten years ago."

"Yeah? Thanks." He swallowed, his throat tight. It was hard to even look at her, even after all this time. This woman had fed into and also stunted his self esteem for nearly four years of his life.

"Your scars healed nicely."

"Oh," he muttered, brow furrowed.

"You know I didn't mean it that way, Bradley," she said quickly, taking another step into his personal space. "They never bothered me before."

He ran one hand down along his face. "I'm not doing this with you, Phoebe. I truly hope you've been well, but I'm not doing this."

Bradley started to walk away, but she reached out and stopped him with her hand on his chest.

"I owe you an apology."

He froze and looked down at her in shock.

She laughed bitterly. "I never could handle the rejection you gave me. But seeing you here with her? Still? My god, I feel sicker than ever over what I put you through. Sorry."

Bradley felt her patting his chest before she started to withdraw her hand. He stood completely still and then nodded and whispered, "Thank you."

He could hear your heels on the floor and sense your presence before he saw you, but instantly you were at his side, linking your arm through his.

You made a show of running your thumb along his mustache before tilting his head down and kissing him, and he let you do it. "Hi, Sugar," he whispered when you released his lips.

Bradley watched you turn toward a bitter looking Phoebe and say, "Oh. You'll have to excuse us. We were just leaving." Then you tugged on Bradley's arm and led him toward the exit. "I saw her touch you," you whispered. "I didn't like that."

"No? What are you going to do about it, Sugar?"

You just smirked as he pointed out the car that had arrived to pick you up. "I'm going to take us on a little detour. That's what I'm going to do about it."

He opened the car door for you, and you gave a different address to the driver while you scooted across the back seat so Bradley could climb in as well.

"Where are we going, Sugar?" he whispered next to your ear before kissing you there.

You were practically crawling into his lap when you said, "My office."

Bradley had pictured many times how you might look working in your very own office in academia. He figured all the college guys would be swarming your office hours to spend a little extra time basking in your presence. He also just knew you'd be a great teacher, one who graded everything farily. But getting to see your actual office? Mess around in it, perhaps?

He grabbed your chin and kissed you so hard you squeaked. But his phone started vibrating in his pocket against your leg. He yanked it out without breaking your kiss, and just wanted to silence it.

"Oh, it's Nat," you whispered, pulling away from him and looking at the screen.

Bradley grunted and quickly opened the text thread from one of the few people in his life who consistently talked to him on a daily basis.

Phoenix: How's your class reunion going? Haven't heard from you since yesterday morning!

When the car stopped at a traffic light, and Bradley looked at your face all lit up from the street lights, he put his arm around you. "Mind if I send her a picture?" he asked.

You just smiled and said, "Okay, Beer Boy."

He snapped a few selfies of the two of you all cozy in the backseat, including one with your head resting on his shoulder and another one with your lips pressed to his cheek.

Quickly, he sent two of them back to Nat and then got his lips right back on yours.

"Almost there," you whispered, pulling away briefly before licking Bradley's lips with the tip of your tongue. His black suit pants felt extremely tight at the moment the car pulled up to the curb in front of the building where Bradley used to walk you to your lab class.

He helped you out of the car, and his phone started vibrating in his hand.

Phoenix: OH MY GOD BRADLEY IS THAT SUGAR?

Phoenix: ANSWER ME RIGHT NOW.

Phoenix: IT'S HER. ISN'T IT? SHE IS STILL FUCKING BEAUTIFUL AND YOU LOOK SO HAPPY.

Phoenix: WHY AREN'T YOU WRITING BACK?

Phoenix: OH MY GOD, ARE YOU FUCKING? I AM SO SORRY! TEXT ME BACK LATER.

Bradley tossed one arm around your shoulders and let you read the screen along with him. You started cracking up. "Is it okay if I respond?" you asked, a huge smile on your face.

"Of course," Bradley replied, and he used the ID card you handed him to unlock the building, holding the door open for you to enter.

"This way," you murmured with a soft laugh as Bradley followed you to the elevator bank, keeping his hand on the small of your back.

As you stepped into the elevator with him right behind you, he watched you send a message to Nat and then hand his phone back to him. He glanced at the screen.

You think I'm beautiful? Bradley was showing me a bunch of pictures, and I think you're stunning! I'm having the best weekend of my life, but I promise I'll return him to you in one piece. It's the least I can do after you've taken care of him all these years.

Bradley's heart was pounding in his ears as the elevator arrived on the eighth floor. "This is the best weekend of your life?" he asked as you laced your fingers through his and led him down the dimly lit hallway.

"You know, it's not nice to read other people's conversations, Beer Boy," you said with a smirk as you used your ID card to unlock your office door.

He looked at his phone again.

Phoenix: YOU CAN KEEP HIM! PLEASE KEEP HIM! I'LL SEND HIS FEEDING SCHEDULE AND HIS VACCINATION RECORDS.

Bradley put his phone away with a grin and let you lead him into your tiny office. Two walls were lined with shelves, one wall had a window with a view of the cafeteria, and your desk was right in the middle of the floor. Most of your things seemed to be packed in the cardboard boxes that were stacked up next to the door.

"Well, this is my office. What do you think?" you asked, shrugging and spinning in a small circle. You looked perfect in your dress, with your tattoos and your mussed up hair.

"I think...." he began, licking his lips as you planted your palms against his chest. "I think this is the best weekend of my life, too."

Your breathing was a little shallow as you looked up at him and nodded. "What are we supposed to do about it?" you whispered.

Bradley kissed you softly. "You promised me."

You pulled him closer to you, your lips meeting his in a soft kiss. "I know," you murmured against his mouth, and soon he was tasting you, his tongue gently sweeping against yours. Your fingers scraped along the short hair at the back of his neck as you nibbled on his lips and gasped when he stroked your tattoos.

Every little sensation, everything that was specifically you had him aching for more. There was no way he could be without you now. He didn't know what the hell he was supposed to do.

You broke away from his kisses and pressed yourself against his erection. "I have an idea, Beer Boy. What's your Professor Sugar office fantasy?"

He groaned, a deep, needy sound from the very back of his throat. You were gasping in his arms, mouth agape before he even said anything. "We really gonna do that?" he asked you, his voice raspy and broken as you stared up at him with wide eyes. "Because I've been thinking about that for a very, very long time, Sugar."

Bradley eased his fingers along your bare shoulder and up your neck, digging them into the back of your head a little bit, forcing your eyes to remain on his. "Yes," you agreed, already looking like you were in a daze. "I sometimes think about you when I'm alone in here. So it only seems appropriate."

He kissed you hard until you were moaning into his mouth. He wanted you in every way imaginable, all the time. But right now he wanted it sweet and slow and impossibly hot as he showed you just what he thought about when you were on his mind and his dick was in his hand.

He grabbed you by the hips and guided you backward until you met your desk. Then he spun you around and helped you grab onto the edge of your desk, listening to your hitching breaths and rubbing himself along your backside. "I need you to know," he whispered, pushing your hair away from your ear, "that I'll be thinking about this for the rest of my life."

"Bradley," you groaned as he kissed along the back of your neck, sucking on your sweet skin until you were bucking back against him.

"Fuck." He reached around to the front of your dress, taking the fabric on either side of the slit and bunching it up in his hands. Then he slowly guided it up around your waist and held it tight with his left hand. "I'd love to fuck you like this, Doctor Sugar," he whispered, running his nose behind your ear. "But with the finesse and restraint I did not possess when I was a student."

"Oh my god, Bradley!" Your voice sounded lighter than air in this small room, your bodies only lit up by the exterior campus lights that filtered through the window.

He looped one finger through the elastic of the tiny underwear you had on and started to yank it down over your hips, sucking in a harsh breath as you wiggled against him until they were sliding down your legs. Bradley watched the lace land on the tops of your high heels, and then he was unbuttoning and unzipping his pants with his right hand. He eased his pants and underwear down to his thighs and bent you a little bit at the waist with his large frame.

"You're always soaking wet for me," he gasped as he reached around and slid his fingers against your slit. "You get like this for anyone else?"

"No!" you squeaked as he sunk two fingers inside you without any warning.

"Just me? You'd get this wet if I was sitting in one of your classes, watching you teach? Soaking through your underwear, squeezing your thighs together in your short, little skirt?"

"Oh god, yes," you groaned, and he pumped his fingers in and out you hard, until you were practically screaming.

When he slowed his pace again, stroking your clit, he told you, "I'd sit in your class and touch myself. I don't think I would be able to help it, Sugar." He held you firmly against him, pulling his fingers out and leaving you whining before coating his cock with your wetness. He nudged your legs apart with his knee and then guided himself to your entrance, your body welcoming him so sweetly as he bottomed out in one movement.

Your head was tipped back, and he ran his slick fingers up your neck and between your parted lips. The feel of your tongue swirling along his fingertips and the vibrations of your moans had him shoving his fingers a little deeper. You moaned and whined as you cleaned his fingers while he fucked you at a steady pace.

"What would I have to do to get an A in your class, Doctor Sugar?" You sucked on his fingers for another beat before he removed them from your mouth and grasped your chin instead.

"I'd make you stay after class," you gasped. "Watch you touch yourself for me."

"Fuck, fuck!" Bradley growled, slamming into you harder, his left hand gripping your hip. He pulled you by your chin and the front of your neck, arching your back until you were whimpering, meeting his movements stroke for stroke. He could feel you fluttering around him, and he eased his big hand down over your breasts and your tummy until they met your clit. He gave you a sharp squeeze, and this time you did scream before he soothed you with his fingers.

"I'm gonna cum," you cried, squeezing around him, but Bradley withdrew completely and spun you to face him. You looked up at him, shocked, and he pushed you back to sit on your desk, grabbing your thighs and thrusting into you again.

You leaned back on both hands, eyes on his as your legs shook gently in his hands. Bradley leaned down and kissed you softly, and you smiled against his lips. He moved a little slower as you came for him, drawing out your orgasm and sucking on your neck as you chanted his name like a prayer.

Then you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him snug against you as his thrusts grew shallow. "You gonna cum for me, Beer Boy? You gonna earn top marks? Be the teacher's pet?" you purred. And he kissed your mouth and your cheeks and your chin, memorizing the feel of your lips against his mustache as you whined.

He filled you up, moving inside you until he was no longer dizzy with need. Bradley took your face gently in his hands, satisfied and so in love with you.

"Sugar," he whispered, your body still intimately connected with his. "I l-"

There was a loud knock on the door. "Hello? It's Ted. From security."

"Oh shit," you hissed, sliding off the desk and shimmying your dress back down. You looked so alarmed, Bradley had to stifle his laughter as he zipped up his pants and straightened out the rest of his suit. Then he groaned when you turned on the overhead lights.

"Uh, hang on, Ted!" you called, kicking your underwear loose from your shoes. Bradley bent and picked them up, shoving them into his pocket as you opened the door a few inches. "Hi, Ted!"

Bradley heard the security guard's voice. "Oh, it's you, professor! I heard a lot of noise, and I just wanted to make sure everything was okay."

"Everything is fine!"

There was a pause, and Bradley watched your shoulders tense up. "Are you alone?" Ted asked. "If you're not okay, I can help you."

You sighed deeply and tipped your head back before pushing the door open wide, revealing Bradley where he was leaning against your desk with both hands in his pockets.

"Hey, Ted," he said with a smile, and he got to watch the much older man flush crimson as he looked back and forth between the two of you. "Everything is just fine in here."

You pressed your lips together and also nodded at Ted.

"Right, okay, well. You have a great night, professor," he told you before tucking his radio back into his pocket and hustling away.

You turned to look at Bradley with your hand over your mouth, and Bradley started absolutely cracking up. "Sorry, Sugar, but Ted's never going to look at you the same way again."

You lightly hit his abs, and Bradley pulled you into his arms. "I guess it's a good thing I'm technically only working here for two more weeks," you groaned against his neck. "Poor Ted." Then you were laughing harder in his arms, and soon neither of you could stop.

Eventually, Bradley tilted your smiling face up to look at him. "I'm going to miss you so much, Sugar."

Your smile wavered a bit. "Can you stay longer?" you asked softly. "A few more days?"

He just shook his head and stroked your lip. "I'm leaving for a six week deployment on Monday."

"Oh," you sighed so sadly that Bradley immediately wanted to tell you he could stay for another week. Another month, just to be with you.

"Sorry, Sugar."

You took his hand in yours. "Then can we go back to my house? And snuggle?"

"Please."

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

Thanks for reading and loving these two! I just loved the texts with Phoenix! Beer Boy and Sugar have one more night together.... Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls.

PART 6

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kaoharu · 9 months

Text

to be honest i Do Not like judahs s7 hair

#✧ chatting !#his hair looks so crispy compared to s1-3 :(

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its-time-to-write · 10 months

Note

Hi there!! I absolutely adore your writing, and I was wondering if I could request a little something about Jamie being your guest to a wedding?? Just something sweet and fluffy because I feel like he’d be a spectacular wedding date. Love you!!

Here you go! Haven’t been able to write as much this week, I had finals and in between tests and papers, I’ve been pretty much living at the doctor’s. My brain is feeling a little fried, so I hope this is a coherent fic because I’ve tried to proofread a bunch and it all just looks like squiggles to me, so… anon, if you read this, send me your honest feedback in my inbox. Love ya!🍊💚

i’m glad you exist

“What’s this?” Jamie asks from his position on your kitchen island.

You glance up from the stove. “What’s what?”

He holds up an envelope rimmed in gold.

“Oh, that’s an invite to my old roommate’s wedding. Remember I told you about her? Calls everyone ‘queen?’”

Jamie’s face shows recognition. “Right, yeah, she the one dating that motivational speaker?”

You laugh. “Yeah, they got together a month after I met her. He lived one floor down. Anyway, their wedding’s in a few months so I left the invitation out so I’d remember to RSVP.”

Jamie’s engrossed in the details on the invitation. “Says you can bring a plus one.”

“Yeah,” you reply, “probably won’t though. It’s back home, so, it’s not just a weekend-type deal. My mom and dad want me to come stay for like a week and a half.” You turn back to the stove and narrowly avoid burning the food. “You like your dinner a little crispy, right?”

“Babe,” Jamie says slowly, “you stayin’ with your parents?”

“Nah,” you say, transferring the food onto plates, “too crowded. And loud. My mom always has all the grandkids over all the time.” Your older sister has two kids, and your older brother has three. “She offered, but I told her I’d just get an AirBnB or something.”

“Y’know,” he says, taking the plates and moving to the table, “it’s on the off season. Don’t have any branding deals that week either.”

“Jamie,” you begin, a smile beginning to spread across your face, “are you offering to go to this wedding with me? And meet my parents?”

Jamie shrugs nonchalantly.

“You are!” you say gleefully, “Oh my god, my mom is going to lose her mind. You know she absolutely loves you, right? She talks about their trip out here all the time. And this time you can meet my whole family, like my sister and her husband, they’re definitely my favorite because my niece and I have the same middle name. Plus my brother is always busy with work and his wife is cool, I guess, but we don’t have a lot in common? Except one time we watched High School Musical together, and she knew all the dances and all the words! It was crazy. And we’ll definitely have to go to the beach, do you know how to surf-?”

You ramble on happily as Jamie just grins at you, digging into his food.

—

It’s wedding week, and your dad picks you up from the airport. You and Jamie are on your way to your parents’ house before checking into your own house and you’re confident that most of your family is going to be there. Your parents are the only ones who have met Jamie in person, and right now your dad and Jamie are in the front of the car chatting on about who knows what. You just know you’re tired, and you’re grateful that your dad picked you up a coffee. You’re probably going to steal Jamie’s too, because he does not need more energy and yours is gone way too quick. It’s nice to be home. The sun is shining, and the streets are familiar. You’re looking forward to seeing your old friends, and showing off your gorgeous footballer boyfriend.

They’d all heard about him of course, and were more than thrilled that you had finally found someone who actually liked being around you. That sounds terrible. You’re not annoying. You just have a habit of being with men who see you as a chore, not for the wonderful person you are. The person Jamie sees you to be.

You’re pulling into the driveway, and just as you suspected, the entire family is there. You notice your brother’s Range Rover and your sister’s Jeep. You smile to yourself. How very like them.

You hop out of the car, grab Jamie’s hand, and the door is open before you even make it all the way up to it. Your mom’s arms are open for a hug which you reach for except she turns away at the last moment and hugs Jamie first?

“Mom!” you say, laughing, “I’m your literal daughter and I haven’t seen you in forever!”

She smiles and pinches Jamie’s cheek. “I’ve spent more time with you than with him. You’ll survive.”

She wraps you in a warm hug then says, “Come meet the family, Jamie! And you’re staying for dinner. You can get to your house after you’ve taken a break.”

You shake your head and Jamie just grins. Poor boy has no idea what he’s getting himself into.

—

Jamie was thoroughly interrogated by your family, including your nieces and nephews (“Why do you call it football instead of soccer? Did you bring us candy?”). You’re both so exhausted that as soon as you walk through the door of your AirBnB, you collapse onto the bed, fully clothed.

—

It’s the day of the wedding, and you’re stressed. You’d been fine until the exact moment that you and Jamie began walking up to the venue. Everything is fine, you’re walking hand-in-hand, but then you just stop.

“Jamie,” you say, tugging on his hand, “Jamie I can’t do this.”

He turns to you in surprise. “What d’you mean you can’t do this?”

“I mean, it’s a lot of people I haven’t seen in forever and I don’t know, I’m just freaking out.”

Jamie laughs of all things. “Babe, it’s all right. Look, you’re with me, yeah? And I’m fucking amazin’. And you’re fucking amazin’. So whatever you’re worried about, ain’t a problem.”

Sometimes you forget how cocky Jamie can be. And how much it can boost your confidence.

You blow out a breath. “Thanks babe. You’re right, it’ll be fine.”

—

It was more than fine. Like, way more than fine. Your friend looked lovely, and she was overjoyed to see you, and Jamie was the absolute best. He befriended your entire table and insisted you dance with him for every song. He was weirdly good at it, too.

“It’s all in the hips, babe,” he said.

It definitely was.

Your favorite part, though, is the last dance.

It’s a slow song, and the only people left were couples. The bride and groom had left, sneaked out a back door because she hated send-offs, so everything was winding down.

Jamie has your hands in his, and brings them to loop around his neck.

“You alright?” he whispers. You nod. “Good,” he says, voice still low. “Wanted to make sure you had a good time. I fucking love weddings. The dancing, the food… you.” He grins and you smile back. “You look fucking gorgeous, by the way. Not sure I mentioned it earlier.”

You’re blushing now, swaying to the music as his hands circle your waist.

You say, “Thanks for coming with me, Jaim. I don’t think I would’ve had as much fun without you.”

Your hands are on the sides of his face now, thumbs tracing his cheekbones.

You lean up to kiss him and right before you do he whispers, “Gonna be us someday, yeah?”

You forget how to breathe for a moment, opting to nod instead.

Jamie smiles, and leans down to finish what you started.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

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