#she is five three and look at her brown eyes

[delulustateofmind]

A City of Dreams [Part Two]

Series Summary: ModernAU of ACOTAR, Azriel breaks away from the small town of Windhaven to escape his toxic family and chase his dreams with his newfound family. Leaving behind his small-town life for new ventures in Velaris. 

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three-Coming soon!]

Word Count: 2.1k

Trigger warnings: Pet names (lil fawn), drinking, clubbing, let me knew if I'm missing any!

A sigh of relief escaped you as you finally beat the morning coffee rush, rolling your shoulders back as you leaned against the counter. Your managers handled the coffee order today, so it should be an easy day. The summertime menu was soon ready with your next shipment of strawberries. That meant strawberry pastries and strawberry lattes, your favorite time of the year.

The bell connected to the door chimed as it swung open to reveal Feyre approaching you with heavy steps. She released a deep sigh as she ran her hands through her shimmering brown hair—how does someone have that much volume? You will never understand.

"I just got the rejection email," Feyre sighed heavily as she took a spot next to the coffee bar, laying her head on the table. Deciding to whip her up a matcha latte with vanilla cold foam, you could always tell what type of drinks suited people. Feyre was a not-too-sweet individual, and Matcha complimented her. Something about Feyre was calming enough but had bitter undertones like Matcha; it can be sweet or bitter. A soft hum escaped your lips as you made her drink. "Did it say why you got rejected?" you murmured as you whisked the green powder with warm water.

"I don’t meet the five fluent language criteria. I mean, who knows five languages, y/n?" Feyre exclaimed through a frustrated sigh as she pressed her forehead on the counter. "What kind of personal assistant does that guy need?"

Handing Feyre the drink, you couldn’t help but notice the exhaustion etched in your friend’s features. Watching Feyre take a sip, her silver-blue eyes reflecting a mixture of frustration and resignation. 

"Let’s go out tonight, close early, I want to get trashed," Feyre sighed. "I’m now a single, jobless, freelance artist. Who can’t even manage to meet the requirements for a stupid personal assistant position."

You reassured her, “The guy was probably a jerk anyways," as you cleaned up the counters. "You probably would have hated it. Anyways, yeah, I could always close early tonight. Let’s go to Rita’s?" Looking over your shoulder, you noticed Feyre on her phone staring at a photo of her and Tamlin. "You could always go back to him, you know? He seemed kind of obsessed over you."

Feyre deleted the photo after finishing her latte but didn’t say a word. You couldn’t imagine what she was thinking. You took the glass from her, and she stayed for a while making small talk with you before mentioning that she would see you at home later tonight. Leaving with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. 

******* 

Azriel finished his shower with a towel wrapped around his waist. A few more hours of code, and he should be done for the day. His phone chimed, a text from Rhysand in their group chat:

"Rita’s tonight 🍻🍾 to celebrate the new update."

An annoyed sigh escaped Azriel’s lips as he put the phone back down and got dressed. After getting ready, he took a seat at his computer and began working on code for what felt like hours. The eye bags under his eyes seemed to only get heavier.  

*******

The club pulsed with energy, the bass thumping in time with the pounding of your heart. Neon lights danced across the walls, casting kaleidoscopic patterns on the writhing bodies on the dance floor. The air was thick with the scent of alcohol, sweat, and perfume, punctuated by bursts of laughter and the occasional shout. Yep, a typical Friday night at Rita’s. 

Feyre was wearing one of the skimpiest dresses you’ve ever seen her wear, and she was rocking it, of course. You opted for a black tight dress that hugged your body. Feyre held your hand, guiding you to a spot at the bar, where she ordered you both drinks. Both of which were fruity cocktails that you both downed the second they touched your hands. Setting them on the bar, you both left to go dancing.

"Tonight! We put past all of our worries; tomorrow will be a new, better day," Feyre laughed as she danced before you.

You both danced, feeling the rhythm of the bumping club music. The lights strobing, intoxicating both of you. Clubbing in Velaris was a whole other level compared to both of your small-town lives. People here were here to be seen; everything was about who or what you knew in Velaris. While dancing, neither of you realized the violet eyes piercing Feyre as she swayed her hips. It wasn’t until a waitress tapped on Feyre’s shoulder and pointed to a table on the second floor, claiming a man up there was requesting you both to meet him.

You weren’t sure if it was the environment, the drinks, or the way Feyre was blushing when she caught the gaze of the man. He was breathtakingly handsome, the typical rich guy with tailored clothes that seemed to hug his silhouette. As he manspread at the table drinking a glass of whiskey, his friends chatted amongst themselves. When Feyre began walking over to the table, he set down his glass in one swift motion and came up to her, grabbing her hand and planting a soft kiss on top of it.

"You are absolutely divine," He said in a sultry voice as his violet eyes met her silvery blue ones. A blush crept onto Feyre’s face as she met his eyes.

"Thank you," she muttered sheepishly as he guided her to sit down next to him. The man’s name was Rhysand; by the looks of it, the man was loaded. For someone so young, he seemed accomplished and fascinated by Feyre. Before you knew it, he bought a bottle for the table.

You sat next to her, of course, being cautious of your friend. You hear stories all the time of attractive men leading women to their doom. You sip on your drink, keeping a watchful gaze at Rhysand’s hands, who seemed to be kept on his lap.

At least he was respectful.

You felt a piercing gaze at you from across the table, meeting a pair of hazel eyes that had dark undereye bags underneath them. You recognized the look. It was the man from earlier. Instead, now you could see his whole face.

Rhysand was a different type of handsome, like what you would expect a CEO to look like or some actor that would star as the male lead. The man before you looked like a tired prince or even an idol. Soft black curls covered his face just below the brow, and he had these full dark lips…that you couldn’t stop staring at. Why couldn’t you stop staring at them? Was it the drinking? A smile tugged his lips as he moved closer to you.

A low voice, almost a whisper in your ear, "You live down the hall? What a small world we are meeting here." His breath was hot, sending shivers down your body. Instead of responding, you took a sip of the champagne that Rhysand bought for the table—champagne you would normally never be able to afford. You finally gathered the courage to meet his gaze, his hazel eyes held warmth.

"Yeah…about two doors down from you, I’m assuming," you mutter sheepishly. He was so intimidating, yet you felt comfortable enough that if he asked you a question, you would be able to answer it without hesitation. You couldn’t help but notice his hands. Burn markings scattered all over them.

"Azriel, that’s my name. What’s yours?" He followed your gaze before setting his drink on the table and folding his hands over his lap. A stutter spurred from your lips, "Y/n, a pleasure to meet you Azriel," you look at him, yet your eyes are once again drawn to his lips.

An amused smile tugged his lips as he looked over at you up and down. "Y/n, pretty name for a little fawn like you. You don’t seem like the clubbing type," Azriel’s gaze met your eyes again as he tilted his head. "What brought you here tonight?"

"Celebrating losses, to say the least." You gave a slight nod to Feyre, who seemed to be laughing at Rhysand’s joke as she leaned against him. You looked around the room and back at him. "How about you? You looked exhausted."

Azriel leaned a bit closer; you both were touching at this point. "Celebrating losses? Well, I suppose we are opposites because we're celebrating wins." A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he leaned to grab his drink from the table and took a sip. Not breaking eye contact with you. "What’d you lose, little fawn?"

"Personally, I didn’t lose anything, just supporting my friend- who is getting very comfortable with your friend over there," You glance at him as he notices them with a smile on his face. "She needed a little pick me up, rough day for her."

"Hopefully tonight will be better for her then," He smiled. "Also, don’t worry about Rhysand; taking home drunk girls was in his early twenties. He was captivated by her dancing. Wait til he finds out, she lives down the hall from him." a teasing tone in his voice. "Clubs are nice and all, but do you want to get out of here? Maybe grab some food?"

Was he asking you out, was he expecting more, is it okay to have a playful fling with your extremely attractive neighbor?

As Azriel’s gaze bore into yours, your mind raced with questions and doubts. Was he asking you out? Did you want him to? The alcohol buzzed in your veins, clouding your thoughts and judgments. Loosening your inhibitions. “Yes” escaped your lips without a second guess, the words hanging in the air like an unspoken promise. 

The two of you left; Rhysand had given you his number and said that he would take Feyre home and he would text you when he did. Nice guy, especially for paying for your drinks the whole night.

Azriel took your hand, his large hands grabbing your soft ones. The callouses from working out rubbing against your soft palm. A part of you wondered what they would feel like around your… no, no naughty thoughts, you barely just met the guy. He had guided you outside the club.

"Do you like ramen?" He asked as he looked down at you; he was nearly a foot taller than you. You gave a small nod, and he guided you to a place he knew down the street from your apartment. You were starting to limp, your heels scraping the back of your ankles causing a blister. Azriel looked down and noticed before stopping at a bench.

"Sit here, I’ll be right back," He said with a smile before doing a slight jog to the nearby convenience store. The cold breeze made you slightly shiver. A curious glance at the back of Azriel as he entered the store a block away. Perhaps, he was getting beer?

Moments later, Azriel came back with a bag. He pulled out a package of bandaids and bent down on one knee. Looking up at you he murmured in a soft voice, "Can I touch you?" a blush met your cheeks as you nodded. His warm hands took off your high heels and placed a bandaid on the blisters. His touch was gentle. "There," he said softly "I can carry you if you want?" He looked up at you, his eyes that once seemed intimidating, almost seemed like a puppy full of concern.

"It’s fine," you responded bashfully, "You didn’t have to do that, you know," looking away from his gaze.

"I wanted to, I can imagine that high heels alone don’t feel good, much less with the addition of blisters. How about we postpone ramen and instead get you home," He smiled before reaching for your phone. “I’ll add my number, so make sure you save the date.”

Azriel even took a selfie for the contact photo, a gift honestly to see this man’s angelic face.

After placing his contact information in your phone, he put your high heels back on and stood up, reaching for your hand. “Let’s get going, shall we?” You nodded and took his hand, feeling the scars. Perhaps one day, you’ll learn about them.

Tag list: @lilah-asteria, @brieflyclassymortal

#acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x you #acotar azriel #modernau!acotar #azriel #rhysand acotar #feyre acotar

[percentstardust]

is this trend still a thing cause i wanted to make them for my dank spin off ghostface devilface oc.

#& what the hap is fuckening ( ooc ) #DO NOT REBLOG THIS #my favorite girlie #lives rent free in my head #got away with murder ( good for her ) #wrote a book on her kill spree ( also good for her ) #consulted on movie based off of kill spree #needs to do a new one to give that book a sequel finally 😈 #abusers and predators and scum you better watch out you better watch out CAUSE SHE IS COMING FOR YOU #she’s literally a barbie but a killer one #she is five three and look at her brown eyes #does that look like the face of a KILLER

[beiasluv]

— op81, cs55, cl16, ls2

a/n: spent so long on the graphic 💀

yourinsta

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yourinsta call me pitbull cuz I’m mr worldwide 🤫 (+🇦🇺🇪🇸🇲🇨🇺🇸)

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landonorris coppiers

yourinsta you’re my og 🫶

landonorris just og? 😔

username I swear if oscar gives us nothinggg

username MY BABY IS SHY OKAY?

username GOOD DAY TO BE A LOGAN SARGEANT FAN 🦅🦅🦅🦅

username I could only pray the Spanish flag is for Fernando 😩

— oscar piastri

Nervously sipping on his emotional support orange juice. Maybe too much nervous sipping.

“So, what’s your type?”

“My girlfriend?”

“Tell her she’s mine too.”

“WOw, will do.”

Cheeks turning red, munching on the fries like a little chipmunk he is.

“I mean– I have three sisters so…”

“That’s a green flag.”

“Thank you?” a piece of chicken in, a smile comes out. “That’s it?”

“Maybe if he’s…Australian, maybe.” you shrugged.

“Yeah.”

“And if he’s…wait. what sign are you?”

“Don’t know..I think it’s kinda nonsense.”

“That’s a red flag.”

“Sorry?” cheeky.

The orange juice was left unattended for a minute. Good sign. Chuckles were still evident.

“Let’s get serious here…” shifting in your seat.

“Yeah.”

“You drive for a living?”

“Yeah, I go around in circles ‘nd stuff,” juice pause. “I could drive you around Melbourne..if you’d want to–”

“And you’ll take me back by eight? Maybe offering your hand as well?”

“Yeah,” squinting face. “I could do that.”

“Lovely.”

— carlos sainz

Does that thing with his eyes, bending down to take the fries in…while keeping an intense eye contact.

“Smooth operator, you like that song?”

“Everyone favorite song no?”

“Hard choice.” pausing your fries mid air. “Spanish songs that I have no idea what they’re talking about could be up there.”

“Really? Tell me one.”

“The one from fast and furious.”

“A lot of them,” throwing his head back. “Can you sing it for me?”

“Asking for me to sing already. You’re in a hurry Carlos?” a sip of your Diet Coke. “Fast Five?”

“Eh..Danza Kuduro?”

“How could I know?” you shrugged. “What’s the song about anyways?”

“Something like…dancing…er…with tight ass.”

“Make sense.”

Looking confused as ever with that big, brown eyes. Mouth agape and shut every time few seconds, curling into a smile most of the time.

“So you’re still looking for job next year?”

“Huh?”

“Lewis Hamilton? Looking for job?”

“Eh..” leaned back in his seat. “Could be. Are you offering?”

“I’m a pretty busy girl..”

“Really? How busy?”

“So you’re up for it? That’s fast.”

“I’ll have to talk to my manager,” raising his eyebrow. “What is your requirement?”

“A Ferrari driver.”

“Sure.”

— charles leclerc

Trying to not laugh his ass off every five seconds or just completely blanks out. Chicken tasted good though.

“Charles, I have to ask you one thing.”

“Yeah?”

“How do you pronounce your last name?”

“I don’t..I don’t care, really.” Shrugging his shoulders. “Charles. Le. Clare.”

“Hm…maybe just use my last name instead, it’s easier.”

“I– yeah?”

“What?”

His chicken was pretty cleaned up the first few minutes. Plenty of confused chuckles.

“Do you think you are a committed person?”

“I…I…it’s a hard question no?” he put his hand together, in an Italian – sorry, Monegasque way. “I like to say I am.”

“I could tell.”

“Really? How?”

“Your contract with Ferrari.”

— logan sargeant

He was used to burger and fries but maybe he could just tolerate chicken and fries for your pretty company.

“What’s your ideal date?”

“Hm..definitely chicken shop dates.”

“Really? Where’s best chicken you ever had then?”

“This one.”

“That’s not an option.”

Subtle stares here and there, his cheeks might be hurting from all the grinning though.

“What’s your ideal type?” munching his ketchup-ed fries.

“So you don’t do researches.”

“I am now.”

“You know…starting to have a thing for Americans. You have any recommendations?”

“You could start by going fishing in the Keys with me,” stretched his arms.

“I’m not into fishy things.”

“Just boat rides?”

“I could do that.”

Coke break.

“Your thoughts on frat boys?”

“They’re fine,” he shrugged.

“And you’re not like a..secret member? Is it like a One Direction..thing?”

“Maybe better looking?” smirked. “I could see myself being one if I wasn’t racing.”

“Dreams do come true, Sargeant.”

“Ouch,” clutching his chest. “Ah– well– Maybe this other dream could come true as well?”

“You being better looking than One Direction?”

tell me who should be in chicken shop dateee 😩😩

– @namgification @jsjcue @c-losur3

Today’s a great day to take care of yourself!!

#formula 1 #f1 x reader #f1 #f1 imagines #charles leclerc imagines #lando norris x reader #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri #carlos sainz #carlos sainz x reader #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #logan sargent x reader #logan sargeant

[backwzzds]

ೃ⁀➷ love me, connie springer (nsfw)

thinking about babydaddy!connie fucking you nice and slow after finding out you got stood up by your date. having little constentina (his idea, but tina for short) for the weekend, your precious angel just couldn’t keep her mouth shut to her daddy when you’d told her you were going on a small ‘dinner’

“she said dinner but that really means date, daddy.”

connie isn’t surprised. no one knew how to handle you beside him. i mean, he’s had your ass in place successfully for nearly ten years; only he was man enough to handle you, your mind, and most of all your body.

you loved connie like no other, you wanted no one else to be the father of your children. but you knew the streets would eventually take him away from you, and you just didn’t wanna stick around for that. not when you had a five year old girl depending on the both of you. connie looked for other ways to make bread without selling or doing anything…illegal but it was hard to match the stacks he was bringing home every weekend.

your separation was a one sided agreement anyways it seems. to you? you two were broken up. to connie delulu ass? you were his wife and you’re ‘smoking dick if you think ion belong to you and you’on belong to me.’

you didn’t even have any words for the absence of your so called ‘date.’. after an hour of waiting, you figured you’d call in to check on tina. ringing connie, your babyfather answered on the first ring, of course with a wood in his mouth and multiple lights on his face, signaling he was watching tv.

“hey,” your voice is solemn and low. you really were tired and ashamed to say anything more.

“hey mama, you okay?” connie’s hazel brown eyes quickly flick over to yours through the screen.

you shrug though he can’t see it. “i’m okay.” you admit. “just callin’ to check on my baby.” the frame was only on your face, but from the small shake of your hand, connie had managed to get a glimpse of a pretty black dress you’d sported, breasts looking three times as big as it usually did because of your sitting position. he could tell you dressed up for the night.

“yeah? she good, just upstairs sleepin’ right now. how was your date, pretty?” you hear connie turn down the tv in the background and give you his full intention.

you furrow your brows. “what? boy, how’d you know about it?”

your baby father blows out a huff of smoke and chuckles, flashing his gold canines. he wasn’t gon snitch on his lil informant princess. “i got my ways. tell me bout it baby.”

with a roll of your eyes, you let out a tired sigh and felt your shoulders sag. “wouldn’t know. the nigga never showed.”

connie furrows his own thick eyebrows. “what you mean? he told you he couldn’t come?” he asked. from the shake of your head, you see his face soften on the screen. “come over n’ smoke with me. lemme make you feel better.”

you kiss your teeth and throw your head back, already knowing where the conversation was headed. embarrassment flooded your expression. “you eating my pussy is not gonna make me feel better, constance.”

connie kissed his teeth and waved you off dismissively. “you’on know that.”

a blush can’t help but creep its way onto your brown cheeks. “i’m supposed to be staying away from you, ya know.”

connie gives you a knowing grin, shamelessly flexing the two deep dimples in his cheeks that constentina inherrited from him. “yeah? how’s that going for you, mama?”

“obviously not good because i’m actually considering your offer of being a booty call tonight?” you laugh.

“come onnn mama, tina’s sleep, i got a wood rolled for you and i want you here.” your ex compromised with a kiss of his teeth. “lemme rub ya feet and all on ya butt i promise you’ll feel better.

“i’m tired and don’t feel like driving, con,” you whine in the same tone. you knew if he didn’t have your daughter he’d already be at your door, but you refused to risk waking her up in a car ride over here.

connie rolls his eyes and puts you on pause for the moment. a minute later he comes back on screen and takes a pull of his backwood. “your uber on the way baby.”

“ooh daddy,” you cried, trying your hardest to breathe straight. “you know i cum fast like this, oh shit,” connie had your legs spread wide open, forcing your huge tits up against the bottom of your face as he pumped in and out of you.

“you like that mama, like when i fuck you nice and slow? all romantic n’ shit?” connie teased. tears streamed down your face and he wasted no time in kissing them from your pretty face.

you’re too far in euphoria to even fully comprehend exactly what he’s saying. “yes, i love when you stroke this pussy so deep daddy.”

connie holds your breasts up damn near to your face and takes his time sucking on each of your nipples, making sure to stretch and pull it all the way back as far as it could go, grinning at the sound of it snapping back toward you. “you’on need no one else to love you like this but me, you heard?”

you can’t help but shake your head, the small responsible part of you left that hadn’t been fucked out by connie yet (though he was close) was slowly bringing you to reality. “no,” you respond.

“nah, nah, dead that shit or imma stop,” your ex threatened, straightening his back out so he stood tall, yet still very deep inside your gummy walls. you can’t help but stare down the tattoos that littered his body; many dedicated to you and your shared daughter. “you grippin’ me so tight baby, boutta make me cum, fuck,” connie throws his head back and whines. “tell me you’re mine n’ we gonna get back together.”

“no, con,” your words were saying one thing, but the cream ring of your arousal forming around connie’s tanned dick was betraying everything leaving your mouth. “w-we’re we’re toxic—oooh, yes, right there right there!”

suddenly, a large pair of hands come to wrap around your neck, gripping lightly. “tell me you’re mine or im not fuckin’ this pussy,” he orders. “you know i don’t be bluffing, mama. ‘specially when it come to your spoiled ass déjame oírte decirlo.”

more tears fall from your eyes as you feel your lower region bubble in evstasy. “con—“

“say it if you wanna cum.” connie’s grip around your neck tightens as he inevitably starts to babble. he was not gonna let up off you no matter what. “come on mama, say it n lemme give you another baby. gonna make you a mama all over again, want you so full of my babies, pretty—fuck,” he breathed out. “you know daddy sorry, you gonna forgive him?”

it wasn’t until connie started to add his thumb rubbing circles around your clit did you finally fold and give in. “oh fuck, yes! yes yes i forgive you con—please—“

“go head and cum mami, te quiero.” connie breathed out, feeling his own orgasm approach. “te amo joder joder por favor dame más hijos mami te estoy rogando déjame correrte dentro de ti,” the man curses into the atmosphere as he strokes himself in you a few more times.

“yes yes,” you nod in response to his pleads of cumming in you. a nanosecond later, connie’s cumming deep into you until he ends up shooting nothing but blanks. you’re full to the brim to the point where drops of his cum couldn’t help but ooze out between your puffy cunt.

“dio mio.”

#lora’s fics! ೄྀ࿐ #connie springer x black reader #connie springer x chubby reader #connie springer smut #plug connie x black reader #connie x black reader #connie springer x reader #connie springer #connie springer x black reader smut #connie smut #aot x black reader #aot x chubby reader #aot smut #aot connie #connie aot

[emchant3d]

modern au, exes to lovers, transfem stevie harrington

Stevie Harrington is not having a good day.

By all accounts, she should be. Robin woke her right on time by pressing a perfectly made brown sugar shaken espresso into her hand. Nancy and Chrissy got to the venue earlier than expected. The hair and makeup people were on schedule. Their boozy charcuterie brunch during their prep time was perfectly served, the mimosas delicious and the food fresh and light enough to put on her nervous stomach. 

Everything’s gone off without a hitch. She looks gorgeous. She’s got her something old, her something new, her something borrowed, and even her something blue. Her hair’s done in a soft blowout, framing her face but out of the way, ready for the combs of her veil to slip into. Her makeup is elegant, not too showy and not too dramatic, neutral and warm and sweet. And her dress. It’s what she always dreamed of, clingy and silky with a dramatic leg slit and a long train, off the shoulders, perfectly white. She’s staring at herself in the mirror knowing that in forty-five minutes, she’s going to hold the world’s most beautiful wedding bouquet and walk down the most perfectly decorated aisle in the quaintest, sweetest church she could find, and she’ll stand across from her fiancé and take his hands and say “I do” and all of her dreams will come true.

So she should be having a good day.

Because it’s her wedding day, and Stevie Harrington is about to become Stefania Hagan.

Maybe that brunch wasn’t so perfect after all, because she thinks she’s about to puke.

“I can’t do this,” she says, but her voice is so soft it’s barely a whisper and the girls don’t even glance at her. “I can’t do this,” she repeats, and Robin - bless her, her favorite person in the world, her soulmate, her other half, her maid of honor - glances up. 

“What’s that, Evie?” she asks, and the others look over at her, and Stevie stands there beneath their gazes and knows if she just says it again, says I can’t do this, don’t make me marry him, get me out of here, all three of them would drag her to an exit and get her the fuck out.

They don’t even like Tommy. Robin actively hates him, actually, and that should have been enough for Stevie to never look at him twice.

But it wasn’t. It wasn’t enough.

She thinks back to a few days ago, drunk in a bar with a white sash wrapped around her torso, a tiara on her head, and mascara running down her face as she desperately sobbed on Robin’s shoulder during her bachelorette party. That little meltdown wasn’t enough. And she thinks back further, to when Tommy proposed - in public, at a fucking baseball game, on the goddamn jumbotron. Dread had settled in her chest at the sight of the ring (huge, gaudy, she hated it on sight) even as she pasted on a smile and said yes. That hadn’t been enough.

But somehow standing here done up head to toe, about to walk down the aisle in her absolute dream wedding - that’s enough. Because everything about today is right. Everything’s in place. Everything’s gorgeous and going to plan and she should be so, so happy - but it’s the wrong man waiting for her at the end of all of it.

She can’t do this. 

She looks up and meets Robin’s eyes and forces a smile. “I said I need to get my veil,” she lies, and she slips into her shoes (red bottoms, a gift from Tommy’s mother, perfectly white and pointed and it’s her dream day, how can she be throwing this away?) and walks into the other room where her garment bag is hanging, and her veil is there with its delicate detail and it’s scalloped edges and it’s all so fucking perfect she’s going to scream, she wants to rip it to pieces and she wants to tear this dress off and she wants to sob, she doesn’t want to do this, she doesn’t want to get married - not to him. Not to Tommy. 

She could ask for help. Robin would have her out of here in five minutes flat, Nancy would craft an excuse to tell everyone, and Chrissy would cause a distraction. But even that’s too long of a wait. Even that’s too much attention, too much suspicion. She needs to move faster than that. She needs out now.

She quickens her pace as she crosses the room, dress dragging along the carpet, and she snags her phone where it’s sitting on the end table next to an overstuffed love seat, and in three long strides she’s out the door and in the hall and the church has been busy and packed all day but somehow, miraculously, there’s no one here.

No one sees Stevie as she gathers up the fabric of her dress in her hands and starts to walk towards the exit. No one sees as her walk speeds to a jog, and then a run, and then she slams out of a side door and she’s on the sidewalk and she’s sprinting, her heels are going to get scuffed by the pavement but she can’t care, she’s running as fast as she can and dodging people on the sidewalk as they turn and gawk at her and she cannot give them a thought, cannot focus on them even a little bit because she has to get away, escape is the only thought on her mind as she gasps for air, her dress is so heavy and it’s not made for running that’s for goddamn sure, and the last few years with Tommy flash through her mind - every time he’s undermined her or given her a backhanded compliment or policed her, told her she wasn’t feminine enough, told her she wasn’t trying hard enough to pass, told her to just keep it all to herself so no one would know she wasn’t cis, wouldn’t embarrass him by making a scene, all the times that come together to a glaringly obvious conclusion that he doesn’t really love her and she kind of hates him a little actually, and obviously she can’t fucking marry him and–

There. 

A beat-up four-door with an Uber sticker in the window. 

That’ll do, she thinks, and she changes course, shoulder-checking a man and not apologizing for it as she makes a beeline for the car. She pops off an acrylic wrenching the door open and tossing herself into the backseat, and she yells “DRIVE!” at the top of her lungs and somehow, through some miracle, they listen, swerving into traffic with a loud curse and a myriad of honking horns and a quaint, sweet little church growing smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror.

She’s gasping for breath, chest heaving, staring out the back window like she’s waiting for someone to follow her - and maybe she is, maybe Tommy is hot on her trail, or maybe Robin is coming to kill her for not including her in her mad dash to freedom and instead jumping in a stranger’s car going God knows where.

“So uh,” a voice says, and she whips around, staring wide-eyed at the brown eyes fixed on her in the mirror, and no, no fucking way– “where to, ma’am?” 

“Um,” she says, and her voice is shaky, cracking a little, she brushes her hair out of her face and stares and– wait.

There’s a beat. The driver’s eyes widen. Recognition flashes over his face at the same time it registers for Stevie. 

“Stevie?” Eddie Munson, her ex-boyfriend of several years, the man she hasn’t spoken to since that fateful night they went their separate ways, is staring at her in shock, not even looking at the road, and the only thing she can think is how he’s just as averse to road safety now as he’d been way back when.

“Eddie,” she croaks out. 

Too many emotions are overwhelming her at once and it feels like the biggest cliché in the world, but honestly, Stevie feels like she’s entitled to some dramatics. It’s her goddamn wedding day, after all.

Her failed wedding day.

Where she just left her fiancé at the altar.

“Oh god,” she manages. Her lower lip wobbles. Her vision blurs.

“Stevie,” Eddie says again, like a warning, and that’s enough to push her over.

She bursts into tears in his backseat.

“Hey hey hey!” he says like she’s a fucking spooked horse or something, which only makes her cry more, ugly sobs that shake her shoulders and drip tear drops onto her dress. “Stevie, honey–”

“Do NOT call me honey right now!” she manages, and he raises a hand in surrender before flipping on a turn signal and finding a parking lot to pull over in. 

“Okay, okay! No comforting pet names, you got it,” he agrees, and he shuts the car off, turning in his seat to look at her, concern painted all over his face and that’s just really not fair, she thinks, that he still looks so earnest and sweet and fucking worried about her.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, urgent and serious, and she shakes her head quickly.

“No! No, I’m - I’m fine, really,” she insists and he proves that he is a gentleman after all, because he doesn’t call her out on the blatant lie.

“Okay,” he says, level, his hand hovering in the space between them like he wants to touch her. “What do you need?” he asks, and she wipes at her face with her hands, swallowing down yet another sob.

“Get me out of here,” she pleads, and he searches her face for - something, she doesn’t know what, because she’s sure all she’s showing him is how much of a fucking mess she is, but he must find whatever he’s looking for.

He gives her a sharp nod. “Anywhere in particular, sweetheart?” he asks, turning to start the car again. She doesn’t call him out on the pet name this time.

“Anywhere but here,” she says, and he puts the car in reverse, pulling back onto the road.

“You got it,” he says, and some of that old charm must kick in - he winks at her in the rearview. She resolutely ignores the spike of emotion it gives her. 

Then she takes a deep, shuddery breath, and opens the group chat to break the news to her wedding party.

part 2

#steddie #steddie fic #trans steve harrington #transfeminine steve harrington #stevie harrington #runaway bride stevie #my fic #apologies in advance but i don't do tag lists <3

[that-sarcastic-writer]

After Hours

DI!SingleDad!Leon S. Kennedy X F!Teacher!Reader

Summary: You really shouldn't fuck your student's dad. You shouldn't. No matter how hot you think he is. You shouldn't. Right?

Warnings: explicit sexual content, minors dni, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) p in v, fingering, oral (f receiving), choking, hair pulling, creampie, soft!dom leon, praising, Leon has a mouth on him, the s stands for slut, parent teacher dynamic, foul language

WC: 8.2k I am so sorry

A/N: guess who just watched death island and guess who wants to fuck di Leon. Yes, this whore. The things that man does to me. Man definitely gave me girl dad vibes in di so I wrote it lol enjoy the Leon filth

Note: this story was inspired by @konigbabe own dad!leon x teacher fic. Hers is definitely way better than mine and definitely recommend checking it out! (Sorry for not mentioning before it was extremely late last night🙃)

Universe Masterlist

You've been teaching second graders for a very long time, and you've never been more in awe and intrigued by a child at the same time. When you met this little girl you knew she would grow on you. But you didn't think she would be so complicated too. 

"Mhm, and she said— Izzy?" You were standing in your designated area during recess duty, talking to the other second grade teacher when one of your students, Isabella, was dragged to your side along with an older boy by another teacher. 

The boy had a scraped up arm, and Izzy was holding her hands together in front of herself and staring at the ground as the teacher held her by her shirt. You stared in confusion for a second before you looked at the teacher. 

"Ms. Miller, what's going on? Why are you dragging Izzy and who is this boy?" You asked, head tilted with confusion. 

"Is this Isabella Kennedy? She wouldn't answer when I asked her." The older lady asked, shooting the brunette girl a nasty look. You frowned, but nodded slowly, replying with a short yes. She continued. "She pushed one of my kids and he's bleeding. You need to take her to the Principal's office and call her parents right now." 

Your eyes widened in shock and your mouth fell open, baffled. You blinked a couple times in disbelief as you looked at Izzy. This girl was a sweetheart, quiet, but kind, she would never hurt another student. 

"Izzy, come baby, we're gonna go sit in my classroom while I call your daddy, mkay?" You shot Ms. Miller a glare that made her let go of Izzy, and you quietly extended your hand to the girl. She took it, quietly following you. 

Maybe today was the day you would finally meet Isabella Kennedy's father. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It took five phone calls, three emails, and a good three hours before anyone came for Izzy. It was well past the end of the school day. You had been sitting outside the Principal's office with Izzy for about an hour when a man, tall, close to six feet tall, with a leather jacket and brown hair that fell over his eyes walked down the hall. He had the same intense blue eyes as Izzy. He had a pretty annoyed look on his face too. 

Leon Kennedy.

"Izzy." He called out when he saw her, his low baritone filling the otherwise quiet hall. The little girl lifted her head, blue eyes instantly lighting up at the sight of her dad. 

She instantly got up from her chair and ran to him. He picked her up without hesitation and a frown plastered on his face when she hid her face on his neck with guilt. 

"I'm sorry daddy." 

"Oh, what's wrong? Why are you sorry?" He asked, rubbing her back soothingly, but before she could bust out into tears, you stepped in. 

"Hi. Hey, uhm. I'm Isabella's teacher. Are you Mr. Kennedy?" You felt stupid for asking, he made you feel even more so when he narrowed his eyes at you with this 'seriously?' look in his eyes. 

"Yeah. What's going on? I saw you left me a million voicemails. Is Izzy alright?" He asked, understandably concerned, instinctively checking his daughter for any injuries or marks. 

"Yes she's alright but uhm.. Something happened earlier and I think it'd be good if we spoke in private before you speak with the principal." You bit your lip, watching as his face scrunched up with a mixture of confusion and annoyance. 

"What— y'know what, alright. Just make it quick please." He sighed, saying something to Izzy that you couldn't quite hear before he set her down on her feet. 

"I'm gonna go talk to your daddy for a minute okay? You can go finish that drawing, yeah?" You said to the little girl with a smile. She rubbed her eye but nodded regardless. 

You led Leon to your classroom. You sat on your desk as he sat on the chair you had left for him in case he did show up. He leaned back, arms folded over his chest and legs spread. That man hadn't even said a word yet and you were already sweating. He was full of self assurance and confidence, like he didn't need to say a word for his presence to be the center of attention. And it made you nervous. 

"So uhm, I called you because Isabella got into some trouble today during recess." You started, leaning your elbows on your desk. His face never changed. He had the same stoic expression. 

Seriously?

"Okay." 

"She pushed a fourth grader on the playground, and the kid scraped up his arm." You finished, hoping that would get some kind of reaction. It did. But not the one you were expecting. 

"Oh. Wow, okay." There was a tiny curve on the corner of his lips. You could swear it looked like a smile. "Is she in trouble or something?" 

"Uhm, yes, of course she's in trouble. Our anti-bullying policy is very strict here Mr. Kennedy. She could get suspended for this." 

He rolled his eyes. The motherfucker rolled his eyes. 

"That's not bullying. The kid probably deserved it." He scoffed softly, leaning further back into the chair. He had his eyebrows furrowed, and he was staring you down, pale blue eyes making you want to crawl into your own skin. "Izzy isn't the type to just hurt someone. She's a good kid. Did you even ask why she did it? 

"Well uhm.. Yes, she said the fourth grade boy was bothering her and her friend, he shoved her friend so Izzy, uh, shoved him back, much harder." You cleared your throat, knowing your answer wasn't any better. You didn't want Izzy to get in trouble, but you had to do your job.

"Are you serious?" He had this blank expression on his face, and when you nodded, he gave you a laugh that was this mixture between pride and irritation. "This is ridiculous. A nine year-old boy bullies my seven year-old daughter and her friend, but my daughter is the one that gets in trouble for standing up for herself?" 

You stared at him, lips parted as you tried to come up with an answer. You ran your tongue over your dry lips, no answer actually coming out. He scoffed. 

"Was that all then? This conversation could've been a phone call." He sat up, seemingly getting ready to stand up. You shook your head. 

"No, Mr. Kennedy. There's something else I wanted to discuss with you." 

"It's just Leon, please. I'm not that old." He chuckled, leaning back into the seat. 

Your eyes fell to his chest, slightly exposed by the undone buttons of his shirt. Your words were lost for a second as you imagined what it would be like to see under that shirt, to feel— No. That's inappropriate. Focus. 

"Uhm, I understand you must be busy with your job, Izzy talks about it all the time but I think she would benefit from more involvement from a parent in her academics and activities." You started, leaning forward on your arms. 

"Meaning what? I'm involved plenty." 

"I'm sorry but, I've had your daughter for a semester and a half, and this is the first time I've met you. We've had two parent-teachers conferences so far. I never saw you there. She performed at the winter concert, I don't recall seeing you there either." You explained with a small frown, remembering all the times you had to cheer her up because she was upset about her dad not being there for a school event. "All I'm saying is that if your job doesn't allow it, maybe Izzy's mom can—" 

"No, not an option. It's just me." He cut you off quickly, sitting up quickly as his shoulders tensed. 

You weren't a behavior analyst, but knew that tone. That defensiveness and resentment at the same time, you had seen it time and time again from single parents. It explained a lot. 

"Then she really needs you. You're the only support she has. So be there for your daughter."

"I am. It's just that my job—" 

"With all due respect, your job is not more important than your daughter. Listen, the spring concert is in two weeks. She's performing there with a few other girls. I just ask that you be there for her. Trust me it will do her good. And knowing her dad is there for her will stop her from acting out like this again." 

Leon bit his lip in thought, you could see the gears turning in his head, the way he tapped his index finger on his bicep in thought, but he ultimately sighed. 

"An elementary school concert, is that really necessary? Can't I just take you to dinner instead and we can call it even?" He said it so smoothly you didn't realize his flirtation at first. It took a second for your brain to register he was flirting with you and the tiny smirk on his face made heat rush to your face in an instant. 

"Mr. Kennedy, that is not appropriate." You tried hiding your embarrassment behind a soft laugh, but the way you avoided his eyes said enough. 

"I told you, it's Leon." He corrected you again, grin still on his face, "Alright fine, I'll see what I can do. Can I take Izzy home now?" 

"Yes. I'll email you the RSVP." You finally met his eyes with a small smile of your own as you waved your hand, signaling that he could leave. He nodded, standing up, but before he left you added, "And please look at your emails this time." 

He flashed you a small smile, "Sure Miss." 

~~~~~~~~~~

"Aw Izzy, you look so pretty. Did your daddy help you get ready?" You asked the little girl, her hair neatly pulled back into a bun, glitter scattered on her hair and blue sparkly eyeshadow matched the shades of blue in her outfit. She looked like a princess. 

"Nooo. Daddy doesn't know how to do makeup. Aunt Claire did." She said excitedly and smiled with glee.

Huh, that must be the woman that sometimes picked her up. For the longest time you thought it was her mom. But not after Leon had told you about her mom not being in the picture. Still, you thought maybe you'd get more out of her than her dad. 

"Oh she did a really good job!" You smiled at her as you stood with her, waiting for her turn to perform. "Is your daddy coming?" 

"Yes. He said he would." Good. 

"And your mommy? Is she coming too?" You squinted an eye, knowing you probably shouldn't push your luck, but kids usually never lied, and you wanted to know for sure.

"Oh, I don't have a mommy. Just daddy and Aunt Claire. Oh and Uncle Chris. But he's not around much." She said it so blankly it reminded you of her dad. 

It made your heart sink, to think her mom had abandoned her. Which you had the feeling was the case based on the defensive and almost resentful way Leon spoke about it when you met. But somehow it didn't seem to bother Izzy. 

"Well I'm sure your daddy will love to see you perform tonight. It's almost your turn, go find the other girls, I'll be right here." 

She gave you an eager nod and a smile as she ran to her friends, their names getting introduced by the principal a minute later. You stayed in a corner mostly out of sight, but enough where you could see the stage. At one point, you looked towards the far end of the gym, at the top of the stairs. You saw a familiar leather jacket, the man leaning against the wall with his arms folded over his chest as he watched the stage. You couldn't really see from your distance, but you had a feeling he was smiling. But you were definitely smiling when his eyes found yours. 

"Oh my God you did so good! I can't believe you learned that in a few months!" You said to Izzy, her tiny hand in yours as you walked her through the gym to find Leon.

As you walked out to the hallway, you caught a couple moms whispering not so quietly about the unknown man in a leather jacket that was standing by himself and it almost made you laugh. 

"Hey, is Isabella's dad here? I see she's still attached to your hip." Your friend, Emily walked your way, eyeing the little girl, then you. You raised an eyebrow at her, knowing she just wanted to see who was the mysterious hot single dad she kept hearing about. 

"Mmmm, yeah he's here. He's—" You looked around for a bit, quickly spotting him by himself. You smiled to yourself when your eyes met. "Izzy, your daddy is over there, go. I'll be there in a sec." 

She nodded and ran to her dad. She jumped as soon as she was in front of him and he lifted her in his arms in a heartbeat. You heard her giggles as she wrapped her arms around his neck and he sat her on his hip, hugging her. 

"He's hot. Like really hot." Emily spoke, making you look at her. Your eyes widened and you snorted quietly. "What? He is. He totally gives biker vibes. I wonder if he has a motorcycle. You should ask him to take you on a ride sometime." 

"Emily." You scolded her with a laugh. 

"I'm serious! You should go out with him. Or I will." 

"I'm leaving now, I don't not want to get written up for sexual harassment of a parent. Goodbye Ms. Robinson." You laughed, waving your hand at her dismissively as you walked towards Leon and Izzy. So you could say goodbye to Izzy. Or so you told yourself. 

"Miss! Look what my daddy gave me." Izzy showed you a beautiful white carnation. 

You smiled in awe, both at the flower but also at the sweet gesture. Leon definitely didn't seem the type to give gifts. Maybe you were wrong. 

"Oh wow, that's such a pretty flower! It's almost as pretty as you Izzy. But you're prettier." You giggled with the little girl, who nuzzled further into Leon's chest in a fit of giggles. He thought you weren't looking, but you definitely caught the tiny smile on his face. 

"But you're prettier, Miss! At school we call her Miss Pretty. Cause she's really pretty all the time, right daddy? You were saying that Miss looked really pretty the other day." Izzy lifted her head to look at her dad with her big blue eyes. 

His own eyes grew a bit and a dust of pink covered his otherwise pale face. 

"Isabella." Leon said her name sternly, but the girl just giggled even more. He rolled his eyes and looked at you, a tiny grin on his lips and that same air of confidence that never seemed to falter, even if he was embarrassed. "Okay, say bye to your friends so we can go home. And say bye to Miss Pretty." 

Now it was your turn to be fluttered. 

"Okay. Bye Miss, I'll see you on Monday!" Izzy hugged your waist as soon as Leon put her on her feet. You smiled, crouching down to embrace her properly. 

"I'll see you on Monday Izzy." You smiled, watching as she took off to find her friends. You stood up slowly, eyes meeting with Leon's. "I'm glad you came. She was really happy." 

"Mhmm, I'm glad I came too." His eyes lingered on you. 

God, you were pretty. He took in the way your hair was done differently, maybe for the occasion. Your makeup was different too, nothing too glamorous, but some shimmer on your eyelids and a lipstick that matched. And your dress, it suited you perfectly. But he'd be lying if he said he wouldn't prefer to see it on his floor instead. 

"And thank you for talking your way out of her suspension. She's a good kid, I wouldn't want something like that on her file."

"Of course. I adore Izzy, and I've seen first hand she's a sweet kid. Off the record, I didn't want her to get suspended for standing up for herself. You taught her well." You smiled, trying to ignore the blood rushing to your face. 

"Yeah well, I try."

"But I hope this isn't a one time thing though. It'd be good for Izzy if you came around more often." You bit your lip softly, feeling his deep gaze burn into your skin. He nodded, leaning ever so slightly closer. Nothing any prying eyes would notice, but you definitely did. 

"I'll be around, but in the meantime," He bit his lip, eyes darting around for a second before he leaned down to your ear for a split second, saying, "Dinner is still on the table." 

"Mr—" 

"I swear to God if you call me Mr. Kennedy one more time." 

You leaned back, a smile threatening to pull around your lips. And you nodded, digging into your purse for a second before you pulled out a piece of paper and shoved it into his palm. 

"I'll be seeing you around, Leon." 

He watched you as you walked with a smile on your face. He furrowed his eyebrows curiously but it quickly turned into a grin when he saw what you had written on the post-it note. 

Juat say when. I actually answer my phone. —Miss

"Fuck me." He sighed quietly to himself, shaking his head as he shoved the piece of paper into his pocket and rubbed a hand over his freshly trimmed jaw before calling Izzy. "Izzy, c'mon." 

"You, you evil child are in so much trouble," he chuckled, taking his daughter's hand in his, "You can't be telling daddy's secrets like that, bee. You're gonna get me in trouble." 

"But she's really pretty! And nice. And she makes really good brownies. I like her a lot." She giggled, looking up at Leon with a smile that reminded him that not everything in this world was pain and misery. "You should take her on a date!"

"I asked if she wanted to, actually." 

"Oh my God really? Did she say yes?" 

Leon looked at his little girl with narrowed eyes and smiled, "Since when are you so nosy? Hmph." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You didn't think Leon would be the chivalrous type to come pick you at your door for your date. But there he was, leaning on his Jeep Wrangler as he waited for you to come down. And when you did, fuck, it made him want to take you right then and there. 

"Woah… You look.." He blew out a small breath and his lips curved up. You nodded, biting your lip softly. 

"Thank you. You look good too." 

"So uh, is Italian alright? I know a really good place downtown." 

The food was great, amazing even, but this, oh this was better than any fancy restaurant. Leon pressed your back against the door, his own body pressing you further into it, preventing from moving. Not that you wanted to. He had one of your wrists pinned above your head as he kissed you, tongue slipping into your mouth to savor the faint wine you had earlier. He used his other hand to hoist you up around his waist, a moan slipping past your throat when his belt brushed against your clothed clit. 

You swore you never had sex on the first date. But for Leon you would be the biggest whore if that’s what he wanted. 

“Mmm Leon,” You panted softly, he hummed as he moved his lips to your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses. “Izzy. Is she—”

“Not here. She’s at my friend’s for the night.” He answered in between kisses.

“You have a friend that watches your kid while you get laid? Aren’t you lucky?”

“Can we not talk about my babysitting arraignments right now?" He muttered out in between kisses, his breath hot against your skin. 

A soft giggle fell past your lips and you nodded, grabbing the back of his head to kiss his lips again. A satisfied hum rumbled in his throat as he moved his lips with yours, keeping one hand on your ass and the other found the back of your neck as he moved you off the door. He was walking, somewhere, you assumed his bedroom. He parted from your lips to half watch where he was going and you took that opportunity to drag your lips along his jaw. You could tell he hadn't shaved in a few days, but you liked the tingle it gave.  

Leon let out a breathy hum at the feeling of your lips roaming freely along his skin. He bit his lips softly as he fumbled with the doorknob, he eventually got it open. He didn't bother closing it and his feet took him straight to his bed. 

He grabbed the back of your head and pressed another hard kiss to your lips before your back hit his bed. Soft duvets pooled around you as he laid you down, pulling your bottom lip with him as he moved back. 

"Fuck, I knew you'd look so pretty on my bed." He breathed out as he watched you, hair pooling around your head, and makeup already a mess. 

You gave him a shy smile as you sat up on your elbows. His eyes stayed on you as he sunk his weight on one knee, a knee he placed right in between your thighs. And his eyes never left you as he slowly undid the buttons of his navy blue dress shirt. His leather jacket was long gone by the time you had stepped foot inside his apartment.

You watched him with big eyes as he shrugged off the piece of clothing, leaving his muscular chest of full display. And fuck, if he looked huge under layers of clothing, he looked massive now. Your eyes took him all in, an arrangement of scars covered his otherwise pale skin. Scars and all, he was still the most attractive man you had ever met. 

"You look so pretty when you look at me like that." He chuckled softly, his fingers coming up under your chin to make you look up at him, clearly noticing the way you were staring at him, with those eyes and your lips parted.

"You think I'm pretty? Have you seen yourself in the mirror lately?" You responded without thinking, the words coming out with a breath. 

A smile formed on his lips and he shook his head, watching with amusement as your shaky hands touched his belt. You ran your tongue over your lips as you unbuckled his belt with shaky hands. Leon watched you carefully, his breath picking up when your fingers itched closer to his cock as it strained against his boxer briefs. But when you sat up fully, about to move your knees he grabbed your hands, making you stop. Your eyes shot up to his face with alarm, afraid you had made him uncomfortable. 

"Next time baby," He said with restraint. It wasn't that he didn't want to feel your mouth around him. He'd kill for that. But he could be selfish another time. "Lemme take care of you tonight, yeah?" 

You breathed out shakily, the panic leaving you as soon as the words left his mouth, and a pool of arousal replaced your uneasiness. You nodded. 

"Yeah, okay." 

He gave you a smile that made you ache and he gestured to you to lie down. 

"Lay down for me." He coaxed with a voice so smooth it almost made you whine. He eased a hand up your bare thighs as you did as he told you. 

Your back touched his soft covers again as you took in a sharp breath. You closed your eyes in anticipation as you heard him move around for a second. You gasped when you felt him drag you to the end of the bed by your ankle. You lifted your head and fuck, you could've come right there and there at the sight of Leon, on his knees, with his head between your legs. 

"Leon.." You whined almost desperately, the ache between your legs starting to become unbearable. 

A soft smirk tugged at his lips at the whine of his name and he lifted his head to look at you with feign innocence. 

"What's that pretty girl?" He sneaked a hand under your dress, his thumb barely grazing your clit through your panties. You twitched, a sharp gasp leaving your lips. 

"Please." A weak plea was all you could say. 

"What? Want my mouth on you? Want me to finger you open? Make you come all over my tongue?" He spoke with arrogance, with that same arrogance he always fucking wore. And you hated just how much it turned you on. 

"Yes! Yes! Yes, just please, touch me." You were so pathetic but you didn't care. 

"Oh trust me baby, I'm gonna do so much more than just touch you. You think you can handle me?" He tugged down your panties with such ease and so casually you didn't even realize he did, you were more focused on his question. 

"I… Yes I— Of course I can handle you." 

Leon chuckled at how fast you responded to his question and he bit his bottom lip as he scrunched up your dress up to your hips with his free hand, his eyes lingering on your cunt for a second before he met your gaze again. 

"Tap me twice if it's too much, yeah? A sweet elementary teacher like yourself might not be used to.. Well, me." 

You scrunched up your face a bit at his comment, shooting him a glare that made him chuckle. 

"I won't break Leon." 

A malicious smirk fell on his lips, "That's the point." 

He didn't give you time to reply with another witty remark when he decided he was done talking. He sunk his head between your thighs and his tongue dragged along your clit without a warning. You jolted with a shudder, a loud gasp leaving your lips when you felt his mouth on your already sensitive clit. 

"Oh my—" Your mouth fell open, your eyes slightly fluttering as he circled his tongue over your clit. "Oooh fuck." 

Your head fell back against the mattress as he continued to work you with his tongue. He drew circles around your clit before he moved down to your wet entrance then back up to your clit. Over and over until you were writhing on the bed. 

"Shit— Leon—!" The sound that left your mouth was pathetic, a mixture between a cry and a whimper when he slipped two of his long fingers into you. 

He groaned against you, lapping at your pussy as he slid his fingers in and out with ease. And you couldn't help the way you were grinding back against his face. It had been a long fucking time since a guy had even bothered to eat you out, let alone like this. He didn't mind it, but the way you kept sliding up the bed every time he curled up his fingers against that one spot was annoying him. With his free hand he grabbed your hip with a tight grip and slid your body back down, holding you against his face. And he held you there, with his fingers deep inside your pussy, his mouth lapping at your clit and both of your legs thrown over his shoulders. You had nowhere to go and he was more than pleased about that. 

"Fuck fuck— Shit Leon please—" You eyes were rolled into the back of your head, head thrown back as you writhed against his face. "Please— I'm so close please, please don't stop." 

Fuck, you sounded so pretty when you pleaded to him like that. He could feel his cock strain harder against his pants just at the sound. He hummed, closing his lips around your clit and suckled. You didn't mean to, but your hand fell to the back of his hair and you pulled. And my God you pulled hard. 

Leon growled at the feeling of your fingers tangling and tugging at his hair. The vibrations made you whine and you did it again. But this time he pulled back enough to speak. 

"Pull my hair one more time, I swear to God." He grunted the words. But he wasn't angry. God, he wasn't angry in the slightest. But he knew he only had so much self control left in his body.

You didn't reply, you simply loosened your grip on his honey brown strands, but you kept your hand on the back of his head and his lips found your clit again. And you did your best to not latch on to his hair again, but fuck it was so hard when his fingers hit so deep and his tongue felt so good. You were so fucking close, you couldn't help it. 

"Mhmm yeah that's it, I know you wanna come. Yeah, you wanna come don't you sweet girl?" He grunted, spitting on your clit as he scissored you open, the palm of his hand rutting against your clit. "I know you do, c'mon, come for me." 

When you felt his tongue on your clit again you couldn't help it. Your mouth fell wide open as your heels dug into his shoulders. Your eyes were squeezed shut as your mind went blank and you couldn't help yourself, your fingers dug so deep into his hair as you held his face against you he actually grunted in pain. 

But he didn't stop, he lapped at your juices as you convulsed under him, the lewd sound of his palm against your wet cunt shooting straight to his cock. 

He didn't stop sucking at your clit until you were twitching with aftershock and you were weakly pulling his head back by the ends of his hair. Only then his fingers left you and he was pulling back. He watched you through narrowed eyes as you panted, your hands now on your face as you tried to come back down to earth. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he rose his feet. 

He fumbled with his pants as he climbed on the bed and before you even realized it, he grabbed you, hands under your armpits to drag you up the bed. You stammered at the sudden manhandling. 

"Leon—" He didn't even let you finish before he was flipping you on your stomach, his bare back pressing you down on the mattress. 

"What did I say about pulling my hair, hm?" He breathed out into your ear, harshly tugging down his boxer briefs enough to pull out his cock. 

"I— I'm sorry—" You gasped as he not to gently unzipped your dress and pulled it over your head. 

He didn't let you sit up though. With a large hand in between your shoulders, he sat up enough to sit back on his knees, his cock in his hand as he pumped himself a few times. 

"No you're not." He sighed out, eyes closing for a split second as he dragged his cock between your wet folds. He heard you whine against his pillows, but you made no effort to move from where he held you. "Move that pretty little ass of yours up here. Need you to stay down though." 

With a soft whimper, you stuck your ass up in the air, meeting his hips. His eyes fell on your ass, lips slightly parted he slowly sank himself into you. He watched as his cock disappeared inside your tight walls until only a little bit of him was left. But he didn't want to push you too hard, you couldn't fit all of him. 

Leon sat still for what felt like years, but in reality it was merely a minute or so. His eyes were closed as he dragged a hand up and down your back, easing you until he knew he could move. It took you some time to adjust to his size, your eyes were squeezed shut as you fists clenched his sheets. But it wasn't long before you were begging him to fuck you. 

"Leon— Please. Need you to fuck me, please." You muttered into the sheets as you turned your head to the side so that your cheek was pressed into the mattress. 

"Mhmmm, 'course you do." Fuck, he was going to ruin you. 

He dragged his cock out slowly, slow enough for you to feel every inch of him, until you were nothing but pathetic noises. He was almost all the way out when he slammed in again, making your body slide up the mattress. He did the same again, and again, fucking your body into the mattress like no one you had ever been with before. This man was going to be the death of you. Your student's dad. There were so many things wrong with what you were doing, but fuck, you couldn't list a single one of those things that could ever top this. 

You were brought back to this reality by the feeling of his lips dragging up your bare spine. You felt a cold shudder run through your whole body as he leaned over you, his bare back pressed against yours and his hips rutting against your ass, so much so you could feel the rough material of his pants brush against your ass and the sound of his belt rattling with each snap of his hips. But that only made it better. To think he was so eager to fuck you he couldn't be bothered to take his pants off. That idea alone made you see white.

With your mind on a different planet entirely, you didn't realize the grip he had on your hair. Until you felt him pull your head back by your hair. His fingers were tangled to the root as he pressed his lips to your ear. 

"You like how that feels, hm?" You had a feeling his question was rhetorical, that you weren't supposed to enjoy the forcefulness of his actions, because he was clearly punishing you for what you did earlier. But you would be lying if you said it didn't make you even wetter. He definitely felt the way you clenched around him and he laughed. "Oh? So you do huh? Pretty Miss Teacher likes it when I'm rough with her?" 

You were nodding against his grip, as best as you could anyway, a soft cry being a pretty good sign that you did, indeed liked it. You should be ashamed of how much you wanted this man to ruin you, to use you as he pleased. But the way he was buried deep inside your cunt felt way too good to feel any shame. 

"Yes! Yes, please be rough with me." You managed to choke out. You heard the groan that rumbled in his chest at your words. 

Leon was flipping you on your back and slamming back into you before you even had time to protest. You instantly wrapped your legs around his torso as he resumed his pace, only that this time, his hips snapped much harshly with each thrust he gave you. His lips found your neck as one of his hands rested on the column of your neck, he didn't squeeze or touch your throat, he simply held you down as he fucked you into the mattress. 

His fingers twitched, the urge to wrap them around your throat making his cock throb, but he otherwise decided against it, not wanting to push you too hard on your first night together. So to avoid giving in to his urges he itched to move his hand beside your head instead. You felt his hand leave your neck and something deep within your core didn't want him to, so your hand flew to catch his wrist. 

"Choke me." You blurted out, so heated that you didn't even think of how embarrassed you normally would be to ask such a thing. 

Leon lifted his head enough to look at your face, his lips parted as he panted softly, strands of his hair falling over his eyes but he could see you clearly. He heard you loud and clear, too. 

"Shit baby," He groaned out, lips crashing against yours in a messy kiss before he returned his hand to your neck, but this time, he actually wrapped his fingers around your throat. "You're gonna be the fucking death of me. Such a pretty thing, sweet to everyone, with those pretty dresses of yours and that beautiful smile of yours. And you're asking me to choke you. Fuck." 

He squeezed ever so slightly, just enough to make you feel a bit dizzy, but in the best way possible. You were so close, you could feel the burning ache in the pit of your stomach, and with the way his cock hit your most sensitive spot with every thrust, you knew you wouldn't last long. 

"Ah— Shit— Leon—" Your sounds were choked out, barely audible, but he heard the way you were begging, the way you said his name, it drove him fucking insane. "I wanna—" 

"Mhmm, I know baby. You wanna come all over my cock, hm? Yeah you do," He dug his teeth into his already red lip as he sneaked his free hand in between your bodies and began rubbing harsh circles around your clit, making your hips jerk. "Yeah that's it— Fuck, atta girl. Lemme feel you fall apart for me." 

He didn't even have to tell you, you were seeing white the second his thumb touched your clit. You dug your nails into his skin, surely leaving a few marks to find in the morning. But he couldn't care less. He couldn't help but moan at the feeling of your walls squeezing his cock. He held you down to the mattress as he drilled into you, his own release not too far now. 

"Yeah— yeah that's it. Good girl. You're such a good girl." He dragged through pants, his fingers squeezing your throat tightly. "Fuck— Fuck I'm gonna— Shit." 

He was about to pull himself out, so as to not finish inside you, but you held him tight, legs securely wrapped around his torso. He looked you through half lidded eyes as you nodded at him. 

"Please." You couldn't say much, with his hand on your throat and all, but he understood what you meant and the idea of you letting him come inside you made him lose the little control he still had left. 

"Oh fuck— fuck that's a good girl— Ah—" His head fell to your neck as he cradled your head with the hand not your neck and he squeezed his eyes shut as he fell still, holding you down on his cock as he came with a throaty moan. "Mhmmm. Just like that. Take it just like that." 

His hand slowly released your throat, and you gasped softly as your head spun with adrenaline. Your eyes fluttered shut as you held him, arms lazily thrown over his shoulders as your fingers lightly threaded his hair. You felt his breath hot on your neck as he panted. Your own breathing was as hard and fast as his for a minute or so. But he didn't mind holding until you both calmed down. It was a while before you felt him move, probably when he got tired of holding his weight. He left a kiss on your jaw before he moved to lay on his back beside you. 

Leon turned his head to look at you and he couldn't help but smile to himself, face glistening with sweat, makeup absolutely ruined and hair tousled and pooled around your head. And even like that you were still the prettiest thing he had ever laid eyes on. 

"I wasn't too rough on you, was I?" He asked quietly, knowing he sometimes could be a bot too much.

You turned your head to look at him, and you found those pale blue eyes staring at you with concern, you gave him a tired smile. 

"Of course not. I… I liked it. I don't think anyone's ever made me come like that before." You admitted with a dry laugh. His eyebrows shot up a bit with surprise, but that surprise quickly turned into pride. 

"Well, I do like to be the exception." 

"Oh shut up." You playfully smacked his arm and he chuckled. 

You couldn't help but smile, but your expression fell a bit when you thought he probably would want you to go home. That's usually how that was, right? I mean he had a daughter, he probably didn't want his daughter's teacher— who he had just fucked senseless, to stay the night. Right? Probably not. You sighed softly as you moved your hair away from your face and sat up. You missed the confused look Leon gave you. 

"You leaving or something?" He asked with furrowed eyebrows as he sat up, watching the way you were reaching over the edge of the bed to grab your dress from the floor. But you quickly sat back to look at him, also confused. 

"I mean… I'm supposed to, right?" 

Leon scrunched up his face with confusion and slightly tilted his head, "You're supposed to?" 

"Well. Uh… Yeah. I mean, Izzy—" He cut you off right then and there. 

"Hey no, it isn't like that. I don't… I don't do that." You frowned at him, confused by what he meant. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, getting the strands out of his face. "I wasn't going to fuck you then ask you to leave. I'm not like that. It's late, and I drove you. Izzy isn't coming home tonight. You can stay. If you want of course, if not I can drive you home, I just—" 

Now it was your turn to cut him off. He gasped in surprise when you crashed your lips against his. His lips curved up into a smile as he held your face. He kissed you much softly now. 

"I wouldn't mind staying." You finally said, smiling against his lips. 

"I wouldn't mind either." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

You weren't exactly sure when, but you had fallen asleep, with Leon's arms wrapped around you as he held you to his chest. But rays of sunlight were hitting your face now as they slipped through the open curtains he probably forgot to close the night prior. You scrunched up your nose, squinting your eyes as you pressed your face further into the pillow. But it was too late now, you were awake and there was no way to fall back asleep. As much as you would love to just cuddle up to Leon and sleep some more. Speaking of, as you peeled your eyes open you saw him, still sleeping peacefully next to you. 

He laid on his stomach, the covers pooled around his waist as his face was buried deep into his pillow. His honey brown hair was tousled from sleep and from your doing the night prior, and loose strands hung over the side of his face. God, he looked absolutely gorgeous. You really should've felt guilty for sleeping with one of your classroom parents. But when you woke up to a sight like that? You regretted nothing. 

You debated on staying in bed with him, at least until he woke up and decided to take you home, but you really needed a bathroom. So you carefully maneuvered your way out of his bed, dressed yourself in the first thing you found— his dress shirt from last night and tip toed out of his bedroom. You felt so weird walking around his house without his permission, but he hadn't exactly given you a tour last night. So you ventured until you found a bathroom. By the time you were done Leon still hadn't left his bedroom so you decided to find his kitchen for a glass of water at least. You looked around on your way to the kitchen. He wasn't much of a decorator. It was definitely the apartment of a single man. But as soon as you walked to the kitchen you saw countless drawings and pictures hanging from the fridge. 

Your heart warmed as you walked to see the drawings up close. There were definitely Izzy's. You smiled to yourself at the photo you saw next to one of the drawings, one of Leon, a few years younger, holding a baby in a hospital blanket. All of the other photos you saw were similar. It was only Leon and Isabella in all of them. Not a single one of Izzy's mom. 

Did she never want to be a part of her life? Was she truly never around? 

"You tried to run away last night, and when I wake up you're gone, too? Was I that bad?" You jumped at the sound of Leon's voice in the kitchen. 

You cursed loudly, holding a hand to your rapidly beating heart as you glared at him, making him laugh. 

"Asshole. I wanted to use the bathroom, and you were still asleep." You shrugged your shoulders, eyeing him carefully. Still no shirt, but he was wearing a pair of plaid pajamas pants now. He had his phone in his hand and was scratching the back of his head, attempting to smooth down his bedhead. 

"You look pretty with my shirt. Looks better on you actually." He hummed as he padded through the kitchen to stand in front of you.

He stood in front of you, watching you intently for a few seconds before he leaned in, pressing his lips against yours. 

You giggled against his lips, happily kissing him. You threw your arms over his shoulders and he rested his hands on your hips. 

"Mmm, you hungry?" He asked, brushing his nose against yours and his lips were curled up into a grin. You nodded, biting your bottom lip. "Me too." 

You gasped when he hoisted you up on the kitchen island. You gripped his shoulders as you watched him with wide eyes. But he said nothing as he nudged your legs open with his knee and stood in between them. 

"What? I said I was hungry." He smirked as he captured your lips with his own one more time before he dropped to his knees in front of you. 

Without taking his eyes off from you, he threw one of your ankles over his shoulder and pressed his lips to the inside of your knee. Slowly, his lips itched closer and closer to your already dripping core. You held your breath with anticipation as he nibbled on your inner thigh. His lips were so close to where you needed him the most. His head got lost between your thighs and your hand instinctively fell on the back of his hair. His breath fanned hot against your clit and—

You jumped, your ass nearly slipping right off the counter, but Leon steadied you with a quick sturdy hand on your thigh. He was also startled by the sound of his phone ringing next to you. He closed his eyes, cursing under his breath. 

You took a deep breath, inhaling sharply as you looked beside you at his phone screen. 

"It says Claire." 

Leon shot up to his feet in a split second when you said that and he was answering the call almost frantically. 

"Hey. What's up? Everything alright?" He said into the phone, still standing between your parted legs. You frowned softly with concern, your hand resting on his chest as he listened to the woman on the line. "Shit, really?" 

He said nothing for a few seconds, just humming and nodding to himself before he pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed out an exasperated sigh. 

"No, you're okay, thanks for calling, Claire. Just give her some cereal, play her a Disney movie or something while I get there." He finally spoke, finally looking at you. And his blue eyes looked apologetic. "Yeah, I'll be there in fifteen. Yeah. See you soon." 

Leon placed his phone on the counter beside you and sighed. You looked up at him, eyes big with worry. 

"It's Izzy. I left her at my friend’s and apparently she woke up fuzzy. She's been crying all morning asking for me, so, gotta go pick her up." He explained, the corner of his lip curving up into an apologetic smile. You exhaled softly, the anxiety leaving your chest. 

You gave him a smile and pressed a kiss to his lips, "I get it. Don't worry. I'll get dressed so you can pick her up. I'm sorry I kept you from picking her up last night." 

"Oh, no sweetheart, don't say that. Last night was incredible. She just gets… Clingy I suppose." He sighed as he helped you down from the counter. 

"You're her only parent. It's normal. I should know." You gave him a smile as you started to head to his bedroom to get your clothes, but he grabbed your wrist, tugging you to his chest before you could. 

"Hey, I still owe you breakfast. Can I take you out again sometime?" 

The smile on your face was so wide you probably wouldn't be able to hide it even if you tried. 

"Yeah, I'll be around." 

#leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x fem reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Black Metal and Bourbon (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

PAIRING: Biker/Mechanic!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Bartender!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 8.1k

WARNINGS: Alcohol consumption, drug usage, mentions of sex & intimacy, dark jokes/dirty jokes, rumors, gossip, past toxic relationship, a shitty Ex, protective!Simon, etc. (18+ mini-series)

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You slapped the damp rag back into the bar top, the fabric heavy with spilled alcohol and other fluids that you didn’t even want to try and think about. 

“Jesus.” Your muscles ache, neck stiff from having to try and slap a dart from the ceiling where some jackass had been too drunk to attempt and hit the target. The thing was still up there, as you weren’t about to spend your entire night fruitlessly attempting to fix someone else's blurry mistakes. 

You glare over your shoulder, seeing the unconscious form of the man in question being dragged out by his friends presently, his slurring chuckles making him sound like a drowning elephant. Intoxicated yells of goodbye attached to your name make you roll your eyes slowly as they begin being said; you push through the waist-height door to allow you behind the front counter. Your middle finger flips the patrons off before boisterous flirting hits the air.

“C’mon baby, don’t be like that—!” Is cut off by the slam of the front doors and you couldn’t be more happy that your boss hadn’t gotten the bolts tightened. 

“Don’t get paid enough…” You grumble, eyes slithering over to the tip jar and seeing the overflow of bills and coins as your fingers wrap the neck of a bottle of Vodka. 

The profit would be split with your coworker even if she’d been gone for more than half a night getting railed by her new boy toy. You can still remember the look she’d given you as she’d walked out during rush hour, her sharp smirk and smug sheen of ‘you won’t say anything, will you?’

Grumbling under your breath, you slip the Vodka back into its slot on the wall racks, while telling yourself you can’t drink on the job; trying to forget the face of the man that had been attached to hers before they’d stumbled to the back alley.  

“Graham Whitaker, you’re such a five-cent sell-out,” you shake your head, sighing heavily into the air that smells like booze and sweat. 

Graham Whitaker—your Ex in every sense. 

You decided to tell your coworker, if she ever showed back up, that the only reason she was getting dicked-down was because it was that man’s plan to try and make you jealous. As if you’d be caught with your pants down over a prick that had cheated on you more times than you could count before you threw his ass out. 

“Not my problem anymore,” your hands move to display themselves in a motion of a settled disagreement before wiping them on your black pants. 

It was late now, of course, with the dart-drunk and his friends being the last patrons that you had to serve. But you’d been in this town a long, long time. 

Sorrel the construction worker came in an hour, Miss Anna-Lee accompanying for her nightly Gin and Tonic before she talked about her late love from the seventies. From there it was three more regulars before closing activities and fighting to get up tomorrow by noon only to do it all over again. 

Over and over and over. 

You lean back on the counter and look across the brown wood and warm overhead lights, behind you, the illumination from the drink rack gives off a dead glow. 

This was your workplace since you'd been of age, and over the years that seemed to drag, here is where you’d stayed. Nothing ever changed in this town—the biggest shock was when you’d broken up with Graham; people hadn’t stopped talking about it for months.

This place was like a prison of slow death and abandoned dreams. Safe to say this was not what you had envisioned for yourself.

You scoff, pushing off the back counter and snatching your rag back up before you can spiral once more.

The stains weren’t going to buff themselves out.

Maybe it was chance that the mechanics shop across the street had shut down, too few employees and too many drug busts. Chance, or fate, whichever it was you chose to believe in that still-air Sunday, it was still a shock to you when you looked out the front window as Sorrel called goodnight through his heavy accent. 

‘SOLD’

“Sold?” Sorrel pauses with one foot out of the door, and he chuckles when he sees where you’re looking in shock, your hand holding a dirty glass. 

“Haven’t heard, then? Few newcomers snuck in under our noses—they’ll be running the place; mechanics!” 

“New?” You laugh. “Who in their right mind would come here of all places?” 

Sorrel shakes his head, grumbling as he pulls a cigarette from his pocket. “You’ll just have to meet ‘em, Doll. Sure you’ll leave a glowing impression.”

“Take that shit outside, you ass. You know I hate the smell.” A smirk graces your dead eyes. 

“Like I said. Glowing.” You glare, but the man slips out of the door quickly and his form passes by the window outside to climb into his truck parked in the street. Two honks from the horn and the older man is off, grizzly-like beard gone just like your boredness. 

New arrivals? 

You blink at the blackened shadows of the street, illuminated by the lights and their tall tree-like bases—the sway of the planted bushes in the boxes outside. Your head tilts at the abyssal building that was once in working order. 

It was a shitshow now, years of abandonment not giving it any helping hand regarding upkeep. The concrete was cracked, the garage door was hanging off of one side, and the front windows had been broken by your Ex’s buddies when they had gotten into a fight like the three-year-olds they were. 

You hum lowly. A hard-chucked set of keys, you recalled. You’d seen it from here easily enough. Hadn't lied to Sheriff Russel when he’d come knocking, and, you suppose, that was why even now the immature posse still tried to scare you by following you home at night to this day.

As if everyone didn’t know where everyone else lived already. 

But back to the current interest for the night. 

“Let’s have a little look-see, then,” you breathe, knowing Miss Anna-Lee would be a good while away like always. You could chance five minutes—it was just across the street after all. 

Shuffling outside, making sure to hold the door until it closes slowly, you step down the single step and stick your hands into your pockets. The night wasn’t hot or cold, simply there like a metaphorical cut on your palm; it wasn’t surprising the more you lived with it, but it still made your skin itch. 

Feet padding, you cross the dead street and take in the long stretch of unkempt grass, stepping onto the broken curb as your shoes crunch broken glass. Long-gone cigarette butts are scattered here and there, the occasional stray bit of metal or trash. Your eyes shift slowly from one brick that makes up the frame to another, the peeling blue color that could use touching up. 

The mural you had painted in middle school had faded a long time ago, just like the great expectations of going into an art career. The eyes of a great gray wolf are only a dark outline that you can’t help but stare at as if a cancer was growing in your brain, hidden behind the reach of green ivy. 

Ripping your eyes away, you ignore the cry of tires from across the town and the pop of an exhaust pipe—the roar of either a car chase by the repeat offender Irene Chaney, or by some stupid kid related to Irene Chaney. 

“She’s gonna wreck one of these days,” you breathe, looking down at your object of intention—the sold sign in all of its red and white glory. 

Your hand snakes out and grabs the cheap plastic, stopping its swaying with a creak and a tilt of your head. 

You just couldn’t understand it—who in their right mind would buy this place? The only thing it would be good as is rubble, at least then some rabbit could make its very dusty home here. 

Sorrel had mentioned multiple people too. 

“Must be up at the B&B then,” your voice carries over the space, the stars twinkling above you as a shadow stands at the end of the cracked driveway. Its hands are in its pockets, tall form bulky with the dark brown leather jacket around its intimidating form. You’re none the wiser, letting the sign drop as you put your hands to your hips. “They better not be fuckin’ dickheads—”

“Mind explainin’ to me why I came to get a drink and now I’m talkin’ to some Bird on my property?” 

You startle, gasp peeling out of your lips as your head swivels as if attached to a string which, in turn, tracks back to the source of a heavy Manchester accent. Grass breaks under your feet, as the gravel of the tone makes you cringe. Your eyes lock on the man who looks like he just came back from a warzone. 

The first thing you noticed was the balaclava and the skeleton detailing, of course, how could you not—the lower half was an inch below those October eyes of the deepest shade of brown you’d ever witnessed. 

Your spine straightens in cautious surprise, hiding the way your hands had clenched as if ready to swing on your Ex if he so happened to be there instead of…this person. 

“Excuse me?” You say, quickly, as if it was forced out instead of a scream. Your face pushes that stern expression back to your face as your throat clears out the hoarseness.

A covered head tilts with its small sliver of pale flesh visible to you—the strong bones of his nose bridge and hidden jawline. The bulk of large muscles and thighs spoke to hard labor, and his booted feet shifted below loose black cargo pants. 

The mask alone caused you a hint of worry in those few seconds of fast study of this phantom’s anatomy. 

He blinks at you slowly, raising the small corner of a dark brow from a respectable distance away.

“Said you’re trespassing, yeah?” Your face gains a sheen of heat, and you glance at your bar behind the stranger, at the bright burn of the lights. 

Taking a stiff breath, your lips pull into a frown as you try to hide your embarrassment.

“Well…a holler would have been just fine.” A fake glare is put on. “What’s with sneaking up on a woman in the middle of the night? Are you some creep or something?”

Those dark eyes stay locked on yours, and for a moment you don’t know if you’ve encountered a statue or not because he doesn’t speak for a moment. 

A puff of breath from his nose. 

“You the bartender, then?” You motion to your nametag above your left breast and grunt. His gaze homes in before he simply says, “Good.”

Without another word, the man turns stiffly before he steadily begins making his way back to the bar; crossing the street with a swift check of the road. You watch him saunter off, jaw slackened and your cheeks hot. The span of his shoulder blades levels out as he rolls his shoulders. 

Where did this guy even come from? The answer was simple, the bed and breakfast was only four buildings down and to the left. Guy must have come in for a late-night serenade with a bottle.

A quick glance is thrown back to the rundown property behind you before you growl and hurry after this individual who currently pushes open the faulty doors of your work. Jogging across the asphalt, you catch the thing right before it closes and slip inside with a puff of air and a shoved-down snap of a sarcastic ‘thanks’. 

Yet, the man is already pulling back one of the bar stools and easing into it when you make it behind the counter. You study him yet again. 

“You’re one of the new mechanics?” Brown-Eyes blinks at you. 

Without missing a beat, he goes, “Bourbon—Kentucky.”

“I asked a question,” you cross your arms, not even for a moment looking away as the silence of the bar sneaks in around you and this strange creature. “Least you can do for a lady is answer it when you act like a damn cat and sneak up on her.”

“You were on my property.” This is leveled out through a grunt, and after a moment of staring, you scoff. 

“I was curious about who had bought such a piece of junk. Guess I have my answer.” Your hand grabs the bottle of Kentucky Bourbon, the amber liquid inside sloshing as you turn back and put it into the wood. There’s a fraction of a dead tease that makes the man seem more human than he looks.

“Well, aren't you a ray of sunshine?”

“I prefer a solar flair.” You comment dryly and set an engraved glass next to the bottle. Something flickers past the mechanic’s eyes, a quirk to the fabric of his balaclava. 

“On The Rocks or Neat?” Your brow raises and you tilt your head. 

“That even a bloody question? Neat.” You snort, splaying your hands before you grab the bottle as he watches you blankly. 

“Sorry, it's kind of my job to ask.” Your hand shifts and you pour a reasonable amount into the glass, knowing exactly when to stop. As you shift the bottle away, you leave it on the bar top and gently push the beverage to him as his gloved fingers take it up. You repress a small smile at the matching bone gloves to go with the detailing on his balaclava.

“Bartenders always have this much attitude?” The glass is kept in front of his person, carefully held in his large grip. 

Moving back, you go to lean on the back counter. This night was quickly taking an interesting turn. “Only if they’re me.” You sigh. “You have a name, then, Brown-Eyes?” 

The individual snorts at the title, but his eyes narrow on you at the same time as if he was held hesitant at the ability for you to make him. He had an air of casual tension around him, like a dog on a thin leash that can only just manage to meet others and stay his fangs. 

Danger, you pinpoint. The man felt like danger. A riptide; surface tension.

Then why was it that you felt more and more intrigued by the second?

“Simon Riley,” he eases, staring with those numb eyes of his before he tips the glass slightly your way. With the thumb on the same hand that holds the bourbon, he hooks it under his face covering and pulls it up until he can connect the glass to his lips and take down a sip as his Adam’s apple bobs in a swallow. 

On the way back, his thumb drags the fabric back to its previous position as if nothing had happened. The image of pale skin and stubble sticks with you, and your eyes shift away quickly without you realizing it as the glass is returned to the counter. 

“Well, Simon Riley,” you mutter, “welcome to nowhere.”

The man hums, eyes looking you over in a single glance before the gaze shifts to the wall behind your head. He says nothing, and the door opens to the next three familiar customers as you move to take their order. As you slip out from behind the barrier, you grumble under your breath before you slip past Simon to the corner booth. 

“For the record, Riley, I do enjoy seein’ that old place getting taken on. Don’t run it into the ground, would you? And if you need a fresh coat of paint, for the love of all things holy, don’t go down to the Schafersons’ place, you come right to me.” 

Walking casually, you greet the three ladies from the downtown library with a smirk and an easy comment about if their husbands knew they were out so late, to which you promptly got cursed out on good faith. Sharing a few chuckles, you get them started on what they need, all the while feeling those brown orbs now following subtly from the side of their sockets, intrigued. 

Simon wasn’t sure what to make of you, and the same could be said about this town as a whole. A woman with such a future trapped behind her eyes, adventure in her blood, why were you here in a place with nothing promised for it except dying businesses and old faces? This was a place where people came to hang up the coat, not try and rip it off of its peg. 

The children born here with ambitions leave, that was the common denominator. Even Simon could see that. But you? Here you were. 

The man peels his eyes away, taking up his glass again and re-hooking his thumb to his mask. Amber liquid seeps into his mouth, pulling the scars on his lips and cheeks as he swallows it down as easily as water. The bourbon pools in his stomach, sending its honied effects to the back of his mind; it would take much more to get drunk, but that wasn’t what Simon was looking for. 

Perhaps he was just out tonight wondering why he’d left the military for a mechanic’s job and come out here—asking anything for a sign that this was the right decision even as his head echoed with the screams and the gunfire. 

And then he’d seen you standing in front of the fuckin’ worst mechanics shop he’d ever seen that he’d signed the property deed for not three hours ago. Hell, he hadn’t even looked at the place before buying it—Price was responsible for the official financial actions, and the man had made him swear that it was worth it.

But fuck, he’d just needed a way out of the city. Too loud, too unpredictable in that previous shop of theirs right by the busy street. MacTavish and Garrick had been easy to convince; they’d all served together before and had no family over here either. 

A new start thousands upon thousands of miles away. 

Your head pulls up from where you chat with the librarians, hearing the slam of the door as the draft wafts in from outside—a small breeze has picked up. 

Inside walks in your very ruffled, and very well-pleased, coworker, Celina Bell. 

She brushes down her top and black skirt, blinking around with blown pupils until her eyes lock on you. A poisonous smile meets your eyes as you raise a brow slowly—Lord, if this girl didn’t realize that fucking your Ex over some workplace squabble wasn’t something to be proud of, she was really a lost cause. 

Simon only glances over his shoulder before turning back around and tapping his fingers against his glass absentmindedly. 

“You alright?” You ask out of due diligence, sparing the ladies an apology look for them being interrupted. 

“Better than alright,” Celina chuckles, walking over with a limp in her step. “Just scored Graham Whitaker.” She fake pauses, blinking as if in realization that a child would know was taking the piss. Your face is stuck in the expression of boredom. “Wait…you two were involved for a few years, right? Oh, I’m really sorry—I had no clue.”

“Yeah,” you look her up and down and blink at the disheveledness. “Sure. Quite the score.” A pause, her lips pulling back into that smug smirk that reminds you of a weasel. Yet your next words leave her face devoid of blood. “You know he got Chlamydia from Stacy Green a week ago, right?”

A pin could be heard dropping. Brown eyes are firmly stuck to the scene, unsure what to make of it. The ladies stifle their laughter.

“...W-what?”

“Y’know,” you motion a hand to her lower body, walking past her back to the bar. “STD. Chlamydia. Results in—”

“I know what the fuck an STD is, you bitch.”

“Woah,” you whistle, “language.” Your body returns to the counter as loud stuttering is left behind you, the frantic patting of a pocket to look for a phone before enraged feet rush to the exit. “Need a refill, Riley?”

“It can wait,” Simon utters slowly. The door slams shut.

You chuckle, shrugging. “Alright, suit yourself.” 

The man takes the names you drop and files them away, slotting them into his mental database for when he needs to work with these people. Yet, there’s already a sour impression just off of comments alone. Who better to get your news from than a bartender? 

You know everyone's dirty little secrets.

You diligently serve the drinks to the librarians, placing them down carefully before Simon once more has a re-filled glass of his drink. He moves it slightly up in a cheer and gives you a stare as you wipe your hands with a clean rag.

“Seems you know everything ‘round ‘ere.” His accent is what draws you in, and you find yourself eager to hear more from him. 

“I’m easy to talk to,” you respond, shrugging and leaning on the counter a foot or two away as you both watch the other. A smirk overtakes your features. “And I am the one that gives people the drinks.”

“So, what I’m hearing,” Simon raises a brow. “Is that you get ‘em dunker than a man on his execution date.” 

You click your tongue, tilting your head in a teasing manner while maintaining a serious face. 

“Afraid you’ll spill your secrets, Riley?” 

His eyes flash at you, and his lips flicker into a smirk you can hear in his voice. 

“It’ll take more than two glasses of Bourbon to get me talking, Sunshine.” 

Your face shifts away, but the sudden fight with a smile leaves you nearly breathless. 

Who is this man?

“Why are you here,” your question meets his ears as he takes back the last of his drink, stomach filled for the night and his searching, for the moment, abated. 

The glass meets the bar top. 

He grunts. “Needed a drink.”

Your lips pull in annoyance. “You know what I mean. You’re terrible at answering questions.”

“Hm, maybe.”

“Fuck off,” you grumble, shaking your head as a low chuckle makes your insides swirl. 

A stack of bills is placed on the counter, and the man stands, grabbing the hood of his black sweatshirt and pulling it up. His gloved hands go to the pockets of his leather jacket with a roll of his wide shoulders. From under the hood, the white of the painted mask glares out from under the shadows that now shroud him. 

You both sneak a glance at the mechanic's shop—a clear view from the front window. 

“See you around, then?” Your head is tilted at him, blinking. You hum under your breath. “I’m going to keep asking you why you showed up in this town, Riley, and I won’t stop until I get an answer.”

Simon quirks a brow, eyes glinting with interest. When was the last time someone had spoken to him like this outside of his boys?

“Look forward to it,” he utters slowly. With a blink and one more dead look, he’s already out the front door and walking back down the street—disappearing like a ghost the same way he had appeared. 

Picking up his cash and counting through it, the librarians across the way snicker, and one calls out, “So, the new mechanic, huh?”

“One more peep and I’m doubling your tab.”

But…you did have to admit, he had been charming…hadn’t he? At least someone here could juggle your attitude.

—

Three days pass with no sighting of Simon Riley, but just because you didn’t see him doesn’t mean you weren’t witness to his aftermath. 

The shop across the street was practically fixed up while you were asleep. 

Where there had been overgrown grass, there was now a cut lawn getting watered by the reach of an angry sprinkler. The fast movement of the spray reaches the sidewalk that was, somehow, still there under all that trash hiding away like a criminal. Stray bricks are gone and stacked into a pile as you pause outside the bar, staring wide-eyed with your breath caught in your throat in the late morning air. 

The ivy over your mural was peeled back—that faded wolf’s gaze locking with yours, unyielding to the calls of time as its canid body stool as a silent sentinel. 

But, on the third day, as you’re going on break before the night sets in, you manage to not only see Simon again but meet two of the other men who’d moved here.

You pick up your feet and jog across the street, hopping the curb as you blink, impressed at the open garage with its fixed and oiled bay door. Inside it was still dusty—remnants of what was left behind in the corners and scattered. But it was getting there. Quickly. 

“Didn’t know Simon was goin’ to sign on such a piece of rusted shite—where’s the fuckin’ outlets?” Gritted Scottish. You stick your hands into your pockets and enter the large opening. 

“If I remember,” you speak, finding the two men standing slightly off to the side as the bulkier one with a mohawk carries a series of extension cords. Cobalt and brown eyes dart to you in shock—the second man of darker complexion sharing a glance with the other in swift confusion. “When you manage to find them, they’ll all be burst.” 

Blank stares are sent your way. 

“Kids would come by and watch ‘em spark when they were bored. No one really cared enough to stop them.” A clearing of a throat meets your ears as you study the room more. 

It was small, with only one main garage for all the repairs, but that wasn’t new to you. The motorcycles were, though. 

Five in total all parked and resting next to one another near the back wall, all in varying shades of black and gray. Your lips twitch at the sight, imagining your late-night acquaintance riding one of them—you dare say that it fit him quite well, and you weren’t that surprised at all by this.

Biker mechanics. It fits the script. 

“Who’s this then?” The Scot asks you, raising a brow as a friendly smirk pulls his mouth up. “Can’t remember bookin’ any repairs today, Ma’am, might have to wait a few more days before we get it all up and runnin’.”

“I can see. No, I work just across the street,” you spare a friendly smile. 

“So you’re the bartender? The bartender.” The second man speaks, grinning kindly as he searches through a toolbox on a small table. He hums, looking playful. “So that’s why Ghost was gone so long.” 

Ghost…? Did they mean Simon?

The skeletal accents suddenly make far more sense.

“Johnny MacTavish,” A hand is leveled out ahead of you, and you take it casually with a muttering of your own name. “Soap’s just fine as well.” 

Your brow quirks, but you only share an amused nod.

The other individual stands and makes his way over, tall and leaner as to where Soap’s more blatant strength is. 

“Kyle Garrick—Gaz. Pleasure.” 

“Just came over to introduce myself,” your hand shifts back into your pockets as you motion with your head back to the bar. “I’m on my break.” 

“Ah,” Soap’s hands move the cables he holds as he loops them into a more storable shape vertically around his elbow and palm. “Last one to meet then is Price—man’s in town gettin’ lunch for us,” he grunts under his breath. “Hopefully a damn set of zip-ties, too.”

“Zip-ties, Mate?” Gaz breathes a chuckle with a fix of the backward ball cap on his head. “C-4 would bloody help more. At least then we can have a clean starting point.” 

“I think we’re fresh out of C-4, unfortunately,” you huff a laugh, motioning around as the men smirk at you, Johnny snorting a chuckle. “You guys have done a pretty good job so far. I can’t remember when it looked this nice in here.”

“Well, we’re honored, Bonnie,” Soap tilts his head as he ties off the cord with one of the ends. “Makin’ me blush.”

“If Simon had just looked at the place before buying it, we might have been able to open sooner.” Gaz huffs, thinning his lips as he glances over the broken window and the peeling paint—the door to the main lobby that has a punched dent in it. “Couldn’t be worse.”

“Well then it can only get better,” you breathe, shrugging. 

Gaz huffs affectionately. “Not wrong there, then.”

You lean forward, tilting your head. “You’ll find I rarely am.”

“Second time you’ve snuck on,” a Manchester accent scares you once more, head snapping to the side as the light spills in from the garage opening. “This a pattern, Sunshine?”

Simon’s brows are raised as those October eyes lock with yours. Gaz and Soap share a look, smirking before the Scot peels off to find a place to store his belongings. 

“Where have you been?” Gaz asks as you glare at the masked man for once again coming up behind you. 

A bag is presented, leaning off three fingers as a glance gets thrown past you. 

“Down the street. Needed these made.” The bag is tossed and Kyle catches it easily. 

You watch as the crinkly plastic is opened and the dark fabric of four black pairs of overalls is produced, each embroidered with their respective names. 

“What’s wrong with the old ones?” Johnny pipes up, brows furrowed. 

“Looks like you got fuckin’ mugged in ‘em.” Simon slides his attention back to you as Johnny curses with a glint of amusement in his blues. 

“Aren’t open yet.” Your face peels back to a stiff annoyance. 

“I can see that, Riley.” You motion to the other men. “I was being polite.”

He grunts while walking past, muttering through a brief smirk, “Doubt that.” 

Your jaw slackens, but you only growl and hold your tongue as you glance the mechanic over. He still had his leather jacket, but a loose shirt took the place of a hoodie. 

“You ready to answer my question?” Simon locks those eyes with yours from over his shoulder before sliding up to the black form of one of the motorcycles. 

Visible to the naked eye, you take in the lack of fairings around the frame—eyeing the pure black metal of the entire engine from any angle that you might move to you’d still be able to see. It was nice. Perfect, even; damn expensive too. While the thought was enticing, you can’t imagine Simon riding it—he seemed more rugged, more…classy. 

“Negative.” You roll your eyes, but Soap speaks before you can retort. 

“Finally takin’ out the CB1000R, Ghost? ‘Bout time.” The brute throws a blank look at the Scot as Gaz utters to you a few feet away before a casual ‘no’ is leveled out through the space.

“He got it months ago,” Kyle’s eyes crinkle. “Can’t seem to take it out for a ride yet. No one knows what he’s waiting on.”

“Can’t say I blame him,” your words confide. “It’s beautiful.”

“It was a fucking fortune—no use collecting dust is what I say.” You hum, shifting back to Simon who taps the seat of the CB1000R before moving past it to an older cruiser with dents and dirt along the sides. This was more him you thought. Rugged and more dated than the first; something you use on long rides to nowhere.

“Maybe he’s just waiting for a special occasion,” you guess.

“Better get on with it.” Gaz moves away with a shrug and a huff. 

Your lips pull in a small smile, and you watch Simon pull keys from his jacket and insert them as he moves to straddle the larger body of the cruiser, easing into it slowly. Staring, you think about how far that bike could take you—what you could see with it on the open road of possibilities and whipping air. Where would you go? Anywhere. Anywhere and everywhere. 

Eyes shifting away from the motorcycle, they widen as they softly meet Simon’s own—locked for a moment in a staring contest. His lids barely pull down, studying something. You clear your throat and exhale.

Sensing your company was most likely a hindrance at this point, you turn to leave as the engine flares—you wave easily behind your back with a call of well-wishes.

“Come have a drink one time, boys, yeah? I need stories that come from strangers for once.” A ruckus of ‘affirmatives’ and ‘will do, Ma’ams’ sparks up from Johnny and Kyle as you exit to the roar of the motorcycle behind you, your feet kicking a stray rock into the grass before you make it to the curb. 

Before you can cross, a steel body blocks your path. 

“I’ll be needing a drink later tonight, then.” Simon watches from atop his seat, one booted foot to the ground to steady himself as he comes to a slow halt. His fingers curl the handles, twitching.

“Let me guess,” you tilt your head, smirking, “Bourbon?”

“A woman after my own heart,” he draws numbly, October browns as dead as mulch. As dead as dirt.

“And do you have a heart, Simon Riley?” You question, blinking at him as your mind tells you to walk away. Your brain doesn’t need a repeat of Graham—you already had enough problems on your plate right now besides some attraction to this stranger. This push and pull made your heart jerk, even when you know it shouldn’t.

You’d only just met him.

The man hums, thighs shifting on the black metal frame. He says the easiest answer he can. 

“A cold one.” 

Pushing on the ground, he takes off down the road back into the main town for whatever errand he was on this time. Your eyes follow until the figure is no more than a memory of the smell of oil and the metallic tinge of caution.

—

You hated the smell of cigarette smoke. 

Like a pregnant woman’s aversion to the scent of meat, you grew nauseous at the very hint of cheap tobacco and paper on the air—loathed the burn of it. It had to do with your Ex, of course. The man had been a habitual chain smoker, lighting up one after the other until you had to leave his house entirely to puke on the front lawn. If you thought about it hard enough, you could still taste the ash on your tongue from when he kissed you after lighting up. 

But that was only one of the reasons you’d never moved in with him despite being together for years—the cheating was the other problem. 

Girl after girl, broken promise after broken promise, you’d still held onto him as if he deserved it. Hell, all that Graham Whitaker deserved were the copious amounts of STDs he probably had after sleeping with as many women as he could to try and get back at you. You didn’t have ample reason to ban him from the bar—him or his loud-mouth friends, you should say—so the problem, like a bad rash, persisted. Cars following you after work and all. 

But, the here, the now.

Simon had, in fact, come in for that drink that night—just as he had for the last week up until the grand opening of the boys’ shop. You’d both spoken throughout these encounters and formed some sarcastic and sly-looked bond that the other locals couldn’t understand. You had even learned about his military service. 

The both of you were just…different, people said. No one else really argued with it. 

You finally met John Price before the party that you’d heard from Simon that Soap and Gaz had been eager to host for the town—‘come meet the bastards that bought that old shitty building and see how they fixed it up all by themselves. You should come and give us your money.’

It was there that a proposal was offered. 

“Simon says you told him to come to you about paint.” John was late thirties, keeping a well-trimmed beard with a mustache that was the same shade of brunette as his head of hair. Tall, as well as built, he had found you as you were closing up the bar early for the town-wide party, Celina having already slipped out. 

You were dressed in a long skirt and a nice shirt for the occasion. 

“John Price, I’d imagine,” you comment, stuffing your keys into your pocket as your purse hangs from your shoulder. A throaty grunt tells you all you need to know as you move down the step. “Yeah, I did say that. Do you need some?” You look over his shoulder to the still peeling color on the outside of the bricks as the men are dragging out folding chairs and long tables. There was the clatter of laughter and loud calls. 

John’s blue eyes shift behind him, and he raises a brow slowly. 

“Thinkin’ we’d just hire you,” a side-eye. “If you’d be interested.” 

That was a surprise. 

You begin walking across the street, the man beside you and awaiting your answer. 

“Hire me?” Your voice asks, but you aren’t against the idea. “How do you know I’ll be any good at it,” you chuckle in question. 

“Simon says he found your initials next to the mural—the wolf.” Your feet pause, stuttering for a second before you catch yourself. The blood on your face stops its circulation in shock. “Not a bad piece, then.” John grunts. “...Think you can do a skull and wings?” 

So, you sat with your sketchbook in front of the wall, a portable camping chair below your bare feet as your legs folded under you. Your slip-on sneakers rest in the green grass, kicked off with a sigh. Blinking, the chatter and mumble from the party surround you in a sheen of community and calmness. You can pinpoint every voice, every story being re-told as if new news when it goes in one ear and out the other like a breeze on the wind. 

Humming under your breath as the sun is low in the sky, you hear the silent feet still from over your shoulder. A smirk flickers your lips.

“Snooping, Riley?” 

“My building.” He grumbles, “Seein’ what you plan to do to it.”

You snort, looking over your shoulder and smiling. “If I recall, you’re the one who took up my offer and told Price about it.” 

Simon was dressed in cargos and a compression shirt pushed up to his elbows, the swell of his forearms on full display along with the scars and…tattoos. You blink at them, the swirl of black skulls and guns; barbed wire and dog tags—the dark images that fit him as his motorcycles did on his left limb. Brown eyes flicker from yours to the painted wolf.

“Good at that,” the man says, balaclava shifting. 

Your expression slowly shifts to something far softer than you can remember it ever being; inside of your chest, your heart tightens. 

“Thank you.” 

He levels you, the corners of his eyes easing out of the numb nothingness to show something akin to shielded affection. Molten sunlight on the side of his face, making the color of his irises glow amber. Simon nods to your sketchbook, clearing his throat. 

“I able to see it, then, or is it some secret?” You huff.

“Come here,” your hand motions, palm brushing away eraser shavings as your fingers get stained with graphite. The shadow comes closer, leaning over you as the scent of oil pools in your gut. You blink at the side visage, swiftly looking back down to your sketchbook as a slight wind ruffles your skirt. 

“Price was talking about a skull with wings beside it—later on he made mention of a sword through the top.” While you explain the concept, you inadvertently study the tattoos on the flesh beside you, one scarred hand coming out to lightly grab the armrest of your chair as Simon leans even closer. 

As your face begins burning, breath caught in your throat, he blinks down at the image as he looms, head tilting. 

Simon breathes, chest rising and falling as his eyes go far off. You know the symbol means something, though you also have a good guess that it’s related to this group’s time in the service. 

He hums, and you see his lips open, the rough grate of his vocal cords as he begins to form words for you. 

“It’s—”

Your name is loudly called from across the way, both Simon’s and your heads snapping back as you both realize exactly how close you two have become. The stealing of the other’s warmth like wraiths of hidden longing ceases when you wrench your attention to the man you wished would leave you alone. 

Graham raises the dark bottle of a cheap beer from the dollar store in your direction, walking over. Now, your Ex wasn’t anything spectacular, but even you had to admit it was the best you could do around here if you didn’t want to date men only five years from the grave. Graham was tall, strong, and heavy-willed like a bear. In the day hours, he worked as a farmhand down the way. 

Your body tenses, eyes going tight. Simon sees.

“Who’s this,” he asks slowly, fingers twitching. 

“Ex,” you mutter, grimacing. “He’s going to make a scene.”

Already gazes had started drifting over, conversations lapsing into mute silence as orbs shifted to three different individuals all stuck in the same storm. 

Simon grunts, standing up to his full height and crossing his arms over his chest, legs shifting below him and thighs trading weight. His moving leaves half of you kept firmly behind him and your eyes study his stance as you notice that fact. You blink, and feel something stir in your ribcage, blooming like a flower. 

“Hey, Bartender!” Graham takes a cigarette out of his pocket and lights it as his fingers fumble over the neck of the bottle. “Though I’d seen you over here missing all the action. Nothing’s changed I see.” 

Your face pulls in with disgust.

“Graham, you’re drunk. Go home.” It was true—his words were slurring, his limbs loose with drink. He smirks at you, taking a drag of his cancer stick and puffing it directly at you. Your hand snaps to your nose to try and cover the horrendous smell.

“Nah,” he breathes. “I’m here with Celina, see’s a pretty nice lookin’ broad don’t you think? Not as good of a fuck as you, but, hey, I take what I get.” His expression shifts to hidden anger and Simon takes a heavy step forward before he can finish the rest of his sentence, hands shifting to grasp his biceps harder. Those browns simmer with low ferality—a warning.

The air gets heavy.

“Pretty good little lie you spread about me gettin’ that shit from Stacy.”

“That was a lie?” You drawl lazily and watch your Ex’s eyes flash with rage. But he should know you don’t take shit from him anymore. “Oh,” your fingers tighten over your flesh and make you sound stuffy. “Maybe I heard wrong, you’re right. You don’t have Chlamydia.” You glare. “It was Gonorrhea, wasn’t it?”

“Bitch!” Graham barks, moving forward, but before anyone can realize it, Simon already has him shoved back with a stone-like push to your Ex’s chest.

“Not smart, Mate.” The former soldier utters, arms falling back to his sides. The party by this point had entirely halted in sharp gasps and bated breath. 

Graham’s beer bottle shatters as it hits the ground, the grass not able to absorb the way it slams down to dirt. Your wide eyes stay stuck on Simon’s figure, who’s now entirely hiding your view of your Ex—the wide expansive back that shows the writhe of his shoulder blades and how his spine shifts under the tight shirt. 

Your hand lowers from your face.

“What the fuck?!” Graham spits. “You made me drop my fucking drunk, man!”

“Be thankful that was all, yeah?” Simon’s dead voice is a cold chill on a winter evening. Any sane person would turn and leave immediately. “Cut your losses.”

No one breaths for a long minute, and you can see the other new mechanics inching closer from the sides. All of the locals are deep into the scene, fingers to their lips in surprise. There’s going to be talk tomorrow—the bar will be busy. 

“Graham,” you try to sway the pig-headed man once more from behind Simon. “Go home.”

“So this is what I get,” your Ex spits, head trying to peek over the larger man’s frame to look at you. Simon’s hands clench into tight fists. “I’m with you for years and this is how you treat me? I gave you everything!”

“Those are years that I never want to think about again,” you say with a stiff finality. “And it’ll be a cold day in hell before you ever see me worrying about where you are or who you fuck.” 

Knowing that the situation is over and done with, Simon takes a single step forward and leans into the man. 

“You heard ‘er,” he levels, unblinking. “Scatter.” Simon’s accent made it sound more like a threat, but maybe it was. 

Graham growls and takes a long drag from his cigarette, staring Simon down. 

“Fuck you, you piece of shit.” But all he does is turn sharply on his heel and stomp away, crossing the street to his truck before he opens and closes the door with a violent slam. From across the way, Celina gasps and calls his name, but the engine has already started and Graham is down the road with a roar from the exhaust. 

Everyone is watching you and Simon, and the staring peels back your skin until Simon grumbles and grabs your arm. 

Blinking in shock, he only gives you a moment to steady yourself and slip on your shoes before he drags you inside the garage. You huff and look up at him as you close your sketchbook–trying to not look at those tattoos again. Your finger wanted to trace them—to study the ink down to the layer of skin where it ended and became red flesh and weeping veins. How far up his left arm did they go? Did they only stay at his forearm, or up to his shoulder?

Inside he lets you go, head slightly tilted to the outside as the sounds of hushed whispering pick back up; hurried and filled with electricity. Simon grunts, blinking. 

A heated silence encompasses the two of you, and as your eyes lock, neither can speak for a moment. 

“Sorry about that,” you glance at your feet. “Should have guessed he’d show up and do something.”

“Don’t apologize,” Simon crosses his arms again, boots righting themselves. “That’s not your fault that some bastard can’t act right, yeah? Forget about it, it’s all nothing.”

“You shouldn’t have to be involved—”

“Bloody cut it out, would you?” Simon glares, brows pulling in. “I said it’s nothing.”

He was very passionate about this, it seemed.

You sigh, shaking your head before a tiny chuckle makes the mechanic blink in confusion. “Suppose I can call you my guard dog now, huh?”

“Piss off,” you laugh, covering your mouth with your hand while your eyes narrow down. Simon's own crinkle along the edges, lowering his hands to push them into his pockets. 

A second leads into another, but neither of you has any particular interest in re-joining the others, even if Soap is smugly passing looks and Price smirks into his drink. Gaz fixes his hat while he tips back a beer bottle, hiding a glint of amusement. 

Simon’s voice lowers, seeming to hover closer. 

“You alright, then?” You nod, face heating up as you stare at his shadow-tainted visage and how the face-covering obscured him from your eager eyes. 

“I’m used to his drama. I have no problem giving it back.” Simon hums, October browns glinting like Halloween lights. 

“Seems so.” He pauses, and pushes out a joking, “Not surprised, Sunshine.”

“Good, Brown-Eyes,” you lean back on your heels and smirk. “I’d be offended if you were, with all we’ve been talking to one another.” 

“Getting familiar, Bartender?”

“Of course, Mechanic. Haven’t you heard?” He tilts his head, prodding you on as his eyes soften that candle-like smidge. “I keep everyone’s secrets—and you still have to tell me yours.”

Simon chuffs a low chuckle, and the fabric of his mask pulls as he shakes his skull. “Maybe one day, yeah? Need to stick ‘round to know ‘em.”

Then perhaps this town was worth wasting away in.  

—

“Bastard won’t cause any problems, will he?”

“No, no, he’s too much of a coward to try and get back at anyone. He won’t do anything.”

TAGS:

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[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Honey Girl. Chapter Three.

Chapter One. Chapter Two. Chapter Four. Chapter Five. Chapter Six. Chapter Seven. Chapter Eight. Series Masterlist. The Playlist.

Chapter Synopsis - You and Bucky get closer. Your choice only gets harder.

Pairing - Dad'sBestFriend!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader - soulmate au.

Word Count - 6.4k

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - smut. cursing. angst. alcohol consumption.

Author's Note - angels, i can only apologise for the wait!! i've had some stuff going on, and i was on vacation, so this has taken a while. thank you so much for your patience, kindness and support on Honey Girl - it means everything.

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback!!) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3 please, send me your thoughts, predictions, desires!! i will get excited with you!!

Masterlist. Inbox.

The sunlight seeps through the stained glass windows, murmured chatter echoing off the stone walls around you.

You smooth down your dress and adjust your bracelet, smiling at the rare sight of your family and friends all gathered together in one place. Your parents are sat on either side of you, all of you eagerly awaiting the beginning of this exciting occasion.

Man, you love weddings. You always have. So much happiness and joy in one short day, everyone excited about the possibility of eternal love.

You're still sat waiting when you realise, with quiet uncertainty, that you're not sure whose wedding this is. All of your family is here, as well as many of your friends. So why do you feel so confused all of a sudden?

The Priest gestures for all of the guests to stand just as the first notes of the Wedding March begin to reverberate around the room. You turn around, craning your neck to try and get a glimpse of the bride.

You don't know her, but she's... beautiful. Long, dark hair falling in waves over her shoulders, white silk dress hugging her frame perfectly, accentuating every dip and curve. She has kind eyes, warm and brown, and a blinding smile that's infectious and dazzling. Her skin glows in the stained glass sunlight, illuminating her in an ethereal radiance. She has a beauty that belongs on the cover of a magazine, or on the ceilings of the Sistine Chapel.

You eagerly turn back towards the altar to find out who her lucky groom is. He has his back to you, dark suit stretched across his broad shoulders. He turns, and you can't help the gasp that escapes your lips.

It's Bucky.

You're panicking, suddenly. You want to scream, shout, run over to them and object in any way possible. Your Mom grabs your hand tightly from one side, as your Dad does the same on the other.

"Mama, I have to-"

"You can't, sweetheart. It's not fair."

"You made your choice," your Dad says kindly, not an ounce of malice in his voice. "Now you have to let him make his."

White hot tears drip down your cheeks as your chest rises and falls with frantic frustration. This isn't how you wanted things to go. This wasn't supposed to happen.

The lights in the church are suddenly too bright, the wooden pews too hard. There's an incessant knocking noise coming from somewhere in front of you, loud and overwhelming. You swear someone's shouting your name in the distance, among all of the chaos.

"Honey? It's Bucky. Are you okay?"

Why is he asking if you're okay? Of course you're not okay, you're in this living nightmare.

Nightmare.

You're having a nightmare.

You wake with a startled gasp, cheeks wet and warm, sweat dripping down your back. The knocking hasn't stopped, in fact, now it's even louder.

"Sugar? Are you in there? Can you let me in?"

It's Bucky. Bucky's here.

You throw yourself out of bed and race through your apartment, swinging open the door. Bucky is stood on the other side, still in his navy plaid pyjama pants, sweater thrown over himself haphazardly. You look down at yourself and see that you're only wearing an old t shirt, legs bare and feet cold on the wooden floor.

"Are you okay?" he asks gently, stepping forward into your space. "I had this horrible feeling. It was like... like I was panicking. I knew it wasn't me so I figured it must have been you. What's wrong, sweets?"

He snakes his fingers around your wrist and pulls you into him gently, wrapping his arms around you completely. You relax into his embrace, inhaling the warm, cosy scent of him. All the fear leaves your body, and you cling to him tighter, worried that he'll disappear any minute.

"I had a nightmare," you whisper into the soft cotton of his chest.

He pulls back to look at you, large, calloused hands cradling your tear stained cheeks.

"You wanna talk about it?"

You deliberate for a second before shaking your head softly.

"If you change your mind, you know I'll always listen to you. Any time. I mean it."

"I know," you say quietly. "Thank you."

You step away from him and towards the couch, where you curl up with your legs tucked underneath you. Bucky walks over to the kitchen, filling the kettle and placing it on the stove. He makes two mugs of tea, handing one into your outstretched hands carefully. He shuffles to sit next to you, pressed into your side, arm slung around your shoulders. You relax into the broadness of him, the comfort he brings, the safety. The two of you fall asleep intertwined, warm and content, wrapped completely in each other and the blanket of your love.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You're both startled awake by a phone ringing. The unwelcome melody is coming from somewhere between where you're nestled together, limbs intertwined and bodies connected.

"It's-fuck- is that mine or yours?" Bucky's mumbling as he scrambles amongst the couch cushions.

"Yours, I think," you reply, finding your phone on the floor where you've kicked it in your sleep.

Bucky finally finds the source of the noise, trapped in the arm of the couch. He presses the green button reluctantly, still disorientated from being woken so suddenly.

"Hello?"

That deep, raspy grumble of his morning voice is enough to make you melt back into your original position, the tone golden and honeyed. You slide back towards him and tuck yourself into his side, the two of you fitting together perfectly.

You can hear muffled talking on the other end, which takes Bucky a minute to comprehend. When he does, his eyes widen, and he looks at you like a deer caught in headlights.

It's your Dad, he mouths silently, muscles in his body going rigid.

Fuck, you mouth back, praying that he can't hear the two sets of heaving lungs on your side of the line.

"Yeah, of course. I'll be there. Sounds good, man. See you then."

Bucky's about to hang up the phone, when your Dad makes a noise of complaint. You can hear your Mom yelling something at him in the background.

"They're coming here," he whispers to you as quietly as possible, covering the phone speaker. "Fuck, what do we do?"

"Tell them you're already here... borrowing something. Or giving something back."

You shoot him a look that says trust me. Trust you, he does.

"I'm with her right now. I can ask, if you want? Yeah, just dropping off a couple of tools - last time I saw her, she mentioned a few loose screws in one of the kitchen cabinets. Easy fix."

You can hear your Dad singing his praises and expressing his gratitude, and your Mom asking Bucky to put you on the phone. He passes it to you carefully, as if it's a bomb, bound to explode at any given second.

"Hi, Mama."

"Hey, sweetheart. Bucky get everything sorted for you?"

"Oh, yeah. He's been great. Fixed it in two minutes flat. I just didn't have the right kind of screwdriver."

"He's one of the good ones, huh?" she chuckles. "We called to tell you that you have to come to our get together later. I know it's a little impromptu, but we have so much produce from the garden, too much for just us. We'll have dinner in the backyard, and drinks, and play some games. And we'll tell you all about the wedding!"

Your Mother has a gift for hosting. She's a people person through and through, warm hearted and kind spirited in nature. She loves having people over at the house, loves cooking for them, loves choosing wine pairings for her dishes and explaining each one carefully. It's a gift. She's a gift.

"I'd love to come, Mama. Do you want me to bring anything? I can make desserts?"

"Oh, darling, would you? I'm making a strawberry and cream tart, but you know it's nothing compared to your talent."

"Oh hush," you chide playfully. "I'll see what I can conjure up. Maybe I'll even rope Bucky in to help."

You wink at him cheekily and he laughs, the sound settling gently in your ribs like a caged bird singing it's morning song.

"Glad to be of service!" he yells into the phone, his right hand moving to rest at the nape of your neck. He massages the muscle there gently, and the tension leaves your body just as quick as it arrived.

"What time, Mama?"

"Everyone's arriving at seven o'clock, but you and Bucky feel free to come any time. Did you hear that, Bucky? Any time!"

"Loud and clear," he chuckles. "See you soon, Lori."

"Bye, you two. Call if you need anything. Love you, sweetheart."

"Love you too."

She hangs up the phone and you're plunged into silence, the two of you panting like you've just ran a marathon.

"Fuck," Bucky breathes.

"Yeah, fuck," you exhale. "Now my parents think I'm not capable of fixing a loose screw."

"It was the first thing I thought of! Sorry, honey. Didn't mean to undermine your DIY skills."

You fake angry, but you can't keep it up while he's looking at you like you hung the moon just for him. The corners of your lips twitch, and before you know it, you're grinning at each other like idiots.

"Now I have to make dessert," you laugh. "There go my plans for the day."

"You offered."

"I panicked!"

"I'll give you a hand, if you need it. I don't have to be at work for another hour and a half."

"It's okay," you reassure, reaching out to link your fingers with his. He's still absentmindedly tracing patterns across the back of your neck, the sensation almost soothing you back to sleep.

You relax into Bucky, and he pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you. He's so warm, and soft, and broad. You realise that there's been two occasions recently where you've slept like the dead. Both were in Bucky's arms.

"You wanna help me make breakfast?" you whisper, careful not to disrupt the golden glow of the morning sunlight. The orange hue of the room feels fragile, sacred even. You don't want to ruin it.

"Of course. I can't bake, but I can cook. I have my uses."

"That, you do," you tease, leaning back into him as he places a tender kiss on top of your head. If you could bottle up this feeling of complete tranquility, you would. For a moment, everything else disappears. It's just you and your soulmate. Nothing else matters.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Bucky, as it turns out, is a decent chef.

Sure, he's not Michelin star level, but neither are you.

You're sat on the counter, bare legs dangling over the side as you watch him move around your kitchen with ease, as if it's his own. You can't help but notice the way he belongs here. Like he's been here all along.

Bucky leaves everything cooking on the stove to come to stand in between your legs, warm hands splayed across your thighs. He rubs comforting circles into your skin while his steely blue eyes look at you intently.

"You okay?"

You smile at him softly, draping your arms around his neck to play with his hair.

"I'm fine."

You're not fine. The words California and Bakery and Dream Job and Bucky keep circling around your mind like horses on a fairground carousel. The more time you spend with Bucky, the more your Tethering makes sense. The two of you work. This connection you have is made of threads of gold, braided into both of your souls.

"You've been quiet all morning. And... I can feel it, you know. This anxious, sinking feeling, deep in my chest. There's something really bothering you, honey."

You take a deep breath and grasp onto his shoulders tightly, grounding yourself back down to Earth.

"I'm okay. There's just a couple of things I need to work out, and I think they're giving me some anxiety. I'm just stressed, I think."

"Are you trying to convince yourself, or me? Because you're not doing a very good job of either."

He's only teasing, but the way he's looking at you makes your breath hitch. It's as if everytime he looks into your eyes, he's also looking into your soul. It's like he can read your mind. Your heart is covered in braille and he's running his fingertips over it gently. You suddenly feel very exposed, shrinking down into yourself on the counter.

"Hey, pretty girl. Look at me. Please."

He uses his finger and thumb to tilt your face towards him, holding onto your chin gently.

"I'm sorry. I'm not trying to push you, or anything. I'm just worried. It's weird, being able to feel what you feel. I think I'm still getting used to it."

You smile at him carefully, running your fingers over the stubble on his cheeks.

"I appreciate you looking out for me, Buck. It's just... overwhelming, I guess. Nothing's a secret between me and you anymore."

You both know that's not true.

"You know, if there's anyone who understands how you feel... it's me."

"You're right," you laugh, "on account of the whole half-of-my-soul thing, I guess."

"Exactly. It's scary, but you're not alone in this. The two of us will figure it out. I know we will."

He has so much faith in you it makes you want to cry.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him in closer to you. He leans down and presses a sweet kiss to your lips, firm and reassuring. It's like he's reminding you that he's right here, in front of you. He's not going anywhere.

You might be, though.

"We've got all the time in the world, remember?" he murmurs against your mouth.

"All the time in the world," you echo, tucking your head into his chest.

He holds you close until your breakfast starts to burn. The impending fire on the stove is nothing compared to the impending fire that feels like your future.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The two of you eat on your balcony, tangled together on the love seat chair. The sun is beating down, beams of light illuminating Bucky, setting him aglow. He looks like an angel, the golden hue creating a halo around him. You wonder for a second if he is. An angel sent just for you.

"Oh hey, did I tell you?" he asks, turning as much as he can in his spot to face you.

"Tell me what?"

"Leonie and Eli are having a baby."

"No way!" you exclaim, grabbing a hold of his hands in excitement. "I'm so happy for them. Man, it feels like yesterday that they found each other."

"Right? Hell of a story, too."

"Rough one, though. I mean, imagine it. You introduce your brother to your new girlfriend, and turns out they're soulmates."

Bucky's laughing so hard that he's clutching at his stomach, shaking the chair and you along with it.

"That's fucked," he wheezes. "It's so fucked."

You can't contain your own laughter, not when his is so contagious.

"It's not funny," you breathe, but you're giggling so hard your sides hurt.

"Not funny at all," he chuckles, pinching your thigh.

"If you think about it, our Tethering is a little fucked up too. I mean, you're my Dad's best friend."

"Yeah... not ideal, huh?" he teases, still laughing.

"Not ideal at all, really," you agree playfully.

You sit in the quiet for a moment before you speak again.

"What do you think they'll say? When we tell them, eventually?"

Bucky thinks for a moment, cogs turning in his brain. He considers carefully before he answers you.

"...I think they'll be happy for us. Your Mom'll be excited. It might be a little harder for your Dad to navigate, I guess, but... he'll be okay."

"Yeah. You're probably right."

The rational part of your brain is telling you that he is. They'll be ecstatic that the two of you have found your person. The celebrations will be endless.

But there's a tiny, nagging piece of your mind that won't let you rest. It's taunting you, telling you that they're going to be confused, shocked, upset. That they won't accept the two of you. You can't lose them over a soulmate. You won't.

You clear your throat and stand from your spot, picking up your empty plates.

"Don't you have to be at work soon? I doubt you can show up in pajamas."

"I'm the boss, pretty girl. I can wear whatever the hell I want."

You raise an eyebrow at him, and he relents.

"Fine. I need to change. But I'll see you later? At your Mom's?"

"Yeah, of course. I'll see you there."

You walk Bucky to the door, opening it expectantly. He looks at you for a moment too long, still unconvinced by your reassurances from earlier.

"If you need anything, just call me. You know you can talk to me anytime, yeah?"

"Yeah," you confirm, absentmindedly playing with the hem of his t shirt. "I know, Buck. Thanks."

He leans in to kiss your forehead before leaving you in the doorway, more confused than ever.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You commit your day to baking your feelings away.

As soon as Bucky left your apartment, the space felt empty, incomplete. Much like you do. As much as you hate to admit it, you feel better when Bucky is around. You know it's the whole Tethering thing, but still. Your heart feels fuller, the world seems brighter, the sun on your skin is warmer. Everything's easier when your soulmate is next to you.

You click on the radio, a soft, jazzy melody filling your kitchen. You begin to measure your ingredients, picking up bowls, utensils and your piping bags as you go.

This is the only thing you've ever felt like you were made to do. Sure, you've had hobbies as you've grown up. You're a good swimmer, you enjoyed soccer, you weren't too bad at dance. But nothing compared to baking.

Which at first, sounded ridiculous. Grown ups would ask you what you wanted to be when you were older, and when you said Baker, they'd laugh in that patronising way that adults do. It didn't stop you, though.

Your Grandma bought you a half empty recipe book for your tenth birthday. You can create your own and add them, she'd said. You'll be publishing a book with your name on in no time.

Your parents took you on a European vacation when you were sixteen. In Amsterdam, you passed this tiny little bakery, tucked away down a back street. It was red brick with a big window in the front, showcasing the cakes and endless sweet treats they had to offer. When you peered through the glass, you watched as the woman who you assumed was the owner went about her day. She looked so happy to be serving her customers. You decided then and there that was going to be you one day. A Bakery of your own. A happy life.

Which is why you're having such a hard time. You haven't talked to Stella since she called you, and you're worried she's going to change her mind if she doesn't hear from you soon. You haven't talked to Bucky about it either, even though he presented you with opportunity after opportunity this morning. It's starting to feel like the walls are caving in.

So, you do what you do best. Bake.

The day passes by quicker than anticipated, lost in a cloud of cinnamon and powdered sugar. You're wiping down your counters when your phone rings, Bucky's name lighting up your screen.

"Hi, Buck."

"Hey, pretty baby. You want me to pick you up later? I'm passing your place anyway."

He's always thinking of you so selflessly. The thought makes your heart stutter for a moment.

"You sure you don't mind?"

"Course not. I can drop by at six? Gives us enough time to help your Mom set up."

"Sounds perfect. Thanks, Buck."

"See you then, honey."

You hang up the phone and realise the hours have completely escaped you. You jump in the shower and do your hair and makeup in record time, miraculously. You're stood in a towel in front of your closet when you feel Bucky pull up outside. The tension in your chest eases a little, and you take a deep, full breath. He knocks on the door, and you completely relax.

"Hey, you," he greets, leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek.

You take a step back to look at him, and almost lose your balance. He looks ridiculously handsome. He's wearing a dark short sleeve button up that hugs his biceps so tightly, you're worried it might burst open. His jeans cling to his thighs deliciously, and the leather jacket slung over his shoulder adds a ruggedness that most men couldn't pull off. Your eyes rake over him slowly, taking him in from top to bottom. He lets you devour him, smirk never leaving his lips. Eventually, you meet his gaze.

"You see something you like?"

"You clean up real nice, Barnes," you tease, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing a sweet kiss to his lips.

You untangle yourself from him before you jump his bones, and walk back to your closet. He follows you and sits on the edge of your bed, watching your every move like a hawk.

You pick out a sage green sundress that skims your thighs and hugs you in all the right places. It's a warm night, and your Mom loves to start a bonfire when it's cold.

"Close your eyes, playboy," you scold jokingly, laughing when he flops backwards to stare at your ceiling.

You slip the dress on, and realise it has a zipper at the back that you can't reach.

"Buck? Can you zip me up, please?"

He rises from his spot on the bed and strides over to you, standing a little closer than necessary. He pulls the zip upwards ever so slowly, fingertips brushing your spine as he goes. He's so warm and so broad behind you that it sends a shiver through your body.

Bucky brushes your hair to one side and leans down to press a featherlight kiss the place where your neck meets your shoulder. You hum in contentment, which only spurs him on. He begins to leave kisses wherever he pleases - your shoulder, your neck, behind your ear. You practically melt into him, and he wraps his arms around you to keep you steady.

"You look so beautiful," he murmurs against your skin. "Prettiest girl I've ever seen."

You smile at his words, leaning your head back to rest on his shoulder.

"Says the man that looks like a goddamn supermodel."

"Oh, angel. Now you're just lying to me."

His chuckle rumbles through the both of you, the sound lighting up your nerve endings.

Your eyes flick across the room, where you notice the clock on the wall.

"Baby," you whisper. "You gotta stop. We're gonna be late."

He groans lowly and lets his head loll into the crease of your shoulder.

"I was fine until you called me baby," he murmurs. "Now that's all I'm gonna be thinking about for the rest of the night."

"Sorry."

"You're not."

"I'm not."

You both laugh and untangle yourselves, you moving to put on your shoes while Bucky straightens himself out.

"You gonna be able to keep your hands to yourself, lover boy?"

"I'm gonna have to," he grumbles, trying to hide the smile that's fighting to take over his face.

You lean against him as you do up the straps of your shoes, dancing your fingers down his arm to interlink your hands.

"Ready?" you ask, looking up at him with big doe eyes.

"Ready," he confirms, leaning down to kiss you chastely.

"A night of pretending that we're not soulmates. How hard can that be?"

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Pretending that Bucky isn't your soulmate is one of the hardest things you've ever done.

You haven't even made it inside yet.

Buck parks his truck in your parents driveway and turns to look at you. You've been silent the entire ride over, and it's making him anxious. He reaches over and places a warm palm on your bare thigh, thumb rubbing patterns back and forth.

"You okay?"

You take a deep breath, which is all the answer he needs.

"It's alright, baby. I'm nervous too. We've got this. We're alright."

You look into his eyes for the first time since you were in your apartment, and have to fight to stop yourself from crying. You nod and bite your lip, inhaling and exhaling carefully.

"You're okay. I promise. It's me and you, honey girl. It's me and you."

You want to crawl over into Bucky's lap and bury your face in his chest. You want to curl up in his strong arms and let his scent envelope you. You want to tangle your fingers into his hair and smash his lips to yours, until you don't know where you end and Bucky begins.

Instead, you bring his hand from your thigh to your lips, and kiss each of his knuckles tenderly. The gesture makes his heart beat so fast, he's a little worried he's about to pass out.

"Come and talk to me anytime tonight, okay? I've got you. I've always got you."

You nod again, and take another deep breath.

"I know, Buck. It's the only thing I'm sure of."

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"My baby!"

Your Mom smothers you in a hug the minute you knock on the door, almost tipping you over in the process.

"Oh, you look so beautiful. This colour is gorgeous on you, sweetheart."

The heaviness of your heart gets a little lighter at the sight of your Mother. She's magic like that.

"Thanks Mama. Is your skirt new? It's pretty."

She gives you a twirl, the skirt billowing around her like a princess. Both you and Bucky smile when you catch each others eyes briefly.

"I got it on our trip! Your Dad got a new shirt too - he looks so handsome."

She's grinning from ear to ear talking about him. Your smile only gets wider.

Bucky gives your Mom a one armed hug, and hands her a white box with a bow on.

"I wish I could say this is from me, but I don't have nearly enough talent for that."

"You're plenty good at other things, Buck," she laughs. "What's in here, sweetheart?"

"Apple, carrot and cinnamon cake with cream cheese frosting. I piped little bunny rabbits on top, too."

Before she can say anything else, you take the box from her hands and walk into the house.

"We better put this in the refrigerator before the frosting melts!" you call as you leave.

"Come on Buck, let's get you a drink. Jack bought your favourite."

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Your parents backyard looks incredible.

Golden fairylights adorn the deck, illuminating the dining area that your Mom has set up. The table is covered with a white lace tablecloth, and littered with tea lights and candlesticks. Each place setting has a wine and a water glass ready, fringed cushions perched on each wooden chair. There's a beautiful bouquet of flowers in a stained glass vase as the centerpiece, more flowers scattered across the entirety of the table.

The sun hasn't set yet, and the entire garden is dripping with the glowing orange hue of the evening. The air is warm and calm, salty ocean breeze only disrupting the peace occasionally. If summer were to be summed up in a night, it'd be this one.

Your Dad is pouring water into all of the glasses from an ornate painted jug when you walk into the yard.

"Hi, Papa."

"Oh, sweetheart!" he smiles in surprise, abandoning his task to come and give you a hug. "You look amazing. I like your dress."

"Thank you - hey, is this your new shirt? It suits you!"

"It's nice, right? Your Mom picked it out. She said the colour brings out my eyes."

You look him up and down comically, crossing your arms over your chest like a cartoon detective.

"Hmm... she's right. It definitely does."

You're both laughing when your Mom and Bucky join you, the two men immediately smacking each other on the back affectionately.

"Where you been, Buck? Work keeping you busy?"

"Stupidly busy - you wouldn't even believe."

"Well, it's your night off, so no shop talk!" your Mom encourages, handing Bucky a beer.

"Easier said than done," he winks, and your breathing picks up just a little.

"Mama, do you need help with anything in the kitchen?"

"Oh, yes please, sweetheart. Come, let me show you what needs doing."

The two of you leave the men to catch up, walking inside to prep the appetisers.

You're slicing tomatoes carefully when you turn to watch your Mom for a minute. She's chopping up basil, completely engrossed. The evening sun beams in, illuminating her as she stands by the window. You love her so much it makes you unsteady on your feet.

"Hey, Mama? Can I talk to you about something?"

She turns and immediately stops what she's doing, giving her full attention to you.

"Of course you can, baby. Anything at all."

You take a deep breath, and carry on slicing while you talk.

"So, you remember Stella, right?

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The night goes off without a hitch.

There's good food, gorgeous wine and even better company. Your parents invited many of their friends, meaning twelve of you are sat around the meticulously prepared table. In between courses, there's conversation, laughter and games, everyone letting go of the stress of the week.

You're doing everything you can to avoid looking at Bucky. You're worried that if someone catches the two of you, they'll know everything. You're surprised you haven't confessed already, the weight of the secret too heavy to bear.

Your Mom is cutting your cake on the table when there's a sudden commotion.

"Oh, fuck!"

"Shit! Shit, I'm sorry. Shit."

"Is everyone okay?" your Mom asks, flitting to the other end of the table.

"I'm so fucking clumsy, my God. Dropped my wine straight onto Bucky," Jesse, one of your Dad's oldest friends, explains.

"As long as it doesn't stain my white tablecloth, we're fine," your Mom laughs. "What do you need, Buck?"

"It's only white wine, luckily, so no stain. I'm just wet. I'm gonna go dry off."

"I have a hairdryer?" you offer without thinking.

"Good idea, honey. Go help Bucky upstairs while I get some paper towels."

You rise from your chair and make your way inside, heart racing as Bucky follows you. You rummage around the drawers of your childhood bedroom, certain you used to keep all of your hair tools here somewhere.

"You got it?" a warm, whiskey smooth voice asks from behind you.

"Got it," you reply, standing up with the hairdryer in your hand.

Bucky kicks the door closed behind him, and takes a step into you.

"I can't focus on anything when you're sat there in that dress," he murmurs. "Look like a fuckin' angel, all pretty under the lights."

Heat blooms over your chest, and you pray he doesn't notice. Your breathing quickens, and you step forward too, now chest to chest with him.

"I'm so worried that I'm going to accidentally blurt it out," you confess. "You're the only thing that's on my mind."

Bucky leans down to press his lips to yours, smiling into the kiss. You fist your hands into his shirt and pull him closer, snaking your tongue into his mouth. He tastes like mint and sugar and every kiss for the rest of your life.

He groans when you bite his lip, nipping yours back in retaliation.

"Easy, baby," he warns teasingly. "I can't go back down there black and blue."

You roll your eyes and kiss him harder, practically melting when he grabs at your ass roughly.

"What do you need, pretty girl?" he questions against your mouth. "I'll give you anything."

You're panting against him, vibrating with need.

"Need you to take the edge off," you whisper, hands shaking as you unbutton his wet shirt. "Can't carry on like this. Please, baby. Please."

"We've gotta be quick," he reminds, sneaking his hand under your dress to tease you over your underwear.

You grab at his shoulders for leverage, almost certain your knees aren't going to hold out long enough. Bucky doesn't even take your panties off, just slips his hand down the front. It feels filthier this way.

"Fuck," he groans. "This all for me, honey? You been thinking about this?"

"Yes," you whine. "All I've thought about."

Bucky wastes no time, slipping a finger into you easily. After a minute, he adds another, setting a steady rhythm immediately.

"Shit," you breathe, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his chest. "We're supposed to be taking it slow."

"You want me to go slow?"

"No, fuck," you say immediately. "Don't stop. Please."

He chuckles lowly, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you.

"I won't, baby. Almost there."

It should be embarrassing, how quickly he can take you to the edge, but you don't care. This is what having a soulmate is. They know you better than anyone - inside and out.

"So close," you whisper.

"I know, pretty baby. I can feel it. Stay quiet and come for me. That's it."

You can't hold out when he uses that tone with you. You're thrown over the edge, your climax running through you like molten honey, hot and delicious. Your knees buckle, and Bucky uses a strong arm around your middle to hold you up.

"There we go," he's murmuring. "Atta girl. That's my girl."

You wrap your arms around his waist and breathe him in, finally coming back to your senses.

"My parents are gonna wonder where we are," you realise. "Grab your shirt and the hairdryer. You're gonna have to do it while I recover."

Bucky smiles at you with so much affection, the world stops spinning for a second. This is a moment of bliss. The two of you revel in it.

Bucky dries his shirt while you go back outside, trying to keep suspicion to a minimum.

"Fixed, sweetheart?" your Mom asks, holding out a piece of cake to you. You take it gratefully and sit back down, relaxing into your chair.

"Yeah, it's basically dry. That hairdryer is old, so it's taking a while."

"Well you didn't miss much, other than Jesse telling the Joshua Tree story for the fortieth time this month," your Dad laughs.

"You love that story, asshole!" Jesse yells, just as Bucky re-enters the garden. He throws you a mischievous smile, which you reciprocate with ease.

Everyone is a little more careful with their wine as the night goes on, keeping all the glasses planted firmly on the table.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"So then I said, well, if you don't like it, leave!"

You're pretty sure you've heard your Mom's friend Cora tell this story before, but you're all laughing like it's the first time. She has such an animated voice, you're convinced you could listen to her read the phone book.

"Which, I mean, I didn't think he would. Imagine breaking up over a chinchilla! A fucking chinchilla!"

You're laughing so hard your sides hurt. You look over to Bucky, and see that he's grinning like a Cheshire cat. You could get used to this.

"So I watched him pack his shit, box by box. Which took fucking ages, by the way. He was using those big plastic boxes, you know the black ones? And he was filling them so carefully and so slowly, that I started helping him!"

You wipe a tear from your face, still doubled over in amusement. You're gonna be sore tomorrow, the way your abs hurt now.

"But I didn't want him taking those boxes, because they're nice, right? They're expensive, and they're mine! So I helped him move out, and then unpacked all of his shit so I could have my boxes back."

Your Mom, despite hearing this story before, hasn't taken her eyes off Cora the entire time. She's such a careful listener. It's one of the things you love most about her.

"Oh, I'll drop them off for you, if you like!" Cora yells, staring directly at you. Everyone turns to look at you in confusion.

"Why would she need all your boxes?" Jesse laughs.

"For the big move!"

Time stands still. The world goes silent. Your heart stops beating.

"...What move?" Bucky asks, never taking his eyes off you.

"To California! Her dream job, falling in her lap. We're so proud of you, babygirl. You've worked so hard for this."

Cora's tearing up now, the alcohol catching up to her. She raises her glass high in the air.

"To our little superstar. The best baker the world has ever seen! Cheers!"

Everyone clinks their glasses together in the middle of the table, except for you and Bucky. You haven't taken your eyes off each other. The world carries on, but you stay still.

You suddenly feel a cacophony of emotions - sadness, anger, betrayal, hurt and confusion settling like ten tonne weights onto your chest. Then it hits you - you're feeling what Bucky feels.

You feel a heart break.

You're not sure if it's yours or his.

tag list part one -

@lillytracy6996 @securegorgon @roostersforevergirl @povlvr @val-writesstuff  @dreadfulxives18 @1deadpool26 @abbygraceasd @nyutasgirl @mavrellover91 @winterslove1917 @f-this42 @skewedcherries @noisesinthedark @kandis-mom @black-cat-2 @harrystylesandthegoobs @vladsgirlxx @h0nestly-though @arienotari @nash-dara   @wandaneedstherapy @galaxy-dusk @justherefortheficandsmut @cremebruleequeen   @cjand10 @buggy14 @avengers-fixation @blueberrybambi @beautiful-loserr @sarah1barnes @miss-rebel-without-applause @ragingrainbowshipl @shamrockqueen @savemeroman @jenn-f @8crazy-freak8 @daddyjackfrost @openup-yourmind @adangerousbalance  @mandijo17 @daddylorianisastateofmind @rcarbo1 @casa-boiardi @spideegwen @navs-bhat @mssbridgerton @asuni921 @middle-of-the-earth @mfrnchsk

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes x reader smut #dadsbestfriend!bucky x reader #dadsbestfriend!bucky #dadsbestfriend!bucky barnes #sebastian stan #dbf!bucky barnes x reader #Honey Girl #soulmate!bucky barnes #dbf!bucky barnes #dad's best friend bucky barnes #soulmate!au #soulmate!bucky barnes x reader #dbf!bucky #bucky fluff #soulmate au

[scientia-rex]

I had one of those days where I just had too many feelings to fit inside my skin, and I’ll have to recover from it.

Telling a patient she has breast cancer. Telling a patient she has dementia. Calling a patient at 6:30pm, still sitting at my desk, because even though I finished seeing patients at 5pm, I have work to do. Doing an endometrial biopsy on a patient who may have cancer. Calling a company so I can get the password to a website so I can recredential every three months so my clinic can charge for my work. Working with an assistant on whom I’ve also done an endometrial biopsy. My regular MA is out with COVID. I’m getting a year-end bonus for the first time in my life. Some idiot kid thinks I don’t know how ears work. I saw back to back ADHD patients; one is a trans woman who paused her transition because she can’t afford it. One is a kid who did loops around the exam room chairs the whole time I talked to his mother. His mother was frosty towards me at first because I was running late because I was telling a patient she had breast cancer, and she was crying, and her daughter was crying, and when her partner died of a different cancer last year the hospice workers were homophobic and she’s afraid of hospice. A different idiot kid thinks I don’t know how soap works. The ADHD kid’s mom warmed up to me when she realized I cared and knew what I was talking about. The kid said, “AHEM. What’s up, chicken butt?” I laughed and high fived him. I gave his mom the Vanderbilt forms to assess ADD symptoms across multiple environments. I saw a patient who had a certain air about her that I recognized intimately, and at the end I asked what she did, and she was a doctor, too. I knew it had to be something like that. When I explain medical concepts I aim for lay language, but I can see when people get faintly impatient with me for it, and I’ll add in more and more technical language and see when they start looking confused; she didn’t. I could watch every new patient take in my brightly-colored hair, combined with the utterly forgettable rest of me, all browns and grays and dress slacks and comfortable shoes, because the hair is my one concession to my deep need for attention; in the exam room, I need to recede into the background so the patient can be the focus. Studies have shown that patients don’t like it when doctors disclose that they have the same medical issues. It might seem like bonding, but it shifts the focus away from where it belongs: the patient. That island of time is theirs. The breast cancer patient’s daughter said to me, “Thank you for spending the time with us. I know you didn’t have the time.” And I said, “From each according to their something or other, to each according to their needs. It’s lukewarm Marxism.” I don’t think she heard it all, or took it all in, which was good. I had a migraine that made my head feel three sizes too big with a steady drumbeat of pain despite taking two Ubrelvy, two Aleve, and two Tylenol, plus 100mg of caffeine and a propranolol and a Zofran. You have to disconnect each patient from the next. I can’t bring the breast cancer patient’s grief and heaviness into a room where a little boy is doing hand-stands and telling me silly puns. One of the nurses brought me a sublingual Toradol from a stash—someone’s purse, somewhere—because she wanted me to feel better, and I felt tears stinging my eyes because she cared about me. I couldn’t afford to cry. I just told a woman she has dementia and she doesn’t believe me. I told her to bring her husband to our next visit. I ended my clinic day doing an endometrial biopsy, trying to pass a uterine sound through a stenotic cervix, but I’ve done this before enough times to know to have the set of dilators ready. I dilated her cervix gently but firmly, with the back pressure of the tenaculum, until I could get the sound in, and then I left the sound there while my assistant handed me the sampling pipelle, because if you remove it there’s a good chance the cervix will tighten down again and you’ll have to repeat the dilation. The patient was holding her husband’s hand and chanting to him under her breath, in pain despite the Xanax I gave her.

I’m a doctor. It’s everything to me.

#the attending dr. kristophine

[avis-writeshq]

carriage six – spencer reid

summary: Spencer Reid prides himself in his routine. Wake up at half-past six. Leave his apartment at a quarter past seven. Get onto the seven thirty train. Arrive at Quantico at eight forty five. He has a plentiful of reasons as to why he does it; it’s efficient, it gets him to the office early, it works. But the biggest reason is the girl that always sits in the seat a few rows across from him, headphones on and always reading a book. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

genre: strangers to lovers, rated G for mutual pining and second hand embarrassment. no use of (Y/N).

warnings: fluff, boy band spencer reid (caution, hot!). i tried to write in Spencer’s pov, and with that comes a lot of rambling. i like to think that his mind is running 100 miles an hour, so i tried to write in a style that could implicate that &lt;3

wc: 1.8k

part two: platform ten

Spencer tries not to look so excited when he enters the subway, clad in light grey slacks, a lavender dress shirt, a brown and purple argyle sweater vest and a mauve coloured tie. His signature leather bag is strapped across his chest and he has a light cardigan in his hand; the weather reports said it would be cold today. His head spins with the statistics on the accuracy of meteorology, considering the bright and sunny skies that blessed the citizens of D.C that morning. He’s donning a new haircut today as well. It was a lot shorter than he originally planned to get it, but he likes it. In fact, he likes it a lot, particularly the way it drapes across his forehead and the way it looks messy but still cool. That’s how he would describe it. Cool. He feels cool.

He hasn’t been able to get onto the subway for three days because of a case in Connecticut and his mind wanders. Will there be another case soon? How long would it take? He hopes it would be a local case. He feels guilty thinking that; he shouldn’t be hoping for a case at all. After all, that would only mean someone else has met their untimely death. He shakes his head to dismiss the thoughts. 

He steps onto the train, onto the sixth carriage, and sits on his usual seat. In his mind, it’s the perfect seat. It avoids the sun so he doesn’t need to squint and he doesn’t have to turn the brightness level of his phone all the way up. It’s right next to the door in case he needs to make a quick exit. It’s right next to a handicapped seat, meaning that people tended to avoid it. But the best thing about this seat was the view.

He cringes when he thinks of it. ‘View’ sounds gross. Perverted. ‘View’ is the wrong word to describe it. His favourite thing about this particular seat is the company. Yes, he likes the company, although it technically doesn’t exactly count as company. 

His gaze shifts to his company. Exactly four rows away, her eyes trained on the book in her hands. He recognises it to be ‘Pride and Prejudice’, the limited edition rose gold copy that was released eight months, three weeks and two days ago. He has the same copy sitting on his dresser. 

She looks different today. Granted, it had been three days since he last saw her. He scans her figure to try to place his finger on the difference and he realises. She’s wearing a new lipgloss. Spencer’s cheeks burn when he realises. Why on earth— no, how on earth is he able to tell? He feels himself cringe and he shifts his gaze and scans the rest of carriage in an attempt to busy himself and his mind, but his eyes ultimately fall back on his company.

Spencer can’t seem to take his eyes off of her. What’s she listening to? Where is she up to in her book? Does she like Austen? Has she read any other books by her? What does she think of Elizabeth and Darcy’s relationship? So many questions enter his mind and he wishes he had the guts to go over and strike up a conversation. But he’s not like Morgan. He doesn’t have that type of charisma or that type of confidence. If anything, he supposes, he’s self aware. He knows that the moment he starts a conversation, he would start rambling for twenty minutes about the relationship dynamics between the characters and why Austen was so incandescent and exceeded all beliefs as a writer in her world. He’d start to bring in authors like Virginia Woolf and why her admiration towards Jane Austen was warranted. Ultimately, Spencer thinks to himself as his eyes wander back to the girl, he’d scare her off.

He watches as she falters in her movements, her fingers pausing from flipping the page and Spencer frowns. From what he could tell, she was a little bit more than halfway through the book. Maybe up to page 260? But there’s nothing remotely difficult in that part of the book. If anything, that was the most simple and straightforward section of the entire text. And then he realises. His cheeks burn once more and he quickly busies himself with his phone, biting his lip and avoiding her amused gaze. Your amused gaze.

You can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips as you meet his gaze. You’ve seen him all the time, for the past three years in fact, when you first moved to D.C. He’s cute, really cute, and he’s even cuter when he looks like a deer caught in headlights. You raise a teasing eyebrow his way and you watch as he quickly avoids your gaze, looking into his phone. You can’t the soft laugh that leaves your lips, your fingers tracing against the pages of your book. Maybe you have a little more confidence in yourself than you thought.

***

The next day, Spencer feels a small sense of dread creeping into his heart. He feels embarrassed, so goddamn embarrassed, and he wonders how he could face you. His cheeks are burning and he tugs at his collar. He’s wearing a light blue shirt with a patterned purple tie, along with dark navy coloured pants. He teeters on his feet, waiting with anticipation for the train. The moment he enters the carriage, his eyes fall to the seat you would be seated at, only to see no one at all. He can’t help but frown, a little disappointed but a little relieved. He moves to his usual seat, and lo and behold, he sees you there, one leg crossed over the other and reading a different book. 

He mutters a soft apology as he slides into the seat next to you, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

“Wuthering Heights,” he says, surprising himself.

He watches as you look up from your pages, a small smile on your face. You’re wearing the same lip gloss as yesterday.

“Yeah.” You smile, taking your headphones off and letting them rest around your neck. “You’ve… have you read it before?”

He nods, and he curses himself for looking so eager. “Yes! Um, yes, I’ve read it. It’s really good.”

“Brönte is brilliant,” You respond, sliding a bookmark in between the pages. “I finished Pride and Prejudice last night. Jane Austen is still my favourite.”

You’re baiting him. He knows that. He takes it.

“I saw,” He says quietly, biting his lip. “Not– not in like a stalker way! I just… I just noticed you reading it on the train. Yesterday. I, um, I saw you reading it yesterday.”

He wants to kick himself. His face is flushed and he’s sure that his neck is just as red as his face. His ears are hot and his head spins when he hears you laugh.

“It’s okay. I saw you too.” You offer a smile, your own cheeks warm. “You were reading Edgar Allen Poe a few weeks ago. Is he any good?”

His eyes light up and he tucks an invisible strand of hair behind his ear. It’s a habit of his, since he’s had longer hair almost all of his life. 

“He’s very good,” Spencer insists, pulling the little book out of his satchel. “His works range from short stories to poetry, his most famous works being The Tell-Tale Heart, and Annabel Lee. The former is a short story. It’s a little grim, but he writes in an incredibly eloquent way that presents the narrator’s descent into madness, despite the point of the text being to convince the reader that he isn’t mad. Annabel Lee is a poem about a man obsessed with a woman named Annabel Lee and-“

He purses his lips, realising how much he’s spoken. He coughs into his fist, setting his book down in his lap as he quickly glances at you. 

“…and what?” You prompt, your head tilting the side in curiosity. “Go on, don’t let me stop you. You’re convincing me to actually get the book on his collection of works.”

His head practically snaps to look at you, a look of surprise on his face. He scans your face for any insincerity, from your eyes all the way down to your lips, before clearing his throat. 

“Um… well, uh, in Annabel Lee, the narrator speaks about keeping her in a castle by the sea. It’s a classic case of isolation and some literature analysts even go as far as to say that the narrator was hoping that Annabel would fall in love with him through Stockholm Syndrome but died before the narrator was able to carry out his plan.”

You take in his words, nodding along to his explanation. “You seem to be an expert yourself.”

He laughs, running his fingers through his hair. “No, I uh, I’m not an expert on literature or anything. But I am a doctor.”

“A doctor?” Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Like… a medical doctor or…? No offence, but you really don’t look like a medical doctor.”

He laughs again, nodding. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m not. I have PhD’s in chemistry, mathematics and physics, as well as BAs in psychology, sociology and philosophy.”

You let out a low whistle. “You a collector or something?”

He blushes, swallowing thickly. “No, I uh… no…?”

“You don’t sound too sure of yourself doctor…” You pause, realising that you really don’t know much about this man. You look up at him expectantly. 

“Reid,” He says quickly, clearing his throat. “Spencer Reid. You, um, you don’t have to call me doctor.”

“Alright then, Spencer.” You smile, and he thinks it’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. You introduce yourself and he tells you that you have a pretty name. 

Time passes, and the conversation continues. You could talk for hours with Spencer; about books, movies, anything. He can make anything sound interesting, it’s one of his charms. He smiles a boyish grin as he talks, gesticulating wildly as he rants about his favourite texts and why Austen is a genius. He asks you what you’re listening to and you almost scream at the thought of introducing him to Taylor Swift. 

Before long, the train lurches to a stop at his station and he can’t help but feel a little disappointed. 

“It was nice meeting you. Officially,” He adds, gripping the strap of his leather bag. 

“It was nice to officially meet you too,” You respond, smiling up at him as he gets up from his seat. “Tomorrow?”

His eyes practically light up. “Tomorrow.”

reblogs are always appreciated!

part two: platform ten

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler x reader #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid fluff

[stylesharrys]

the box [boxerry]

“Can I help you?” She asks, voice a little throaty and scratchy. 

He’s got a baseball cap on his head, longish brown hair curling around the rim of it and his ears. His eyes are a little squinted and there’s a heavy stubble that decorates his jaw and chin. Y/N thinks he looks much more intimidating in this attire, opposed to the suit she last saw him in. 

He drinks her in before he speaks. She’s wearing a pair of boyfriend jeans and a knitted jumper, and her hair is half plaited up, the rest falling into natural waves down her back. He thinks she looks quite pretty for an elderly support worker. 

“I’m Harry. I used to box with your brother.” 

She nods, biting at her inner cheek. “Figured that when no one recognised you or your friends at the wake.” She squints at him again, scratching at her sore neck. “Look I don’t mean to be rude, but what do you want? How do you even know I work here?” Her tone holds more accusation as she rambles on and Harry can’t help a somewhat amused smile tug on the corners of his mouth. 

He shrugs. “I have my ways.” His arms are still crossed over his chest but he didn’t answer Y/N’s first question. She raises a brow and Harry inhales heavily before his shoulders sag and he drops his arms to his side. “I need t’ talk to ya about the club.” 

Her brows are pinched harder than before and she shakes her head in confusion, shifting from one foot to the other. “Club? What club?” Her movement allows Harry to see the cut on her smooth forehead and he frowns, reaching closer to inspect it but Y/N’s too quick and with wide eyes, she backs away. 

He realises his forwardness and holds his hands up in surrender; standing straighter. “The underground club. Y’know… the one your brother left to you when he died.” She blinks again, lips parting and she’s blubbering a little like she’s trying to understand what he’s talking about. 

Realisation is quick to wash over Harry’s face and he nods. Of course Sam wouldn’t tell her anything about what she’d be taking over. Typical. 

She takes a deep breath. “Why the fuck would I be left an underground fight club by my brother? He was just a boxer,” she sighs tiredly, punching the bridge of her nose and Harry frowns harder. So maybe she didn’t really know anything about him.

He shakes his head. “Your brother wasn’t just a fighter, Y/N. He owned the club. Sam was the best fighter we had in The Box and he bought it outright five years ago. Always said if anything happened to him, you’d be the one to take it over, do whatever you think best wi’ it.”

Y/N is silent, tears welling in her eyes and she stomps her foot like an insolent child, like she can’t believe this is fucking happening. “You’re telling me I now own an illegal underground boxing club?” Her voice is frantic, high-pitched and whispered through gritted teeth.

Her hands find their way to her hair, gripping on her roots in disbelief. “It’s a good business investment, if you're into that.” He shrugs, arms crossed over his chest again and he’s struggling to understand why she’s so worked up about it. 

If Harry had just inherited a three quarters of a million pound business, he’d be fucking ecstatic. But Y/N isn’t ecstatic and she’s staring at him in complete bewilderment.

“No, Harry. No, I’m not into that. Sell it, give it away, I don’t care. I don’t want it.”

READ PART ONE OF THE BOX ON PATREON ONLY :)

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #imagine harry styles #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles oneshot #harry styles fluff #harry styles fic #harry styles angst #patreon exclusive #boxerry

[writerslittlelibrary]

Don't worry about a thing

masterlist

summary: your parents needed the extra money, even if it meant making you work for it. what happens when two women disagree with your parents methods?

pairing: dark!Wandanat x teen reader, dark!Yelena x teen reader, dark!Melina x teen reader, dark!Bucky x teen reader, dark!Alexei x teen reader

warnings: alcoholism, dark Wandanat, dark themes, kidnapping, it’s kinda fluff as well

genre: angst, fluff

words: 2690

a/n: this kinda turned from dark!wandanat to a very soft fic. I mean, reader still gets kidnapped, but Wandanat are so sweet about it… :)

You do not have my permission to repost, copy or translate my work

 |——————————— ⴵ ———————————|

You had been working in the cafe for a while. Your parents needed the money, and to be honest, you needed it too. 

Your parents had been drinking since you were a young child, and you now you were a teenager, which means it is legal for you to work. Your parents didn’t hesitate to push you towards a job. With all their money going to alcohol, they needed your money for either food, or more drinks. 

On the side, you would save a little bit of money, trying to save enough to hopefully one day go to college.

Today it was a day like any other. 

You had just gotten back from school, and you went to the cafe immediately. However, this time was a little different. For the last couple of weeks, you had the weird feeling that someone was watching you. There had been a few people that asked about a lot of details from you, which creeped you out a bit.

At first, it was a red-headed woman. She looked to be around her thirties, and she was very kind. 

Then, there was a brown haired woman. She asked how you were doing, whether you were still in school, and also how you would be getting home. She seemed concerned for your safety. After all, it had been late that day.

Then, a blonde haired woman had walked in. She went into the cafe with a dog, and after ordering for herself and her dog, she offered to walk you home. You had told her that you were fine, and that your father was picking you up, but as usual, he hadn’t showed up. The woman insisted on walking you home, and you had allowed her. What was the harm, right? She was very kind and respectful, and her dog was nice.

After that, you had a week of boring people, as usual. People who didn’t give a single shit about your life. People that only cared about the fact that they had been waiting on their coffee for five whole minutes.

You figured you had just been imagining things, and that the three women you had met where just genuinely kind. 

However, after that week ended, weirdly invasive people started to come into the cafe again.

At first it was a man. He was wearing gloves, and he looked a little scary. His hair was brown, and he was tall and looked strong. However, when he ordered you decided he was actually very sweet. He talked with you the entire night, thanking you when you served him his drinks and food, and he tipped very well. 

A week later, this week, you spotted the red haired woman from a few weeks ago sitting at one of the tables. 

She wasn’t alone this time. The brown haired woman, who you had seen earlier as well, was sitting beside her. You walked up to them with a smile, pushing your odd feelings down and getting ready to serve them just like any other day.

The women smiled at you, and after giving you their order, they continued a conversation of their own.

You brushed your anxiety off of yourself, making their drinks and continuing with your shift. However, after serving them and getting back to another costumer, the man you had seen earlier walked in. He looked a little angry, but smiled kindly when he met your eyes. You smiled back, but before you could ask for his order, he went to sit down with the other two women. 

Again, you didn’t think much off it, rather just pushing the anxiety away and continuing with your job.

It started to get really weird, though, when the blonde haired woman walked in. She was accompanied by her fluffy dog, which didn’t hesitate to greet you with a wagging tail. You bent down to pet him, when you noticed a slightly red streak running along his fur. 

You went to brush your hand over it, but the dog retreated back to it’s owner.

She smiled at you and stopped at the bar, ordering the same thing she ordered a few weeks ago. After doing so, she went to sit down with the other man and women. Why did they know each other? Had it been a coincidence that you had all seen them before? Were they watching you?

You shook the thoughts from your head, preparing the woman’s order, putting some whipped cream into a cup for her dog, before bringing it over to the table. 

You put it down with a smile, grabbing the empty two cups and asking if you could get them anything else.

“We’re alright, sweetheart,” the brown haired woman spoke with a gentle smile.

You nodded and retreated back to the counter, ready to serve other costumers, before you realised, there were no other costumers.

The entire cafe was empty, minus the four people sitting in the corner.

Odd, this was usually such a busy time. 

You didn’t think much off it, rather deciding to start cleaning up a bit in the hopes of getting home earlier tonight. When you were about to shut off the coffee machine you heard the little bell ring, indicating that another costumer had walked in.

You turned to look at them, discovering that it was a tall, large man. He had tattoos covering his arms, and a long beard. He was followed by a woman, who smiled at you before she pulled the man over to the table where the other people were sitting. You hadn’t seen them before, but you did find it odd. 

When your colleague told you she was heading home for the night, you agreed to closing up, telling her to get home safe. 

After she left, you glance over at the table impatiently. They had been sitting there for hours, and you wanted to get home on time tonight. You still had a few tests to study for, and there was a project you were supposed to hand in yesterday.

You stood impatiently at the counter until the blonde woman walked up to you. You had hoped she wanted to pay, but instead she simply asked for a donut. 

You hid your annoyance and got her what she wanted, smiling at her when you handed the sweet treat over. 

“How are you getting home today?” she asked as she took the donut from you, taking a bite. 

“My father was supposed to pick me up, but I suppose I’ll be walking once again,” you replied, closing the treat cabinet. 

“I can give you a ride if you’d like. My parents are probably leaving with my sister anyway, so there will be a car left that I’ll have to drive,” she explained, giving her dog a few pets when it excitedly walked over to her. She snuck the dog some pieces of the donut while praising her for being such a good girl.

“That’s very kind, but I’m sure I’ll be fine,” you replied, not wanting to get into a strangers car.

“Don’t be silly. It’s no problem, I promise. A young girl like you shouldn’t be out on the street alone at this time. It’s dangerous, someone could hurt you,” the woman reasoned, and you thought for a moment before agreeing. 

It did seem dangerous to walk home alone in the dark, and this woman was very kind. There was no way that she would hurt you. 

“If you’re certain that it won’t be a problem…” you said, and you watched the woman shake her head.

“Of course not. Besides, Fanny would love the extra cuddles,” the woman explained, giving her dog, Fanny, a few scratches behind her ears. 

You turned around, missing the sign the woman gave to the other people at the table. They got up, walking towards the door. The red headed woman stayed behind, telling the others she would be there soon. 

She walked over to the counter, giving Fanny a few pets before pulling out her wallet. 

“I’d like to pay for the whole table, please,” she told you as she grabbed her card. You nodded and typed in the amount on the device.

After paying, she thanked you and walked out of the cafe.

“I’m Yelena, by the way,” the blonde woman said as she waited for you to close everything up. “I’m y/n,” you told her, locking the register and walking out from behind the bar.

“This way,” she said as she led the way out of the cafe, waiting for you to lock the door before opening the door of her car. 

You were about to get in before Fanny jumped into the car before you, settling in the middle of the couch chair. Yelena drove a truck, so it was easy to fit three people on the chair. You got in after Fanny, sitting beside her and petting her head when she laid her head on your lap.

Yelena got into the drivers seat, closing the door and starting the car.

“Here, you must be thirsty after working for so long,” she said as she handed you a bottle of water. 

“Thank you,” you thanked her as you opened it, taking a few sips.

“Who was your sister?” you asked Yelena after a little while. She turned to you with a smile, rubbing Fanny’s fur.

“The red head, Natasha. She’s my sister. The big guy, with the long beard, that’s my dad, and the woman with dark brown hair is my mom,” Yelena explained, focusing back on the road. “The cafe you work at is close to our work space, so we come there a lot, but we’ve never been there together.”  

“What kind of work do you do?” you asked her curiously.

“We take care of business. Make sure people pay… taxes… that sort of stuff,” Yelena explained, although she weirdly paused before mentioning taxes. You nodded, focusing on the world outside.

After a few minutes of silence, you started to get a bit dizzy, grabbing onto the dashboard to steady yourself as black spots took over your vision. 

“Everything alright?” Yelena asked, concern lacing her voice.

“Just a little dizzy…” you explained, taking a few deep breaths in the hopes of clearing your vision.

“That happens sometimes after doing a lot during the day, especially for girls your age. You should drink a bit more water and take a few deep breaths. It’ll pass,” Yelena told you, and you nodded as you gulped the leftover water in the waterbottle down.

You sat back, taking a few deep breaths and looking out the window, suddenly noticing the road you were at didn’t look familiar. 

“This isn’t my street…?” you asked Yelena, who merely shrugged.

“There is construction that way, so I figured we’d avoid it,” she reasoned, turning on her turn signal and steering into another unfamiliar road. 

You were about to protest, but the spots in your vision took over nearly everything, and you suddenly felt to dizzy to talk. You tried to say something, but you couldn’t even remember what happened after as you lost consciousness completely. 

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

You groaned slightly when you woke up, the sun blinding your vision as you covered your eyes with your hands. You turned around in the bed, pulling the covers a little higher a closing you eyes again, fully prepared to go back to sleep.

Suddenly, you sat up in a fright, looking around the room and taking in you surroundings. You never got home lat night. 

You don’t remember anything past the points of being dizzy. 

You threw the covers away, standing up from the bed, ignoring the slight dizziness as you walked over to the window. As soon as you pulled the curtains open, all you could see was snow. What the actual fuck. It never snowed where you were from.

You ran towards the door, surprised when it opened immediately. 

You looked out into the hallway, making sure it was clear before you made your way downstairs. You could hear chatter coming from what you assumed was the living room, and so you tried to go around it, heading towards the front door, or atleast, what looked like the front door.

You almost thought you weren’t spotted, until you heard a voice coming from the living room.

“If you’re going outside, don’t forget your boots and jacket. Winters are very cold around here.” 

You stopped dead in your tracks, frozen in place as the voice spoke so casual. If she knew you were leaving, why didn’t she try to stop you? You hesitated a moment, unsure of what to do as you looked at the rack of shoes. Your shoes were there, together with a vast variety of boots.

“If you’re hungry, there is also some breakfast,” the voice spoke again, and you took a deep breath before deciding to follow it.

You walked into the living room, seeing all five people sitting on a few couches. 

The red headed woman, Natasha, was sitting at the edge of the couch with the brown haired woman beside her. Natasha was scrolling on her phone while the other woman was reading a book. 

After they noticed you arrived in the living room, the woman put her book away.

“Where am I?” you asked quietly, glancing over at Yelena who was watching something on the tv. You couldn’t understand the language, and you figured it must’ve been something slavic. 

“You’re home,” the woman smiled softly, getting up from the couch and reaching for your hand.

“We figured we’d let you sleep in, so I put some breakfast in the fridge for you,” she explained as she led you towards the kitchen, letting go of your hand and opening the fridge, pulling out a plate of waffles. 

You went to sit down at the barstool, leaning on the kitchen island, debating on what to say next. 

“Who are you…?” you asked hesitantly, afraid to upset her.

“My name is, Wanda, but you may call me mom, and Natasha is mama,” Wanda stated simply, squirting some whipped cream on the waffles before topping them off with some fresh fruit.

“... What…?”

“I understand that it may be a bit confusing, but I promise you you will be happy here. We will make sure you will never have to worry about anything another day in your life,” Wanda explained, smiling as she put the plate of food in front of you. 

“What about my parents?” you asked, and Wanda just smiled.

“You don’t have to worry about them hurting you ever again, I promise.” 

You nodded slightly, staring at the plate of waffles. 

“So you kidnapped me?” 

Wanda chuckled a bit, sitting down across from you and pouting you a glass of your favourite juice. “I guess you could call it that, although that is not our intention. We love you, and we’ll show that to you,” she explained, putting the glass of juice down in front of you. 

You hesitated before you felt your belly rumble in hunger, staring at the plate of waffles for only a second longer before you dug in, enjoying the amazing tasty treat. 

“Why me?” you asked after taking a breath, taking a sip from your juice and staring at Wanda. 

“You are special. You might not understand it, but you are special, and we love you. You are perfect,” Wanda explained, smiling as Natasha joined you in the kitchen. 

“Don’t worry about it too much, malysh. You will love it here, and you will have everything you could dream off,” she said, giving you a kiss on your forehead. She reached over to the cabinet, grabbing a glass and filling it with some juice as well. 

“If you want, I can take you outside later, or you could explore the house a little if that’s what you prefer,” Natasha suggested, and you nodded.

“Okay,” you simply said, taking another bite of your waffles.

You were confused beyond comprehension, yet for some reason, you felt safe. You knew you were safe, and for the first time in your life, you felt content. 

Permanent tags: @marvelnatasha12346 @lesbionion @nova-kyle @darkstar225 @saraaahsstuff @marvelwomenarehot0 @screechcat @iheartjohansson @tia-thesimp @swaqcenix @karmasgxrl @marvel-lous3000 @n0txn3vee @lorsstar1st

#black widow #marvel #natasha x reader #mcu #natasha romanoff #avengers #natasha x reader platonic #natasha x daughter #marvel reader insert #wanda maximoff x daughter!reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wandanat #wanda maximoff #dark yelena belova #dark!natasha x reader #dark natasha x reader #dark!natasha romanoff #dark natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x daughter #natasha romanov #natasha romanoff x reader platonic #bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #melina vostokoff #alexei shostakov

[creativesaturn]

Could you write something fun about Reid dating a Master/PhD student and everyone is like “how could you???” making jokes about how he is the weird teacher that goes out with his students.

She is not his student, she doesn’t even go to the same college he teaches.

Summary: Spencer's new girlfriend happens to be a student, raising questions and laughs from the team members.

Genre: Fluff

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Warnings: None but lmk!

Word count: 645

a/n: I hope this is okay!🫶 also, if you're wondering why I only include three members.. I'd be lying if I said I was only on season 10 of criminal minds and I don't know any of the characteristics of anyone else.....

"I'm not sure, this guy's got a real temper." JJ commented as she read through the case file, her eyes darting from words to the pictures.

Spencer looked up for a split second to look at JJ, but when he did he got a glimpse of a familiar face through the blinds. You were looking around, confusion written on your face as you looked for, what he safely assumed, was himself. His eyebrows furrowed and suddenly everyone's words were going in one ear, and out the other.

"Uh, give me five minutes." He announced to the table, everyone staring at him in confusion as he got up and walked out the door.

"What are you doing here?" He asked as he approached you. You had your hands in front of you that held onto a brown paper bag, a smile on your face.

"You forgot your lunch!" You quickly frowned, holding the bag up in front of you.

"You're supposed to be studying." He stated, bringing a hand up to rub your forearm.

You groaned in response, "I need a break, Spence! I've been studying all day." You whined, throwing your head back.

He moved his hand to the back of your head to bring your face back to his.

"Exams are coming up, y/n." He sighed, "I'm sure you'll do great, but you really need to study." He added, grabbing onto the bag with his other hand.

You rolled your eyes, moving your head to the side only to catch eye contact with every member staring at the both of you. You laughed, amused, but not surprised everyone was being nosey.

He followed your eyes to everyone staring, as he looked back he brought his hand down from your head with a tight lipped smile.

"Fine, I'll go study." You sighed in defeat, placing a hand on his shoulder. He subconsciously aimed his head down, giving you access to his forehead to place a soft kiss.

"Bye, Spence." You smiled, turning around and making your way out the bullpen.

"Study." He called out, causing you to laugh as you walked out the glass doors.

He placed the paper bag on his desk on his way to the round table. The moment he stepped foot inside, everyone watched his with wide eyes.

He hadn't taken in account that when he left, he left the door open as well. Meaning they could've easily heard the conversation without needing to get up and move closer.

"Study? Is she some sort of student? She looked pretty young." JJ asked, being the first to raise suspicion.

When she spoke, everyone else looked at her and nodded in agreement.

"Uhm, sorta. I mean yeah, she's a student.." He answered, sort of mumbled as he took his seat.

"Wow, Spence. I didn't take you for the student, teacher type of guy." Emily teased, amused laced in her tone.

"What are you--?" Spencer attempted to ask, considering you weren't his student, he didn't think it mattered. But his words were cut short from Rossi butting in.

"How could you, Spencer Reid, be comfortable with that?" Rossi asked, genuinely curious, Spencer could tell by the way he narrowed his eyes and leaned closer.

"It's not that weird?" His brows furrowed, and it wasn't. It wasn't weird at all, you met how anyone would meet Spencer. He didn't see how you, being a student was relevant.

"So, you're just the teacher that goes out with his students now?" JJ went on, raising a brow at Spencer, and a look on her face that said, 'Did you think about that?' without words.

"She's not even--" But before Spencer could defend himself, Emily finally decided that they were getting too off track and needed to focus. Which annoyed Spencer, he's being accused of something that wasn't true and now, had no time to defend himself.

reposts and comments are appreciated <3

#creativesaturn #syd's spencer fics #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #fluff #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #fanfiction #fanfic #writing

[cherry-leclerc]

method acting ☆ cl16

genre: series - humor, strangers to friends/roommates

word count: 5.1k

cherry here!... first req that turns into a mini series and I'M SO EXCITED. the idea was perfect and i really hope you all enjoy this little story based off one of the best films :) common changes and adjustments are made for the plot but HAPPY READING

*can you guess what film it's based off of? where the title originates from?

ch. one ch. two ch. three ch. four ch. five ch. six

Chapter 1

Life, as you fear, is falling apart as you're confronted with a serious case of writer's block that puts your career on the line. As a solution, you're roommate helps you plan a solo trip to the Amalfi Coast for a much needed break but it doesn't take long for you to meet a certain Monegasque who lays passed out on the beach.

Parents know best - at least that’s what we’re all told growing up. How about bioengineering? Cardiothoracic surgeon? Architecture? With braces and a messy fishtail, you shake your head profusely as you clutch onto your notebook. 

"No. Journalism."

“Why didn’t I listen to my mom?” Groaning, you rub your tired hands all over your face as your roommate stares back, bewildered by your sudden frustration. 

“You’re telling me doing open heart surgery would have been better than writing an article?”

Aiming a pencil at her, you gasp as you cover your mouth and she squints her brown eyes at you. “I am so sorry!” Running up, you hug her desperately. “I’m just stressed, I’m stressed, I’m stressed!” You pull away. “I’m stressed.”

Amelia chuckles as she sits down on a stool, pointing for you to do the same. “You, my serial killer friend, need a break.” You frown at her choice of words. If I take a break then I’m going to get fired. She smiles brightly. “You won’t though.”

You can distinctively pinpoint the moment a ripped up journal turned into a laptop. It was senior year of highschool and you finally had the courage to confront your parents and tell them that you, if fact, were not joking about your bachelors in journalism.

"Darling, how will you make a living out of something like that?"

For a moment, her words had you second guessing your choices. Could she be onto something? Know something perhaps you don’t? The older, the wiser, no? 

But you had already applied - it was done. So you tipped your head firmly, clicked your tongue against your straight teeth, and smiled.

"I’ll find a way."

You moan softly as you hit your forehead with the palm of your hand. “What I would give to just be an elementary school teacher…Grading papers, cute kids-”

“Shit everywhere, tantrums, headaches, signs of early aging - oh God - receding hairline!” Amelia pales as she scrunches her nose in disgust. “Nightmare.” The blonde reaches for your hands, intertwining her fingers into yours. “But this is your dream, it’s what you're good at. Don’t let a little writer's block scare you away.”

-

“Goodness gracious! Are you alright?” Lucy’s southern accent surprises you as you fix your crutches. The older lady had been working at the famous magazine company since you can remember, always a cheerful receptionist. Loud, too. 

You wince. “Oh, you know…clumsy me?” 

"Eleanor is never going to let me take a vacation. I would have to die first."

Amelia’s eyes twinkle deviously. 

"Then that’s what we’ll do."

"Die?"

“It’s okay, I could open it myself,” you yelp as Lucy swings the door to your boss’ office. Let me, she insists as she pushes you in. Tumbling, you hurry to fix your posture as you nervously giggle, beady eyes staring back at your rude interruption. “I had no idea you were in the middle of a meeting.”

Eleanor and a crowded room all look you up and down before she sighs. “You’re already here, what is it that you need?” You shudder at her cold tone.

“I- uh- I mean, if it’s possible, I was t-thinking I could maybe get a m-m-month off?”

Oh no, someone whispers as they catch the editor-in-cheifs face change. Your stomach drops. Or not, I’m fine! The gray haired lady stands up as she tauntingly makes her way over, circling you like a hungry lion. “And why do you need a month off?”

“Doctor’s orders?”

She hums, analyzing your casted leg and left arm. “I’m sure you can type with your right hand. Off you go.” You blink. Once she takes a seat, she narrows her eyes again. “I said you can go.”

“Of course. Have a nice day.”

"She’s going to see right through me," you repeat for the millionth time as Amelia's boyfriend, Roman, works on the fake casts. 

She groans. "With that attitude she will! Get it together. You have to stand your ground and don't dare walk out of that office without a month off."

Terrified of your best friend, you nod. "Thank you again for this future doc, hope you don’t get fired."

He pales. "The things we do for the people we love, am I right?" Amelia blushes.

Letting out a shaky breath, you brace yourself before tripping and falling straight onto your back. The whole room gasps in shock as Eleanor stares back with a bored expression. Shit, are you okay? Peeking with one eye, you catch Grayson - Eleanor’s son - staring back with a helpful hand. 

He had always been nice to you, bringing you coffee whenever he was around. Sometimes he even helped you brainstorm new ideas. Your heart rate accelerates as you struggle to get up. Mother, she can’t be working in this condition. She huffs as she waves her hand in dismissal, Dior bracelets clicking against one another. 

A month. That’s it.

“Thank you,” you whisper as he helps you into your overly priced Uber. He tilts his head, slowly tracing your features.

“You're lying, aren’t you?” He signals at your poorly done cast. 

“I c-can explain-”

He laughs. “Your secret's safe with me.” Reaching over, he buckles you. Your breath hitches. “Enjoy your time off. I’ll be waiting for you.”

-

“I’ll be waiting for you!” You swoon as you retell your embarrassing story to the cozy couple who cuddle on the couch like proud parents. 

Amelia claps. “He’s the one! I feel it!” Roman scoffs. Settle down, daydreamers. Your friend slaps his hand. “Debbie Downer.” You giggle as she wiggles her eyebrows. “So…what are you going to do now that you're free?”

You tap your chin. “Um, probably write.”

Her smile falls. “This is the whole reason we even did any of this! For you to not think and just enjoy yourself!” 

Her boyfriend nods, floppy hair bouncing up and down. “Yeah, I didn’t go through all that,” he signals to the casts that lay by the doorway, “Just for you to lay around doing what you always do.” He stands up to grab an apple. “Travel, I’m serious.”

-

Amalfi Coast. It called you poor in seven different languages as you tug your suitcase into your AirBnB. Amelia and Roman had sat through 8 hours of planning everything, detail and safety included. 

"Oh, click that one!" Roman tsks his tongue as his fingers slide against the keypad. The blonde beams. "That’s perfect!"

"Perfectly out of my range," you sigh as you slap it shut. "I’ll die homeless if I stay there." The couple share a silent look before returning their attention.

"Well, we were thinking… " the brunette starts before your friend cuts him off, jumping up and down on his lap. He groans. 

"Sorry, honey, but anyways, we’ll pay for it!" Your jaw drops as you wave your finger, shutting down the idea.

"There’s no way I’m going to let you guys do that-"

"Okay, maybe not all, but at least a good chunk of it," she butts in as Roman stays with a soft smile. "Isn’t that right? " He nods.

"Take it as an early birthday present," he adds. Your chest tightens at their kind gesture.

"That’s still a lot of money." You grow light headed.

"Then no birthday presents for two years," Amelia squeaks as she grabs your hands over the coffee table. "Just don’t say no, you need this." You debate inside your head for a few minutes before letting out a shaky breath.

"No birthday presents for the rest of my life and we have ourselves a deal."

Which is how you landed in one the most beautiful homes you think you will ever see in your entire life. You can’t even pretend to try and fit in because everything seems to make your eyes pop out of their sockets. 

After a bit of unpacking, your sweet tooth gets the best out of you as you grab your purse and head out the door. You can’t help but take pictures at almost everything you see, but everyone was doing the same so there couldn’t be too much judgment. Paying for your lemon sorbet, you hum constantly as you stare into the ocean. The breeze was warm, but not obnoxiously so. The rocks underneath you tickle slightly as you get comfortable. 

Then you hear it, light snores. Startled, you turn over as you catch a man sleeping, arm laying over his stomach. You think about maybe moving location but when he releases soft whimpers, you find yourself growing sympathetic. What if he was in trouble? You couldn’t let a person die if they were three feet away from you. Hesitantly, you crawl your way over as you tap his leg.

“Ciao,” you say, but you can only catch his nose scrunching up since he had a hat laying over him, covering his mysterious features. Biting down on your lip, you dig your finger harder. “Ciaooo.” Sitting up abruptly, he groans, shoulder bumping against your cone. You yelp before pouting at your treat melting all over the surface. 

“Oh merda, colpa mia,” he apologizes as soon as he notices your gloomy mood. “Posso comprartene un altro se vuoi, ti prometto che non sono un serial killer-” Like a cat being bathed, you jump up high as you create a large distance. 

“Serial killer?” you squeal. He catches onto your accent swiftly as he waved his hands in defense. 

“I’m not! I’m not!” You eyed him suspiciously, chest heaving heavily. “I was offering to buy you another cone and saying that I’m not a sick serial killer, that’s all…” He signals to your desert. “I feel bad.”

Releasing a soft breath of relief, you smile politely. “Don’t worry about it. I was just trying to see if you were okay, you were kind of…” You theatrically twitch as he chuckles. Your cheeks burn up at the sound. 

“I’m fine, thank you.” A beat. “Sort of.” Softly narrowed eyes stare back at him. Do you need anything? He winces at the bright sun. “I feel a bit sick, if I’m being honest.” He zigzags a bit before falling straight into the rocks, painful grunts following. You shriek as you run over, flipping him onto his back.

“Holy fuck, holy fuck.” Other than a cut up lip, he’s fine, but he groans like there’s no tomorrow. Rightfully so, you start panicking as you dab his bottom lip with the hem of your shirt, then you remove his hat.

“Don’t!” But you’re already tossing it over your shoulder as you analyze his bruised up cheek. 

Green eyes look into yours as you stop breathing. His eyes are sensitive, like some sort of past soulmate, if you believe in that type of bullshit. His hair is rusty brown, long strands hitting up to his lashes. His nose is slightly pointy and it’s worse that they’ve always been your favorite kind. Lip swollen from his clumsiness, but a natural pink. Freckles and moles sprinkle along his face. 

Scooting away, he raises finger over his lips, cryptically telling you to hush. Confused, you lay your palm against his cheekbone. “You need to see a doctor.” Now he becomes visibly bewildered as he cocks his head to the side. You don’t know who I am? Flushed, you extend your hand, introducing yourself. “And you are?”

The brunette lets out an unhinged laugh as his large hand swallows yours. “Charles, I- I m-my name is Charles.” Dimples pop up from how wide he’s smiling, and that almost leaves you gasping for air. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Then he grabs his head in discomfort. “Seriously though, you need to see a doctor.” No, he starts. You roll your eyes. “Fine, a medico or whatever you want to call it.” Helping him up, he leans against you as you wheeze.

“I’m perfectly fine, I just need to sleep.” He pants against your head, catching a whiff of your shampoo scent. “Pretty,” he mumbles. You blush harder. “Do you think you can take me to the nearest hotel?”

“I don’t know if that's such a good idea,” you mutter. “Don’t take it the wrong way, but I don’t know you at all.” He shyly nods before removing his arm away from your figure, and all of a sudden it’s cold. 

“I get it, don’t worry.” The green eyed boy waves goodbye before stumbling away. 

You have always been a bit of a people pleaser, one of your many flaws. Amelia and Roman had always called you out on it, stopping you from making stupid decisions.

But Amelia and Roman weren't here.

“Wait.” Charles turns around, loopy eyes squinting at your blurry physique. Making your way over, you take his arm and place it over you. “You can stay with me, I’m just up that hill.”

-

“You can’t be helping out boujee vagrants,” your friends scold you over the phone as you grimace. “Why would you do that?”

You nibble on your painted nail. “I felt bad…” 

Roman snickers before coming into frame. “What if he’s some kind of maniac?” Like a child, you shake your head.

“He said he wasn’t!”

The couple groan at your naiveness. “Boy, let’s just trust everyone we meet then!” The blonde pushes her face directly onto the screen. “You need to slap him awake and kick him out.” 

But there was something so peaceful and homey about the way Charles was sleeping, covered like a butterfly in a cocoon. His chest rises up and down as he occasionally reaches for the other pillow, bringing towards his chest. With one last glaze, you leave the bedroom.

“I can’t do that to him. He was in really bad shape, you should have seen him.”

God can’t even help her, Roman grunts before strolling away. Amelia sighs. “Listen, I know you’re just being a good person, but you don’t even know this guy. We just want you to be safe.” I know, you mumble, chewing on your hoodie’s string. She tips her head. “Let him stay the night if you want, but tomorrow, he leaves. I’m not playing around.”

“Tomorrow,” you reassure her before hanging up. 

-

He had slept for a day and a half and you were starting to get worried but after contemplating throwing his body over the balcony, he was stretching like a newborn baby. “That was the best nap I’ve had in years.” You chuckle awkwardly at the stranger.

“That was most definitely not a nap.” 

He smiles. “Did you sleep well?”

“So good,” you respond quickly and he would have settled with that if it weren’t for your dark under eyes.

“Shit, you haven’t slept?” 

“I did, I promise!” Green eyes reflect intently as you crumble. “Okay, I didn’t, but it was only for two days.” Two? You cringe. “There was just one bed and I didn’t know whether you were-” You trail off. 

“Wasn’t what?”

Maroon paints your cheekbones. “A psycho killer…” You can tell he’s offended by the way he rubs the tip of his nose, as if he’s trying to ease the tension.

“I’m not the Monster of Florence or anything like that,” he mutters as you begin to apologize, watching as he sits far enough away just in case you feel the need to bolt out the door. “But I understand why you don’t trust me. We don’t know each other…So, why don’t we work on that?”

It takes about an hour for him to tell you what he considers the basics about his entire persona, and you rant about your upbringing. He frowns.

“That must have sucked. Not having parents who believe in you.” You flinch at his truthful words.

“I think they’re starting to get it,” you pathetically try but even he can see right through your weak excuse. Focusing your attention onto your twiddling thumbs, you exhale. “How did your parents react when you told them you wanted to be a mechanic?”

The Monegasque seems stunned for a nanosecond before munching on a blueberry and crossing his arms. “Their only priority was for me to be happy and doing what I love.” You smile sadly.

“Are you happy? Do you love it?”

“It’s my favorite thing in the world.” 

You feel a giggle bubbling inside your throat with the way he speaks about his job, but then you’d be doing the exact same thing that others do to you. He coughs. “So tell me, you really faked an injury?”

Your stomach hurts from how much Charles was making you laugh and before either of you knew it, the sun had set. “Did we really just waste an entire day?” 

“I don’t see it as wasting my day. I really like talking to you.”

Forcing yourself to look away, you untuck your legs from underneath your butt. “Wanna grab something to eat?”

There’s a comfortable silence that lingers between you both as you walk the busy streets of Amalfi. “Do you really need to wear a beanie? It’s burning hot.” Looking around, he shrugs and continues walking. 

You settled on sharing a plate of pasta since it was almost bedtime and neither of you weren't that hungry. “Good, right?” he questions the moment you shut your eyes about the delicious taste. You hum. 

“Free orgasm right here.”

Choking on his food, he quickly takes a sip of water as you smack his back. “I think I’m good now,” he squeaks as you smile timidly. You can feel the way he judges you as you devour your fair share, but you can’t help it. Connecting your gaze to his, he looks away as he drops his fork against the fancy plate. “Thank you for letting me stay the night.”

“Oh. Yeah, no problem.”

The brunette chews on his bottom lip. “It was nice getting to know you, really.” You blink back dazed as he continues. “I hope you enjoy the rest of your trip.”

“You’re leaving?” Even your inquiry shocks you as he smiles back warmly. I don’t want to interrupt. You’re looking for peace, remember? Trying to think of a quick enough excuse, you say, “Having someone to keep me company doesn’t sound like the worst thing in the world. I-I mean if you’re not busy.”

Under the table, you were crossing your fingers as he took in your offer. The brunette nods. “I guess it could be fun.”

-

“You did the right thing,” Amelia congratulates you the next time you call her. “Rather be safe than sorry.” 

Just then, Charles walks in with a bag of peaches, grinning proudly as he makes his way over. “Agreed. Listen Amelia, I have to go. Adventure awaits! Tell Roman that I miss him! Talk to you later!” Hanging up, you greet your roommate. Awkwardly, he passes you the juicy fruit. 

“Friend back home?” You hum, biting down. Taking a bite of his own, he bows his head. “You miss your boyfriend?” You stop chewing.

“Boyfriend? Oh, you mean Roman?” He clenches his jaw, then relaxes. You cackle loudly. “He’s my best friend's boyfriend,” you clarify. “We’re close - all of us.” 

“Oh.” Tossing the seed away, he rises up to his full height. “Wanna see something cool?”

-

“You got insurance?” you joke as he covers your eyes, leading you mysteriously. You’re not going to get hurt or die if that’s what you’re worried about. You giggle. Okay, we’re here. Removing his hands, you take a minute to adjust your eyesight. “What the fu-”

“Cool, right?”

You scoff. “Cool? This is beautiful.” Running over to the cherry red Ferrari, you reach out before turning back to the 26 year old. He nods. Delicately, you brush your hand against the leather seats. “Where did you get this?” 

“I know a guy.”

“Mafia leader?” 

“Ha-ha,” he mocks as he unlocks it, going in to open the door. “Hop in.”

Humid wind sends your hair flying as you let out loud shrieks from the speed. You don’t know how he found such an isolated spot, but you don’t ask questions with how much you enjoy the thrill. “Again, again!” you cheer as he does professional donuts. The car comes to a halt as you fling forward and he stays as straight as can be. 

“How about I teach you?”

“Okay, put the car in gear.” Following instructions, you listen attentively. “Turn the wheel and floor it, but make sure to be alert and keep your foot on the brake just in case.” Swinging harshly, you let out a scream. “It’s okay, try again.”

After a while, you still couldn’t get it down and your frustration was starting to show. But he was patient, spilling out different versions of advice. Twist sharply. Biting on your bottom lip, you huff before trying again. His words circle your mind as you drive the Ferrari straight ahead before turning the wheel and pressing down on the gas. Your adrenaline picks up when you realize what you had just done.

“That was perfect!” Raising his hand out for a high five, you squeal as you smack it hard. He hisses, but you’re on a roll. 

“Hold on, Charles, you're in for a ride.”

Though his car is moving fast, the Monegasque feels as if he’s stuck in slow motion as he admires the way you control the Ferrari. He'd be lying if he said he didn’t find any of this attractive. It took you a while, sure, but your determination got to him as he kept his eyes trained on you, peeking over at you where you sat mumbling the steps over and over. Arms maneuvering the wheel flawlessly, knotted hair fanning your face. Stepping on the break, he barely has a moment to react before he slams right onto the dashboard. You wince.

“I should have warned you, crap! But you were doing so good! Your head would not move an inch.” Admiration paints your voice. Embarrassed, he rubs his temple.

“I got a bit distracted, but I’m fine.”

“Okay,” you mumble skeptically. Honking the prancing horse, you turn to him with a Cheshire Cat grin. “How about a drink, professor? My treat.”

-

“What’s the occasion?” the bartender asks as he fills two glasses of whiskey. I can do donuts now, you brag. His brows raise up in shock. “That’s impressive. It takes a good person to teach you.”

“It does, but lucky for me, I got it.” Discreetly you point over at Charles who sits with yet another baseball hat. “He’s pretty great.” The man's face drops as he leans against the table, getting closer to you.

“I’d say so! That’s Charles Leclerc.” Flabbergasted as to how he knows his name, you take the two drinks and raise them up as a silent thank you. “Free drinks on me if you need anymore, amore!”

On the way back to the small table, you ponder on the weird encounter. Had they met before? Perhaps Charles had fixed his car or something along the lines. Grazie, the Monegasque smiles as he takes a sip of the cool drink. You do the same, wide eyes shining at the taste. “Holy crap, this is good.” Swallowing the rest of the golden liquid, you signal at the bartender for the rest of the bottle. Nodding, he brings it over as Charles lowers his head, green eyes trained on his lap.

“It’s somehow sweet,” you narrate as you serve yourself another. “More?” He shakes his head, wavy hair following his movement. It’s the Italian charm. You hum against your cup. “Must be. Tastes like paradise.”

It’s safe to say that you were obsessed the minute you started growing tipsy. Squinting at the squawking girl who was pouring her heart out on the stage, microphone in hand, you snap your fingers loudly, jumping up. That. I want to do that! Your travel buddy chuckles. “You do?” 

“Of course I do. Plus, my voice is all warmed up.” Massaging your throat, you march over at the little old lady who plays the tarnished piano. “Potrei cantare dopo?” She nods kindly before wrapping up the song. I have another one in me, the girl yelps as her friends pull her off stage. 

“Oh great, a drunk removed for another drunk,” someone shouts out when you stumble on stage. 

“Hey. Blame the delicious drinks!” Flipping through the book, you narrow your eyes. “This one,” you cheer excitedly as you whisper into her ear. She beams. No one ever asks for that one! Practicing against the keys, she nods as you twirl your way back on stage. 

All eyes are on you as you play with the hem of your mini dress. Normally, you’d be a nervous wreck, and maybe the liquor helped, but you weren’t afraid of making a fool out of yourself. 

“You got a fast car, I want a ticket to anywhere. Maybe we make a deal, maybe together we can get somewhere.” Soft keys echo through the small bar - for sure a guitar would have been better, but something about the familiar instrument makes Charles feel cozy as he listens to your voice. It isn’t perfect - you were drunk after all - but it was enough to make everyone listen closely like you were some divine object. 

Swaying, with you smiling sheepishly as you move your eyes through the crowd of strangers, and you’re glad the green eyed boy isn’t one of them. Is it fast enough so we can fly away? The brunette  grins at you as you spin in your dress, ponytail fluttering like grass in the gentle breeze. 

“So I remember we were driving, driving in your car. Speed so fast, I felt like I was drunk. City lights lay out before us, and your arm felt nice wrapped ‘round my shoulder.”

There is some sort of unexplainable shift inside of you as you feel yourself sober up with his intense stare. His brows are drawn softly, listening to your sweet voice, as if you would disintegrate and never be seen or heard of again. A click - you just clicked.

“And I had a feeling that I belonged. I had a feeling I could be someone.”

-

Kicking the door wide open, Charles carries you in as he settles you on the bed. You flop around like a fish out their tank for good measure, then pout, bare feet pressing up against his clothed abs. He halts. “I need to change…take off all my makeup...” All of it, you mouth, droopy eyes struggling to stay open. 

“I can get you what you need.” Last time he dug through a girl's suitcase, on a mission to find all her essentials, he had a girlfriend. Pushing away his thoughts, he jogs back over to your limp body. “Okay, here you-” 

Curled up like a rolly polly, you breath gently as you sleep. The 26 year old isn’t too surprised, but rather confused. Does he just leave you now? Pacing the room, he nibbled down on his nails as he weighed his options. He could let you sleep peacefully and possibly get a beating in the morning for leaving you to rot with all the nastiness or he could get it done quick - not look twice - and maybe still get a beating.

“I’ll be fast,” he mutters to himself as he grabs your makeup wipes. He tries to be as ginger about it, a cool towel erasing your light makeup. As soon as you scrunch your face up like a baby rabbit, he stops and rushes away. Good enough.

Now comes the complicated part. Slip the dress off, change her into her jammies. Easy peasy. But the more he thinks about it, the more he’s unsure. One night with your outside clothes won’t kill you. 

“Take it off, Charles, please,” you grumble as you tug on your dress. His Adam's Apple bobs up and down with panic as he nods to himself. Green eyes flicker the room before they land on his t-shirt. Oversized - would cover you whole - fast. 

As if he’s being chased down by the police, he runs over and in a quick motion, slides your dress off before tugging his shirt over your head, dropping your passed out body onto the bed and throwing the duvets over you. Grazie, you murmur from underneath as he sighs.

“Don’t mention it.”

-

“Fucking hell,” you groan, clearly feeling the awful hangover. After promising to never drink again, you rub your eyes as you yawn, focus becoming drawn to the black shirt. Your stomach drops. No, no, no. Hurrying to look for your phone, you quickly unlock it before freezing.

Who is Charlz Leclerk? You can’t even recall when you must've searched this up, but Google definitely understood your investigation.

"Tell me, Nico," you pout as you take a sip of your whiskey as you wait for Charles to come out of the bathroom. "How do you know my friend's name?"

He beams excitedly. “Amore! He’s…” Blinking harshly, you try your best to listen and read his lips as he makes funny hand gestures. For a second, you swore he was swerving an invisible car. Waving his hand, he laughs. "Look him up."

Monegasque racing driver; Formula One; Currently racing for Scuderia Ferrari. 

“What?” you whisper as you throw your phone away, eyeing it like the plague. No. Charles was a mechanic - a mechanic, for god sakes. 

“Oh good, you’re awake.” He tosses you a paper bag. “It’s a sandwich. Eat.”

How can he even look at you and act like everything is okay? Did he do anything wrong? No, not really, but why would he keep this from you? You’re surprised to find yourself feeling hurt by his secretive actions as he stares back innocently. 

“Is it not good?” he questions when you chomp down sadly. It is, you reassure with a mouthful. “Hey, I was thinking we could go for a swim. The weather is nice out.”

“Mhmm,” you respond meekly. “Is it okay if I meet you there? I-I was thinking I could rinse my body first.” 

The brunette nods. “I can wait for you.”

“No!” You blush at your eager tone. “We’ll just meet up.” Okay? Grabbing his things and yours, he strolls out the door, but not before gifting you a small wink. Call me if you get lost. “Asshole!” you cry out as he chuckles, slamming the door behind him.

In a matter of seconds, you’re already dialing work. “Lucy! Is Eleanor there?” Sweetheart, how are you? How’s the leg? The arm? Do you need me to- “I’m fine. Can you connect me to Eleanor, it’s urgent.” The older lady giggles as she switches you over. 

“This better be good.”

Clearing your throat, you fiddle with the hem of his shirt. “I have an exclusive.” 

Eleanor’s rich and elegant voice scoffs. “What about your arm?”

“Like you said,” you hum. “I still got my right one."

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[keerysfreckles]

decode — OP81 (au)

pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader

summary: when two summer camp counselors fall in love in the span of two months

warnings: none! just a long one 😅 i got carried away oopsies, not proofread!!!

a/n: missing my summer camp hours 😞😞 this is how i cope

masterlist !

⋆ ˚ ｡ ⋆ ୨୧ ˚

y/n can't remember a summer when she wasn't at the summer camp in her home state. every summer since she was five years old, she was found at camp. when she was fourteen she signed up to be a junior counselor in training, then at sixteen became a counselor in training, and now at nineteen is an official camp counselor from one of the younger girl cabins.

y/n was ecstatic. she couldn't believe her eyes when she got the email that secured her summer job. except it wasn't going to feel like a job. she knew this wasn't going to feel like some chore like others would describe their job to be.

the whole bus ride up to the summer camp, y/n talked with her friends that went to camp with her in the previous years. her two closest friends were sat around her on the bus, sofia and nat. sofia met y/n during her second year of camp, and haven't stopped talking since. y/n and nat knew each other during camp during their last years as campers, but didn't start talking until their counselor in training years.

arriving at the camp felt so surreal for y/n. she was excited to see her second home, and her other friends that arrived yesterday by plane. she wondered if there were any unfamiliar faces this year, besides the new campers.

y/n, nat and sofia grabbed all their belongings and walked to their assigned cabins quickly. nat was going to be with the youngest of the girls, ages five and six. y/n was with the seven and eight year olds. sofia was on the other side of the girls' cabins, working with the twelve and thirteen year olds.

all of the counselors had "meetings" to attend before all the campers arrived tomorrow. no one really considered them as meetings however, knowing they were going to play ridiculous games in the large grassy field until sundown. the camp director thought it was a fun way to "get to know the other counselors".

as nat and sofia were getting a drink of water after a very intense game of dodgeball finished, a new counselor caught y/n's eye. there were three new counselors at camp, but this one was the only one that y/n really wanted to learn about. she looked at him from across the field. he seemed to be taller than her, with slightly pale skin and light brown hair.

"oh great, y/n's got another camp crush," nat appears by her, with sofia coming up on the other side.

"it's not a crush. i don't even know the guy!" y/n defends.

sofia and nat share a skeptical look, before sofia continues. "every year since you were seven you've found a guy to fawn over, and just because we're counselors now, we all know that's not stopping you."

nat chuckles at sofia's words, and y/n just rolls her eyes. she knew sofia was right, but she'd never admit that out loud.

after three more interesting games in the field, all of the counselors walked back up through the forest and towards the dining hall. there weren't any sort of seating arrangements, letting the counselors and other staff members sit wherever they'd like.

most of the counselors knew each other from being campers together, so they were all sat relatively close to one another.

luckily for y/n, the boy she was looking at earlier in the field was sat diagonally from her. she heard from sofia that she talked with him on the way back up from the field. he introduced himself to y/n and nat, and y/n instantly recognized his australian accent.

a handful of international counselors were found at camp every year, and y/n thought it always made it more interesting.

oscar, y/n, nat and sofia continued talking all throughout dinner. one of y/n's old friends from camp, lando, slid beside her halfway through dinner, and him and oscar got along pretty quickly.

at the end of the day, one of the many traditons at camp was for all the counselors to jump into the cold pool. don't ask y/n where this tradition exactly came from. she's been told so many times, yet she never remembers. however it came about, y/n was grateful. she's dreamt of doing this since she was a camper.

all of the counselors were lined up beside the pool, with the camp photographer, lauren, on the opposite side. the counselors were all still dressed, wearing their matching camp polos, and even kept their shoes on.

on the count of three they all jumped in, making the pool erupt in waves as twenty counselors splashed around. some got on each other's backs and were dunking one another, while other couldn't contain their laughter.

as y/n was wiping hair out of her eyes, oscar looked at her with a smirk adorning his lips.

she knew what he was about to do.

"no! oscar don't!" she tries to protest, but her laugh overpowers her words as oscar wraps his arms around the girl and pushes her under the water.

oscar watches y/n's smile widen once they're under water, and her hands are on his arms for a moment, only to push herself to the surface.

nat and sofia watched the interaction, as y/n now started splashing the aussie. "twenty bucks they're together by the end of the summer," nat wages.

"forty."

"thirty."

"thirty-five, final offer," sofia turns to nat.

"deal."

—

the morning the campers were arriving came quickly. so quickly y/n felt like she hasn't slept the night before. she was in the middle of making all the name tags for her campers bunk beds, so no one fights over who gets which one. she was cutting colored paper into simple flowers when sofia knocked on her cabin door.

"what's up sof?" y/n doesn't look up from her task.

"how'd you know it was me? it could've been nat," sofia sat on the twin bed, facing y/n.

"you walk heavy," y/n states, making sofia roll her eyes.

"whatever, unimportant," sofia quickly dismisses, "camp news is that a certain someone was talking about you after we jumped in the pool last night."

y/n groans, setting her paper and scissors down in her lap. "we've only been here twenty-four hours and there's already a rumor?"

"oh shush, you know you love it because lover boy was talking about you," sofia shoves y/n's leg playfully.

"first of all, don't call him lover boy. i only know his name. it's not like i'm deeply in love with him."

"you will be," sofia interrupts.

"second of all," y/n enunciates, "shouldn't you be getting ready for your campers to arrive?"

sofia laughs, "they're twleve year old, edgy, hormonal girls, they're not gonna want cute flowers and lady bugs saying who's sleeping where."

"you're no fun."

twenty-two minues pass and now all the counselors, the camp directior and co-director are all outside waiting for the buses to arrive. y/n was thrilled to meet her first set of campers.

the summer was broken up into three sessions, each session lasting two weeks. campers could choose to stay all three, but most only stayed for one.

y/n prayed her face wasn't flushed as she realized she was standing next to oscar. turns out, he was looking over campers the same age y/n was. the two made comfortable small talk until the buses finally pulled up into the dirt area.

once ever camper was off the bus and given their name tag, everyone made their way to the benches for announcements to start.

y/n's cabin was sat right in front of oscar's, with nat's right beside her. sofia's cabin was on the other handful of benches, considering they were the older campers.

announcements took an hour, as usual, and before everyone knew it, it was time for lunch.

the first lunch of the summer was always so special to y/n, even when she was a camper. this was when she met sofia, and years later she met nat in the mess hall as well.

lunch passed quickly, and y/n was back in her cabin, helping her campers fill out the forms to pick their camp schedules. she learned all of their names, and even learned about their favorite things. y/n's smile never left her face for the rest of the day.

—

three days into the first session and y/n was buzzing. she was in charge of the arts and crafts class campers could pick as one of their activites. she saw a few of her own campers in the morning, and surprisngly a few older boys during the afternoon.

she was in the middle of cleaning from the tye-dye the kids made today. she already hung up their shirts to dry, now she was cleaning off the tables where extra dye had gotten.

"do you need any help?" oscar stepped over the pile of rocks outside the arts and crafts shed, scaring y/n in the process.

"jesus osc, don't scare me like that," y/n laughs as her heartbeat comes back down.

oscar wasn't sure where the nickname came from, but he wanted it to stay.

"shouldn't you be watching over your swimming pool?" y/n asks, knowing oscar's sctivity this session was free swim. she didn't know what he was going to do the other two sessions, she meant to ask him later.

"nah, lando's got the last five minutes covered. all the campers got out anyway, complaining it was too cold." y/n knew lando from her last year as a camper. he was her first kiss, and call it cheesy but it was during the camp dance. neither of them speak ahout it to this day, and they planned to keep it that way.

oscar sat atop one of the cleaner parts of the table, chuckling as he notices y/n very colorful hands.

"why didn't you wear gloves?"

y/n shrugs, "gloves are too much of a hassle. plus after two showers i bet it'll come off."

"i could always dunk you in the pool again."

"no, no never again," y/n can't help but laugh.

y/n throws the dirty rags into a bucket, she makes a mental note to take it to the small camp laundromat later in the evening.

oscar hops down from the table, "do you want to walk with me to dinner?"

"you mean night time announcements?" y/n lets out a giggle at oscar's now pink cheeks.

"yeah uh– that's what i meant."

"how much were you really paying attention during the announcements really meant for the campers?"

"you know i could easily push you right now right?" oscar detours the conversation.

"oh i know you wouldn't."

oscar's about to reply, but y/n's name gets called by a few of her campers walking up beside the duo. she bids oscar goodbye, as she walks with the three younger campers.

dinner goes smoothly as it has been for the past couple of days. oscar smiles to himself when he realizes he's sat next to y/n tonight, with one of her best friends sat across from him.

the counselers were given a different table seating every day. the campers places stayed the same, and they were sat by others their ages. each table had twelve campers, with two counselers at the head and foot of the table.

the first fifteen minutes of every meal is silent, another camp tradition where no one truly knew where it came from. but after those fifteen minutes were up, the mess hall was buzzing yet again.

the campers were starting to take plates and dishes towards the side of the mess hall where the kitchen staff was. oscar stood up from his table, grabbed the extra dessert no one wanted and walked towards y/n.

she was talking with one of the girls at the table, while oscar silently placed the ice cream down. y/n looked to her right and smiled seeing who it was.

the interaction didn't go unnoticed by sofia or nat. sofia was walking back to her table when she saw oscar getting up, and she was quick to point it out to nat.

"you looked like you could use another dessert," oscar sat down on the empty bench besides y/n.

"well i'm sadly already full, but i'm sure maisie here wouldn't mind," y/n boops the blonde girl next to her on the nose before sliding the bowl towards her. "just don't tell the other campers," y/n whispers, earning a giggle from the camper.

"are you excited for the camp dance next week?" y/n asks oscar. each session had their own dance and carnival.

oscar nods, "oh definitely, but i'm more excited about the carnival."

"do you know who booth you guys are in charge of?"

"no clue, but probably something easy since i'm dealing with seven year olds," oscar laughs.

the two continue talking for a moment, until the camp director instructs for all the campers and counselors go to the main building for a movie night.

—

y/n couldn't believe her own eyes. she was watching kids leaving with their parents, while others got on buses to go back home. she was sad when she had to say goodbye to her campers that morning. nat gave her a hug, but it was still hard for her.

nevertheless, she was just as excited to meet the new campers arriving next week. during the counselor's week off, they get a different trip in between each session. the first was a trip to a waterpark near the camp, and everyone was buzzing when they got out of the camp vans.

the day was filled with most counselors riding the water slides, while other tanned or gossiped. there was thirty minutes left of their day pass, y/n and oscar planned on going into the lazy river before they had to go back to the camp.

over the past two weeks the pair has gotten extremely close. they hung out whenever they could. they'd sit by each other at any given moment. a few of the older campers noticed the chemistry that was starting to build between the two.

y/n's right hand and oscar's left one kept grazing while in the lazy river. neither of them were going to do anything about that.

"you've been quiet today," oscar speaks up, looking over to the girl.

"just grateful," her response was simple, but oscar knew how she felt. it was hard for him to say goodbye to his campers earlier in the week, but just like the girl, he was excited about the new campers coming this sunday.

after a few moments of silence, y/n starts to laugh.

"oh god, i broke her," oscar jokes.

y/n keeps laughing, "no, no. i just can't believe you knew practically every move to the line dances from the camp dance."

oscar's face slightly flushed, "you're just jealous of my dancing skills."

"sure osc, that's what it is."

—

exactly two weeks later and the second session camp carnival was in full swing. it was always held on the tennis courts, and each cabin was in charge of a booth. some were definitely better than others, consider five year olds had little to no patience.

at the start of the carnival y/n and her whole cabin were sat around the face painting table, fast forward an hour and a half, now y/n was sat alone, watching all the festivies around her.

"you know you can enjoy the carnival too right?" oscar comes out of nowhere, making y/n jump slightly.

"can you stop scaring me like that?" she laughs, and scoots her chair over so he can sit in the empty one.

he hands her the cotton candy from his other hand, receiving a thank you from y/n.

"but really, why are you here by yourself when you should be out there," he pauses to point to all the campers and a few counselors dancing to an ariana grande song.

"what if someone wants their face painted and no one's here to help?" y/n picks at the light pink cotton candy.

"you and i both know every camper who wanted their face painted came here right away."

"yeah okay," y/n agrees, "but not everyone's gotten their face painted."

"who hasn't? there's maybe three campers without something on their cheek."

"you," y/n smirks. she hands her cotton candy to oscar before grabbing the tray of face paints.

oscar groans, "is this payback for dunking you in the pool?"

"yes, that's exactly it," she giggles.

oscar watched as y/n stood from her chair. she was contemplating what to do, but eventually ordered oscar to close his eyes. 'screw it' y/n internally spoke, as she dabbed the non-toxic red face paint onto her lips with a clean brush. she set down the mirror, happy with the amount and bent down to kiss oscar's cheek.

it took him by surprise, and he could feel his cheeks redden at the feeling of her fingers on his chin and lips on his cheek.

y/n begins wiping her mouth, ridding the left over red paint. oscar smiles, "well now it's only fair i give you something in return."

y/n shakes her head, still having a smile adorning her features, "i'm the one working the face paint table, not you osc."

oscar's about to argue, but lando, nat and sofia all come running to the table as the campers are starting to leave the tennis courts.

"hey are you guys–"

lando cuts nat off with a chuckle, "nice face paint osc." that earns him a punch in the arm by sofia.

nat rolls her eyes before continuing, "you two ready for the counselor campout tonight?"

y/n's been talking about the campout since the start of summer, to anybody that'll listen.

the group of five went their seperate ways towards their cabins to pack a small bag for the night, and made sure to say goodnight to their campers, before a counselor in training came in the cabin for the night.

the counselors split up between two pick up trucks, with people riding inside and in the back. y/n and oscar's legs kept hitting each others after almost every bump, not that either of them minded.

the girls slept in one tent while the boys slept in the other. camp rules that both groups hated. it was starting to get dark when they arrived, so the boys started cooking pre-made hamburgers on a makeshift little grill over the fire, while the girls set up the tents.

during dinner everyone split up into their own groups. oscar, y/n, lando, nat and sofia put their chairs close to each other as they enjoyed the warmth of the fire and the sound of the crickets around them.

"is that a new hoodie y/n?" nat asks, curiosity filling her voice.

sofia joins in, "yeah, i don't think i've seen that."

y/n involuntarily blushes, "it's oscar's. he's letting me borrow it cause i got cold."

lando gives oscar a small high five while nat and sofia share a look. a look that the two have been sharing at least once a day.

—

four days later and y/n is upset once again. the second session campers are filtering out of the camp, and it feels five times worst than the first time y/n dealt with it. oscar walks up to the sad girl and places his hand lightly on her back.

"will pancakes and a hug cheer you up?" he smiles while handing her a plate with three pancakes covered in syrup.

y/n laughs and turns to face oscar, "both would definitely cheer me up."

y/n wraps her arms around the boy, and her body is flooded with warmth at the contact. she rests her head against his shoulder, her nose brushing ever so slightly against his neck. goosebumps rise on oscar's arms.

oscar leads the pair over to an empty bench so y/n can enjoy her pancakes to get her mind off the campers leaving.

"jeez osc, did you put enough syrup on these?" she laughs.

oscar throws his hands up in defence, "i didn't know how much you like."

a moment of silence passes between the duo, before y/n breaks it.

"are you gonna want your hoodie back? because it's extremly comfortable and it might make it's way into my suitcase by the end of the summer."

oscar smiles, "keep it. maybe it'll give me a reason to visit you after summer."

y/n reciprocates a smile, but a sad feeling makes it's way through her body again. she doesn't know what her and oscar are going to do after summer. neither of them have brought it up. the thought of having to leave oscar and never see him again terrified the girl.

—

the camp was well into session three, and y/n was more than excited for today. it was her twentieth birthday, the session three camp dance was tonight, and it was her favorite theme every summer.

y/n was helping her campers get ready, thanking herself for getting ready beforehand. she thought they all looked adorable in their different 70s inspired outfits. they ranged from bell bottom leggings, flashy colorful skirts, and fringed vests.

y/n and her cabin was walking towards the tennis courts, as well as the other cabins. just as they turned the corner, oscar was standing off to the side of the gate. y/n saw, and smiled as he beckoned her over.

she told her campers to go with nat's cabin, before running towards oscar, being careful not to fall in her chunky platform boots.

oscar takes in her appearance with a smile on his face. from her white platform boots, to her pink colorful dress with the flared longsleeves, and finishing with her white headband.

"you look adorable," he spoke, his words coming out faster than his brain could think.

y/n couldn't help but blush, "thank you osc. you don't look too bad yourself."

now y/n looks over oscar's outfit. she giggles as it's such a similar outfit to what pierce brosnan wore on the cover of the mamma mia poster. fitting perfectly to tonight's 70s disco theme.

"did you find my birthday present for you?"

y/n nods, remembering the small wrapped box placed at the bottom step of her cabin.

"i haven't opened it yet, just like the card said."

"good, and don't forget to meet me back here after all your campers are asleep yeah?"

y/n nods again, "what could you be planning piastri?"

oscar shrugs playfully, "guess you'll have to wait and see."

before the australian leaves, he kisses y/n's forehead. it happened so quickly y/n could barely comprehend it before he was already gone.

after almost two hours of dancing, picking at snacks and talking, y/n was finally feeling her feet starting to hurt. maybe the platform boots were a bit much, but she still thought they were adorable. she groaned as she sat down for the first time that night.

"hey, you alright?"

she picks up her head, seeing oscar standing in front of her with two cups of water. he hands one to her before sitting in the empty chair beside her.

"i don't think my feet have ever hurt this badly before," she laughs while unzipping her boots. she could care less about how dirty the ground was right now, she needed her feet to breathe.

"so glad i didn't wear the platform boots i packed," oscar joked, and his smile grew once y/n started laughing. he never got tired of hearing her laugh.

"have you had a good birthday so far?"

y/n lets out a content sigh while leaning her head on oscar's shoulder. "i have osc, it's been really fun. and i can't wait to see what you have planned for later."

—

just as oscar instructed on his birthday note to y/n that was attached to her birthday present, she's currently waiting in the tennis courts. her counselor in training was looking after her cabin, but all y/n could think about is what on earth oscar could be planning.

her fingers fidget with the blue bow on top of the box, and she's thankful she changed out of her boots and into her converse. she threw on oscar's hoodie she still hasn't given back, because it always gets chillier at night.

her thoughts were interrupted however, when the lights to the tennis court turned off. all she heard around her was whispered voices and shuffling feet.

"guys?" she laughs, more than confused on what they could be doing.

the lights suddenly turn back on, and y/n can't help but laugh at the four in front of her.

"happy birthday y/n!" her friends yell.

sofia's holding a small pile of presents, one from each of them (minus oscar's gift in her hand).

nat and lando are busy holding up a small banner, wishing y/n a happy birthday.

finally oscar was holding a pink box, which y/n could only guess was a birthday cake.

"guys!" y/n gushes, her heart feeling extra full at the moment.

everyone sets down whatever was in their hands to hug the birthday girl. oscar's hug was a bit longer than the others, and y/n definitely noticed.

"you guys didn't have to do anything for my birthday. it being on the day of my favorite camp activity was plenty."

nat shushes her, "nope, we all agreed we were doing something for your birthday as soon as the session started."

lando pipes up besides nat with a green and black wrapped gift in his hands, "enough with the sappy shit, open my gift first y/n."

y/n sits down before opening the gifts. nat and sofia sit to her left, while lando stands in front and oscar stands behind her to her right.

she opened everyone's gift, thanking each of them afterwards, and finally got to oscar's gift. the one she's been waiting for all day. she tears the blue ribbon off and takes the lid off.

however, y/n's confused once she sees two plane tickets. one to new york from maine, and one back to maine from new york.

"osc what is this?"

oscar squats down and holds himself up by placing his hand on y/n's thigh.

his voice was soft as he explained, "my mom helped me with this one. i called her before this session started, and i got her to buy the tickets for me. she was able to get then shipped before your birthday. so now you can come out to new york for two weeks with me."

y/n keeps looking at the plane tickets in her hands. her eyes were filling with tears while oscar spoke. no one's ever done anything like this before.

lando, nat and sofia left quietly, giving the pair a minute alone.

"love?" oscar lets the nickname slip before he has time to catch himself.

"no one's ever done something like this for me before," y/n's quiet, not wanting her voice to give out.

"hey," oscar wipes a tear that was falling on her cheek, "you deserve this. we get to spend two great weeks together, and you'll even get to see my cool apartment."

y/n laughs at his attempt to cheer her up, and is glad it's working.

y/n pulls oscar into one of the tightest hugs imaginable. he stumbles slightly, but holds onto the girl just as tight.

"thank you osc," she whispers into his neck, before placing a light kiss to the exposed skin.

y/n starts pulling away from the hug, but oscar just holds onto her tighter. he silently moves his left hand to cup her jaw, with his thumb catching another loose tear.

from outside of the tennis court, the eavesdropping trio all gasp as the two finally kiss. after weeks of endless flirting and longing glaces, they're finally kissing.

y/n holds onto oscar even tighter now. partially for stability, and partially to make sure he's really there. that this was really happening.

the two barely pull apart, their lips only having centimeters between them.

just as the two go to kiss again, sofia pops out from the darkness and into the light of the tennis court. "six feet of space!"

nat's quick to cover her mouth after she mentions leaving room for god, and nat and lando are quick to apologize, letting oscar and y/n be alone again.

—

"there you are!"

oscar's pulled from his thoughts as y/n makes her way over towards him.

he's sat on the bench outside the unoccupied cabin near the volleyball court. he went there a lot this summer, always giving him the space to think.

"i've been looking everywhere for you," y/n smiles while sitting beside him.

oscar can't help but smile when she does. he's told her a thousand times how contagious her smile is.

"are you excited?"

y/n didn't need oscar to elaborate, she knew exactly what he meant. today was the last day of summer camp. all of the campers left yesterday, and today was the day y/n and oscar were flying to new york together.

"i don't even think excited is in the ballpark to describe how i'm feeling," y/n laughs, leaning into oscar.

after a moment of silence, y/n's curiosity gets the best of her. "osc?" he hums in response, "what are we?"

oscar smiles to himself, "well i was hoping i'd get to call you my girlfriend."

y/n's smile grows immensely. "only if i get to call you my boyfriend," she giggles.

oscar kisses her softly on the lips, before interlocking his fingers with hers.

"oh!" y/n pipes up, "yesterday one of my girls made us matching bracelets."

y/n takes two bracelets out of her (oscar's) hoodie pocket. they were both pink, with different shades of pink beads threaded through the string. one said "O ♡ (your initial)" and vice verse with the other bracelet. oscar chuckles as he takes the one starting with his own initial.

"i love it," he looks down at it once more, "i'm never taking this off by the way."

before y/n reciprocate, the camp director comes around, telling them this is their last call to leave the camp and say goodbye to who ever you need to.

nat and sofia both left by bus earlier in the day, leaving oscar to deal with an unhappy y/n for an hour until he gave her another one of his hoodies.

"are you ready to go?" y/n stands while holding her hands out.

oscar gladly takes her hands in his, "yep. just one more kiss in the place where i fell in love with you."

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