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#this event is ending in FIFTEEN HOURS.
f1version · 5 months
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26 BIRTHDAY KISSES ★ CL16
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pairing: charles leclerc x gf!reader ( she/her )
summary: 26th birthday, 26 pictures of you and Charles kissing. A kiss for each year.
notes: i’m back from my birthday trip!! i wrote this birthday special in like 30 minutes and it’s still charles’ birthday in a couple of places so… i’m not exactly late! enjoy <3
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26 KISSES: A GALLERY
By your beautiful girlfriend, in collaboration with a lot of people but mainly Joris and ourselves.
1. DRUNK DANCING: A month after we got together, we were at Arthur’s 18th birthday. We got drunk, singing and dancing to the worst playlist in existence (Lorenzo’s) and, somehow, Arthur got to capture this moment I barely even remember.
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Taken by Arthur Leclerc, 2018
2. AUGUST 2019: Summer break, so sweet so loving. You made me promise that if you jumped off first, I would jump too. It took me fifteen minutes to follow after you. Also your kisses were incredibly salty.
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Taken by Joris Trouche, 2019
3. THE MONZA INCIDENT: I had red lipstick the night you won in Monza, you told me it looked pretty, I asked you to kiss me, you did. Fast forward 8 minutes it was all smudged over your lips, you were 10 minutes late to the post-race conference, and Sylvia almost banned me that night. (I’m still kind of banned from your driver’s room)
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Taken by Charles Leclerc, 2019
4. UNDER THE COVERS: 2020, what a crazy year. This one was taken the day we decided to finish moving in together. You were so excited, wanted everything to be perfect. Today I can say it is.
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Taken by Me, 2020
5. WORDS: We were spending Christmas by ourselves, we face-timed our families, had dinner and watched movies. You gifted me three beautiful words I, of course, said back… and we also got a puppy!
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Taken by Charles’ phone timer, 2020
6. OCEAN BREZEE: Just a small escapade to take a breath. You were so cuddly that day, Joris was so done with you (he still took the pic though)
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Taken by Joris Trouche, 2021
7. CUTE OR HOT: I just wanted a cute morning selfie but, because of you, we ended up in a…promising mood. It was intense that’s all I have to say!
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Taken by Me, 2021
8. KISS KISS KISS: 24th birthday, 24 kisses. This kind of became a tradition, let me know if you still want them this year!
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Taken by Me, 2021
9. DRUNK AF: How did we got so drunk? Ask Pierre, he was the one hosting. Either way we got another amazing photo of us drunk-kissing!!!
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Taken by Pierre Gasly, 2021
10. UNDER THE SEA: I’m just going to say that you and your ‘photo ideas 📸’ folder are attached by the hip. I personally love this one (even if it took half an hour to take)
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Taken by Joris Trouche, 2021
11. NEW YORK: Thought you could scape this one? Never! Arthur and I didn’t spend a week listening to your complaining for nothing, babe. You must admit that this kiss was magical, everything was so pretty that day. And then it started snowing!
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Taken by Arthur Leclerc, 2021
12. EXPOSED: Remember how our amazing soft launch got ruined by our trip to Ibiza? Well, here it is, the image we couldn’t stop laughing at when it came out, we really thought we were sneaky.
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Taken by unknown, 2022
13. HARD LAUNCH: A week later we were kissing on live TV. It’s one of my favorite memories, I couldn’t stop smiling.
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Taken by F1 TV, 2022
14. BACK KISSES: Just a picture of the morning after I learned that you can convince anyone, even the CEO of Ferrari, to allow you to leave sponsor events early. I really don’t know if you knew those kisses were there, but I woke up to this, took a picture and then left you with them until we took a shower.
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Taken by Me, 2022
15. SPONSORED BY AIRMAX: That time your team forgot to book us a flight and you had to ask Lando to ask Daniel to ask Max if we could go back to Monaco with them. I’ve never seen Max talk so much, Daniel laugh so loud or Lando taking so many pictures. He even asked to take one of us, here it is:
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Taken by Lando Norris, 2022
16. SIXTEEN: I bet you thought this one would have something to do with racing. Number 16. Sorry to disappoint but it’s our beautiful puppy…Sixteen! I’m not gonna lie, I still hate you for persuading me into that name. Anyways if you kiss the dog you kiss the mom!!
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Taken by Me, 2022
17. 25 KISSES: Again, tell me if you want those 26 kisses this year. Look at us last year!
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Taken by Me, 2022
18. NEW YEAR, SAME LOVE: Sometimes the world feels unreal when I’m with you, this was one of those days. I felt in another reality, the world slowed down, it was just you and me. I remember thinking “I fell in love with the right person” and then you kissed me.
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Taken by Joris Trouche, 2022
19. BLACK SUIT: Remember when your fans thanked me for your “new” outfits? They repeated it was the girlfriend effect, you couldn’t stop talking about how stylish you are with or without me!
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Taken by Me, 2023
20. PHOTOSHOOT: You got Joris to take these shots just because you wanted a new wallpaper. I thought it was silly, until one day all of them were hanging around our home. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Charlie.
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Taken by Joris Trouche, 2023
21. FIVE STAR CHEFS: Not much to say, just sorry for being so distracting and thank you for the amazing (stolen from Ferrari) dinner babe!
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Taken by Charles’ phone timer, 2023
22. RED LIGHTS: This year’s addition to our drunk-kissing collection. I remember you drowning shots with Carlos and Pierre, asking me to dance with you, absolutely failing at that, and then kissing me. After that there’s blurry ferrari red, giggles and a hot bath.
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Taken by Andrea Ferrari, 2023
23. LAZY IN BED: Wonderful lazy days by the ocean, that’s how we spent the summer break. That morning in particular you didn’t want to get up, basically gluing me to bed. We got up at 1pm.
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Taken by Me, 2023
24. JUST ONE QUESTION: Can I drive the purosangue now? Please please please
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Taken by Me, 2023
20. LOVER: This day I woke up thinking about those dreams we talk about all the time, you even remembered me a couple of them throughout the day. Charlie, I do want to do this for the rest of our lives, never forget it <3
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Taken by Arthur Leclerc, 2023
26. TWENTY-SIX: We are just 26 but I hope our story keeps on writing itself. I love you, these have been the happiest 6 years of my life. Happy birthday bébé ❤️
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Taken by Joris Trouche, 2023
2K notes · View notes
ellemj · 4 months
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Needs & Wants - Sex Pollen Trope Pt. 7
Bucky Barnes x Reader
**Read parts 1-6 first for the full effect!**
Summary: Bucky thinks you're avoiding him because you're worried that he caught feelings for you after the night you shared, but he couldn't be more wrong.
Warnings: mentions of previous smut, profanity, use of y/n, MINORS DNI!!!
Word Count: 5k
Author's Note: Where the hell am I going with this? Is it possible for it to get even smuttier before this ends? I think that's where I'm going, down a very smutty rabbit hole. I need to be stopped.
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You expected to feel so guilty and distraught after the night that you had with Bucky. You slept with your partner not just once, but five times. All in the same night. Inexplicably, you feel almost completely fine, with your only issues being how sore you are now and figuring out when’s the right moment to give his dog tags back. You’re sure he didn’t expect you to keep them. You’ve barely managed to get along for the past two months that you’ve worked together. There’s no way he’d want you to keep one of his most sacred possessions just because you spent a night together. You’ll give them back sometime today, when the time is right.
            You put the tags out of your mind as you finish packing up your small duffel bag. The team sent the quinjet to bring you and Bucky back home after confirming that you were both fine and that the chemical had seemingly cleared your systems. Banner initially wanted to have the two of you enter quarantine when you return to the compound later today, but after a brief conference call with a few biomedical experts in the field, he decided it was overkill. You probably would’ve fought it anyway. After the last 24 hours, all you want is to be back in your suite at the tower, to take a long, hot shower, and then to sleep for twelve hours straight in your own familiar bed. Bucky, however, is on a different page.
            His mind hasn’t stopped doing cartwheels since the phone call from Sam that woke you both up an hour ago. You’d played the situation off well, telling Sam that Bucky didn’t answer his phone because he was showering. Sam didn’t question it. Why would he? Everyone on the team is fully aware of yours and Bucky’s working relationship. You’re just barely civil with each other when it’s paramount to the success a mission, or when your lives depend on it, but outside of that? Well, let’s just say that neither of you go out of your way to do any sort of partner bonding.
            Bucky finished packing his duffel bag fifteen minutes ago, but he can hear that you’re still working on yours. He wants to walk across the hall and sit on your bed while you pack. He wants to just sit there and have a conversation with you, or if you don’t want to talk, he’d be content just to be around you at this point. He didn’t realize how starved he had been for human connection until last night and now he feels too alone sitting in this room by himself. His thoughts are too loud, the whirring of his vibranium arm is too noticeable, and there’s the looming threat of last night’s events replaying in his mind. If he lets himself think about last night and earlier this morning, he’ll end up with a hard-on. If he ends up with a hard-on, you’ll likely notice and he won’t be able to blame it on the fucking HYDRA chemical from hell this time. For the first time in a while, Bucky doesn’t know what to do with himself.
---
            You’re definitely avoiding him. Bucky expected some kind of conversation on the flight back home, but you were quick to seclude yourself into a corner seat to work on typing out your mission report from the last 24 hours. He sat in the row of seats across from you and a little to your right, occasionally glancing over to see you still fully concentrated on your laptop screen, typing away. What were you typing anyway? He was sure that you weren’t going to be putting the full truth in your report, so why were you so concerned with getting it finished before landing in New York?
            After the first hour of the flight, he was desperate for you to say just one word to him. Leaning forward in his seat, he rests his elbows on his knees and traces the lines of the palm of his vibranium hand with the index finger of his flesh hand. He could ask you if you slept well those last few hours this morning before Sam called. No, that just sounds like small talk. He could ask you something related to the mission, maybe something about the samples you’re bringing back for testing. That’s what he’ll start with. He sits back once again and focuses his gaze on you, clearing his throat in preparation for starting the conversation, when you suddenly sit up a little straighter and look right at him.
            “You should read my report, see if it’s the story we want to go with or if I need to make any changes.” You say pointedly, your eyes meeting his. He looks surprised that you’re speaking to him. After a moment of silence, the two of you awkwardly staring at each other, you reach across the space between the two of you to pass him your laptop. He meets you halfway, reaching out to grab it, and then settles back into his seat. You watch him carefully as he narrows his eyes at the screen, reading everything that you’ve spent the last hour working on. You tried to keep it simple. You wrote the full truth of what happened in the lab, explaining what you did that triggered the release of the chemical into the air and how the two of you destroyed the entire facility before leaving via motorcycle afterward. The lies only start when you get to the point where your conference call with Banner and Stark ended. That’s where you write that you and Bucky locked yourselves in separate bedrooms and remained separated for the rest of the night. It's not a very long report, so why it’s taken Bucky more than three minutes to read it is beyond you.
            “What do you think?” You ask, raising an eyebrow at him. He stares at the screen for a few more seconds before tearing his eyes away from it and looking over at you.
            “It’s fine.” It’s the first time you’ve heard his standard grumpy tone in more than twelve hours. You should feel relieved that he’s acting like his usual self, but for some reason you feel bothered. You didn’t expect him to suddenly act like the two of you are close, but god, would it kill him to act like you weren’t the last person he wanted to be around?
            As Bucky passes the laptop to you, he doesn’t miss the way you avoid making eye contact with him.
            “So, that’s our story then.” You say matter-of-factly, saving the report and closing your laptop. You’ll finalize it and submit it after the debrief that you’re sure to have with Fury and a whole host of other SHIELD agents and admins later today.
            “Guess so.” Bucky mumbles. You want to throw the laptop at his perfect face.
---
            “What did you do?” Sam throws the question at Bucky with an overly accusatory tone as he enters Bucky’s suite without so much as a single knock in warning. Bucky had been unpacking his suitcase, but now he drops his folded tactical pants on the bed, turning to face Sam.
            “I didn’t do anything.” He answers, though his face isn’t as convincing as his lie. Truthfully, he can’t think of anything that he did or said this morning to have pissed you off. But, in the back of his mind, he knows he did plenty of crossing the lines last night. Maybe you just thought things over in the light of day and realized that you made a huge mistake with him last night and early this morning. Whatever it is that you did between the time you both woke up and the time you boarded the quinjet for the flight home, it put you in a very untalkative mood. You were silent for most of the flight home, and then when you arrived back at the compound, you basically beelined for your room.
            “Bullshit. The two of you couldn’t get along for just twenty-four hours? Actually, not even twenty-four hours, because the two of you were locked away from each other all last night. So, what did you do to piss her off?” Sam’s interrogation is the last thing Bucky wants to be dealing with right now. He wants to finish unpacking, shower your fucking intoxicating scent off of every inch of his skin that it seems to be clinging onto, and then get the mission debrief over with.
            “We got along fine.”
            “Fine doesn’t sound like you two.”
            “Okay, we got along as well as we normally do. It was just a rough night, Sam. What do you want me to say? We were in a bad situation.” Bucky sighs, scooping his tactical pants up again and putting them away in a dresser drawer. Sam studies him closely as he moves around the room, putting away various personal items. He’d like to think that he knows Bucky well enough at this point to read his mind, but he doesn’t. Not most of the time, anyway. Maybe he’ll have more luck going directly to you and asking why you’re so off today. He knows he should give you both a break. It was probably a night filled with physical torment and anguish with that chemical compound running through your veins.
            “Fine. I’m sorry, man. We really didn’t know what we were sending the two of you into.” Sam apologizes, uncrossing his arms and hoping Bucky will respond a little less defensively.
            “It doesn’t matter. We made it out and now we’re back home and…it doesn’t matter. Don’t worry about it.” Bucky mutters. Sam knows that’s about as good of an acceptance as he’ll get from Bucky, so he takes it. As he leaves Bucky’s suite, he walks the few steps across the hall and knocks on your door. No answer.
---
            This is one of those moments where you find yourself wondering how the hell you ended up in a situation like this. The current situation being you and Bucky, seated in Dr. Raynor’s office. There’s a wall behind you covered with an image of tall, skinny trees. You can tell that it’s meant to be relaxing, but it just makes you feel like you’re in a pediatrician’s office that’s decorated with nature scenes to keep kids distracted from the needles and physical exams. You pick at the fraying threads on the knee of your distressed jeans, trying to occupy your mind before it occupies itself with thoughts of the man sitting next to you. Bucky sits a mere foot and a half away from you. Both of you are seated on opposite ends of the small gray couch. Why does it feel like you’re about to start couples therapy?
            Bucky feels even more on-edge than you do. Dr. Raynor knows him too well. She can see straight through him most of the time, and now that he’s sitting here next to you, he’s scared to death of what she might see. His heart is racing in his chest, threatening to break through his navy blue Henley tee and dark jacket. The two of you rode here together, Bucky offered to drive as a small act of kindness, a peace offering, if you will. He also didn’t want the two of you to arrive separately and set off any alarms in Dr. Raynor’s head. She reads too far into everything. On the ride over, Bucky asked if you were still going to keep up the story about what happened three nights ago in the safehouse. You said yes, and that was that. You would both be lying to Dr. Raynor today.
            “Sorry, I had a little situation I had to handle downstairs.” Dr. Raynor says with a sigh as she enters the room quickly. Neither of you turn to look at her as she closes the door behind herself and makes her way to her chair across from the couch. This is your first time meeting her. You’ve never been sent to therapy like this before. Sure, you’ve had routine psych evals, and once after a bit of a missing-in-action situation you had to go through the mandatory ten sessions with a shrink. But now? You really don’t even know why Fury sent the two of you here for this. You and Bucky have never really been close, why is that lack of closeness a problem now? “I appreciate the kind greetings.” Dr. Raynor quips sarcastically. She seats herself in her chair, settling her notebook and pen on her lap, before studying you both. You feel the tension in the air rising and Bucky shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Do you know why you’re here?”
            Unsure of which one of you she’s directing the question to, you both stay silent.
            “I didn’t expect your partner to be as quiet as you, James.” Dr. Raynor says, focusing her gaze on him. This relieves you a little. You don’t feel like you’re the one under scrutiny if she’s addressing at him, even though she’s talking about you.
            “She’s not quiet.” Bucky huffs, tracing the lines on his vibranium palm. You’re starting to notice he does that when he doesn’t have much to say, or maybe it’s when he has a lot to say but doesn’t want to say it.
            “Oh?” Dr. Raynor turns to you now.
            “I don’t know why we’re here.” You answer her previous question, making sure that you don’t sound as moody as Bucky.
            “The fact that neither of you can get along, and everyone that you work with knows this about your partnership, you don’t think that that might be the reason why you were sent here today?”
            “We’ve been partners for two months and we’ve never been sent here before.” You point out. Bucky’s gaze is flitting between you and Dr. Raynor. He almost seems amused by the exchange. It’s a bit exciting for him to see someone else under Dr. Raynor’s microscope, and it’s especially exciting to him that’s it’s you.
            “Right. So, what change happened this week that landed you both in my office?”
            That’s a loaded question. You turn your head to steal a glance at Bucky but find him already looking over at you. Somehow, the two of you communicate with just a look. A look that says something along the lines of we both know what changed, but we aren’t going to say a damn thing about it here.
            “Nothing.” You both say at the same time, breaking eye contact. Dr. Raynor is immediately interested in the exchange that she just witnessed.
            “What was that?” She questions.
            “What was what?” Bucky plays dumb, scrunching his eyes at her. She waves her pen between the two of you.
            “That, that look.”
            “It was just a look, doc.” Bucky lies.
            “Okay, we can do this one of two ways.” Dr. Raynor straightens up in her chair, once again resting the pen on the notebook. “You both tell me what really happened on the trip to the HYDRA lab three days ago and I help you fix whatever rift it caused in your working relationship, or you continue acting like nothing happened while this thing festers like an open wound.” You kind of like her. She gets to the point, and though you don’t know her at all, she does seem trustworthy. Still, you can’t just tell her that you and Bucky slept together. That’s a fast track to getting your partnership suspended. Wait, since when do you care so much about your partnership? A week ago, you would’ve happily traded Bucky for a new partner, or even gone back to working solo missions if you were given the option to. Why does the idea of working without Bucky bother you now?
            “Did Fury give you a copy of our mission reports?” You ask, drawing Bucky’s attention straight back to your face. He wonders where you’re going with this. Dr. Raynor nods slowly, analyzing you both before speaking.
            “Yes, and I feel like they’re missing about twelve hours worth of details.” She responds. She’s good.
            “You don’t think we locked ourselves in separate bedrooms.” You make your words a statement, rather than posing another question. Dr. Raynor shrugs.
            “I think your reports lacked detail, especially compared to any of your previous mission reports. What possibly could have happened that night that would make you both want to be as vague as possible in a mission report?” Her question isn’t for either of you to answer, but you both know that she knows. You swallow hard and clasp your hands together in your lap, fighting the urge to get a running start and jump out of the window that’s on Bucky’s side of the room. “Let me pose a hypothetical. Let’s say that you both were exposed to a chemical agent that’s designed to make super soldiers reproduce. You get exposed, you both go back to the safehouse, and you lock yourselves in separate rooms like you said. Y/n, with your medical background, how long do you think either of you would be able to stay in a locked room before having to at least use the restroom? According to your reports, you locked in around 9 pm and didn’t leave your rooms again until at least 7:30 am.”
            “I don’t like hypotheticals.” You retort, crossing your arms over your chest like a child. You feel silly. You know you look ridiculous sitting here with a frown on your face and your arms crossed, you know that you do. But her line of questioning is quickly approaching the truth and you don’t want to give her anymore fuel than she already has. She sees you shutting down and turns her attention to Bucky.
            “James?”
            “I didn’t have to pee.” He mumbles.
            “You had sex.” Dr. Raynor states. There isn’t a hint of questioning in her tone now. Suddenly, the room falls silent. So silent that Bucky can hear the way your heart is pounding in your chest and the way you’ve suddenly began holding your breath.
            “That doesn’t sound like something that two people who can’t stand each other would do.”  Bucky responds on your behalf. Mentally, you’re thanking him. You didn’t have a single word in your mind to use to formulate a response.
            “Right. But if you think about it, it does. And not only does it sound like something those two people would do, but it sounds smart, if you think about it.”
            “Smart?” Bucky’s confused now. Is Dr. Raynor trying to say that it was smart of the two of you to fuck?
            “Let’s say that two people who don’t get along are stuck in a situation where they have these primal, innate biological feelings to reproduce. They decide to have sex to lessen their suffering at the hands of the chemical that they were exposed to, knowing that because they don’t get along, they aren’t risking much by crossing that line together. They wouldn’t have cared if they were found out and their partnership was terminated, because they didn’t like working together in the first place. And if no one found out and their partnership remained intact, neither of them have feelings for each other so it wouldn’t matter anyway, they could continue working together like they normally would. That makes it sound like the smart thing to do, don’t you think?”
            It does sound smart when she words it like that. But you and Bucky both know that it’s not an accurate representation of your situation. No, you don’t really get along and you never have, but you didn’t have sex while simultaneously not giving a shit about what happened to your partnership. All you could think about at first was how it would ruin your partnership. Then you had a night full of sex that was so good you’ve been thinking about it nonstop since, which led to you avoiding Bucky in the compound so you could give yourself a chance to stop thinking about him in such a non-platonic way. That’s what landed you here, on Dr. Raynor’s little therapy couch in her little therapy office. Fuck. It’s your fault that you’re both here.
            “I’m not necessarily accusing the two of you of anything. No one knows what happened that night except for you, though I have my suspicions. I’d like you both to feel comfortable enough to tell me what happened, but if you don’t feel like you can do that right now, I’ll respect it. However, I do want to observe the two of you interacting in the field over the next few missions. Fury is sure that this partnership is the best thing he’s ever created. After reading through each of your files, I’m not as convinced.”
            Great. Now you and Bucky have a babysitter.
---
            After finishing your very brief and unproductive session with Dr. Raynor, Bucky drove you both back to the compound. The silence was a little more bearable this time. Neither of you wanted to talk about what had just happened in the session or about how Dr. Raynor seems to know that you fucked. When you arrived back at the compound, you went your separate ways. Bucky went upstairs, presumably to skulk around in his room until dinnertime, and you hit the gym. You gave yourself a rest day after coming back from the mission-from-hell, but now you need the high that you get from a good workout. You need it because your thoughts are still consumed with Bucky. With the way he fit so perfectly inside of you, with the way he looked at you with so much awe when you were coming undone on his cock in front of the mirror, and for fuck’s sake, the way you felt like he owned you when his dog tags were around your neck. You want it. You want him. Bad. You’ve been taking a lot of cold showers lately. Now, you’re turning to the gym to try to get him out of your system.
            After a nice four-mile evening run and a core workout on the mats in the gym, you decide to take a shower in the gym downstairs instead of going up to your room and risking running into Bucky. You don’t want to ruin your current streak of one hour without thinking about him naked. “FRIDAY, play my workout playlist.” You call out as you enter the shower room and grab a clean towel from one of the shelves by the door. You sling the towel over one of the shower doors and step inside, stripping your clothes off and tossing them over the door before turning the water on. FRIDAY begins playing your playlist at full volume, which is how you always like to have it when you’re showering down here after a workout. With the music blasting and hot water streaming down your skin, you’re safe from any thoughts about Bucky. You wash away all of the stress of the day, imagining all of the bad things in your life flowing down into the drain at your feet.
            Suddenly, you hear the door to the shower room swing open and then fall shut again with a resounding click. You continue lathering your skin with soap, listening intently for an announcement of some sort from whoever is intruding on your personal time.
            “FRIDAY, turn the volume down to 10%.” Bucky’s voice rings out and you take a deep breath, feeling your bad mood crawl out of the shower drain and back up into your body. How dare he? His next move only further pisses you off, as your towel quickly disappears from the glass door of the shower.
            “Barnes—”
            “I want to talk.” He interrupts you, and you can see the silhouette of him pacing slowly back and forth through the distorted glass door.
            “You have until I finish this shower.” You say through clenched teeth. “Then, I’m getting out and strangling you with that towel.”
            “You’re going to get out without a towel?” You see his figure pause as your words still him.
            “My naked body will be the last thing you see. You have sixty seconds.” He chuckles at your words, and you can hear the movement of him slinging the towel over his shoulder as he stands outside of the shower, clearly amused.
            “Dr. Raynor knows.” He states.
            “Yeah, no shit.” You say sarcastically, truly dumbfounded that he felt the need to say it out loud. Obviously, she knows.
            “She’s going to be analyzing us on every mission until she confirms it.” He continues. Does he think you were totally zoned out during the session in her office earlier? You know she’s going to be babysitting the both of you in the field for the forseeable future.
            “Is there a point to this conversation?” You ask, rinsing all of the soap bubbles off of your skin and watching them slip across the shower floor. Bucky audibly sighs. What is with your fucking attitude tonight? You avoided him all day yesterday. He knows you had some errands to run at SHIELD’s headquarters, so you were there most of the morning, but even when you came back to the compound around lunch it was obvious that you were doing everything you could just to stay out of his sight. He’s fucking sick of it.
            “Yeah, I want to know when you’re going to stop acting like fucking made me fall in love with you.” Bucky says flatly. On the inside, he’s angry. That’s why you’ve been avoiding him, right? Because you’re scared that he caught feelings for you somewhere in the midst of all of the mind-blowing sex. That’s the only reason he can imagine that you have for avoiding him the way you have been, and for the way that you’re talking to him now. He, however, couldn’t be more wrong. You were scared that you were catching feelings. It’s why you didn’t want to say his name or kiss him when you fucked. You knew that if you did either of those things, it would feel too real. It’d be too hard to pretend it meant nothing to you.
            When are you going to stop acting like fucking made him fall in love with you? Jesus, he thinks he has you all figured out, doesn’t he? You catch yourself laughing. You reach over and turn off the water. You’re just about to tell Bucky that he can fuck off with his demands to know anything from you, when you hear the shower room door open once again, followed by a set of footsteps.
            “Hey, Y/n, dinner is going to be ready in—” Sam stops short when his eyes fall on Bucky, who stands outside of your shower door, holding your towel in his vibranium hand. “What’s…are you holding her hostage in the shower? Give me that damn towel, man.” You hear a soft commotion that you can only assume is the two men scuffling over your stolen towel. The towel finds its way back over the glass door, courtesy of Sam, and you quickly snatch it up, patting yourself dry before wrapping it around your body. “Dinner is ready in fifteen minutes, if you two want to eat.” Sam announces. Bucky gives him a steely look for returning the towel to you, but Sam ignores it, turning on his heel and walking out. You’re surprised that he didn’t have anything to say about the unusual situation he stumbled into here. Maybe he’s saving it for later.
            Bucky’s just about to ask his question again, the one about when you’ll stop acting like he’s in love with you, when you push the shower door open and step out in front of him. Covered only by that damn towel. He wants to pretend like he’s unbothered, but the way a tent is forming in his jeans throws that plan out the window. You have an effect on him and you’re fully aware of it.
            “Fucking didn’t make you fall in love with me?” You ask innocently, standing just six inches in front of him and looking up into his eyes. His eyes leave yours for a moment, his gaze raking down your body and leaving heat in its wake. He takes in your messy bun, the way the towel is so tightly hugged around your curves, and the way water is dripping down your legs. Fuck, he wants to lick every single drop off of your skin. He wants to start at your ankles and kiss, lick, and suck his way up to your inner thighs. When he meets your stare once again, you’re smirking at him. “Answer the question, Barnes.” You use a specific tone of voice this time, one that you usually reserve for seductive purposes in the field. It makes him swallow hard and you note the way his jaw flexes. Hmm, you’ve seen his jaw flex like that before. You take one step forward, closing the minimal space between the two of you, letting your towel-covered chest lightly brush against him as you begin trailing your fingertips down the right sleeve of his Henley tee. He’s temporarily frozen in place, his eyes watching the movements of your hand closely, before he quickly steps back and tsks at you. He shakes his head as annoyed look takes over his features.
            “Don’t fuck with me, Y/n. Dr. Raynor isn’t here to supervise the tension.” His words send heat rushing through your body, a heat that settles in your cheeks and between your legs. You hate how the threatening tone of his voice combined with his choice of words makes you long to be underneath him again, but you’re sure he’s just playing a sick game with you. You wish the horny part of you would remember that, that this is just a fucked up game. It isn’t real. But you know what? If he wants to play this fucked up game, you’ll make sure you win it. He can act like he doesn’t want you, but his reactions to everything you do sends a different message.
You’ll just have to play this game until he admits that he wants you as much as you want him. Maybe you'll give him his dog tags back as a consolation prize when you win.
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alrtyhoney · 7 months
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TAKING WHAT’S NOT YOURS 
(I watch her go with a surge of that well known sadness and I have to sit down for a while– the feeling that I'm losing her forever.)
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The rundown: That cake scene with Miles at his father’s bodega party but it’s with Miguel and his universe’s daughter. He’s late and it’s your quinceañera. Content: Father!Miguel O'hara x Daughter!Reader / Angst! (wc: 3844)
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There was something oddly peculiar about your father. People would assume that he would be the archetypal absent one who chose to abandon his child; the dead-beat-dad who ultimately never cared for them. You’d argue it wasn’t true– you were fed, you had the weight of what a fifteen year old should have, and education was proper. 
You love your papa with all of your heart, but there was no denying the fact that he would never be around often enough. You understood this when you were eight years old, and mornings would bring only a cold breakfast accompanied by a hastily scribbled note from him. He’d leave early– far too early. You tried staying up in an attempt to tell when he gets up and leaves the house, but you swear you don’t hear the door open every time. 
Then came twelve and the missed events. Miguel seemed to be missing in action when it came to certain school activities, not showing up for things that he had previously made commitments for. It became more and more frequent as you grew older– you wouldn’t hear from him for days.
He was a man dedicated to his profession, and although you felt pride in what he had achieved, there was this empty space in your heart that hadn’t been filled ever since you were eight. It was said that a child needed the presence of their parents to feel security– to feel important. You never truly understood it, not until you had to endure many nights at dinner alone and the numerous times you spent walking home with nothing but your own thoughts for company.
You had always pondered over the question of whether it was a common phenomenon that fathers seemed to love their daughters less once they had reached teenagehood– or if it was possible for fathers to unlearn being fathers. 
“Is your papa coming, bebita?” 
The faint notes of classical music filled the air as you sat on the wooden floor, stretching your sore limbs. You observed the ladies who were much older than yourself starting their exercise routines, having come in early before the group class began. You waited for Miguel to pick you up. 
– But that had been two hours ago. Your teacher finally worked up the courage to approach you, hesitantly looking for the right words to say. She wasn’t exactly pleased to be the one to let you down, but she’d seen you walk out the studio’s door alone time and time again after you told her that your father would bring you home himself.
“He said he’d come pick me up today.” You spoke, nervously twisting the ends of your skirt. Your teacher had most likely heard these words countless times before from you, but the faint ray of hope in your voice remained firm. “He promised.” You added quietly, praying that maybe it would be different this time. 
“Ay, bebita– you know how this ends. You tell me those exact words and you walk out here on your own anyway.” She slightly shook her head, her face softening with a sympathetic smile as she knelt closer to you. “Tell you what, how about I offer to give you a ride home today? I have plenty of snacks in my car that you can enjoy. You can take as many of them as you'd like.”
You took some time to consider it, letting her gently weave her fingers through the strands of curls that couldn't quite fit into a bun. Your lips pursued as you sighed softly, “What if he comes and I’m not here anymore?” You’d hate to miss the opportunity.
Of course you still had faith that he would come, having endured all the other times he had let you down. You were never one to quickly give up on people and your father was the only one you trusted the most— you’d hate to admit that his inconsistency was starting to hurt; digging a deeper wound to the already bleeding cut. 
“He’s not coming and I know you know that too.” 
She stands up, grunting slightly as she hefts herself up. You knew there was no more room for negotiation anymore when she urged you to come along. She carefully takes your backpack from off your back and drapes it over her own shoulders, “Come on sweetheart, let's get you home.” 
The silence in the car was palpable, with no one feeling the need to prod conversation. You hadn't stopped fidgeting with the hem of your bag since you got in, and you could feel your teacher's worried glances burning into you. Your mind was a jumble of emotions that kept bubbling away as they all competed for your attention. What could be his reason this time/?
She switched on the radio in an effort to lighten the tense mood, but when a melancholic tune filled played instead, you couldn’t help but let out a deep sigh.
“Is it possible for fathers to unlove their daughters?” 
It was a question that took her completely by surprise, so much so that another uncomfortable beat of silence passed before she could respond. The stillness made you regret asking in the first place. Your legs shifted nervously, an unconscious habit which you had never noticed before.
“Of course not,” She muttered, almost inaudibly. “Fathers tend to forget is all.”
But you knew that wasn’t the case. 
While Miguel was never home, something else resided on the corners of your house– someone you have never met at all. She smiled back at you from the frame sitting atop your dad's nightstand, wearing the similar blue soccer jersey your school had. She was the picture on his wallet and the little widget on his phone. It was beyond you– the few blue ribbons hidden on the box beneath his bed; the medals, the drawings you know you’ve never drawn or given him. For all you know, the kid didn’t even go to your school. 
It wasn’t anything sinister, but in a way she felt like a ghost. A child your father mourned for all his life and you had no idea why. 
This was a physical pain in your chest; one that was peeling away the very layers of your heart until it was nothing but ugly– just how could Miguel love a child more than his own? It was ridiculous to feel like you were in competition with someone you barely knew, yet somehow, you felt like you were losing. It felt even more absurd when you considered the possibility that maybe you weren't really his child at all.
“I joined our school’s soccer team today, papa.” 
It wasn’t an ordinary occurrence for Miguel to be at the dining table for lunch. But on this Saturday noon, he was there. Sitting across from you, quietly eating his food. Finally, he paused and shifted his gaze towards you, seeming to linger on you longer than normal before looking away, cracking a grin.
“Soccer? You hate sports, mija.” He says, a bit of laughter in his voice. "What made you decide to try out? I don't recall you being the least bit interested before."
Something in his eyes becomes brighter, a sense of familiarity as he eagerly awaits your response– and the thing is, you couldn’t tell him why. Not without addressing the elephant in the room. Maybe you’d hang my medals too? Maybe you’d frame a photo of me? You know well your question reminds him of someone else. 
“No reason.” 
It was no surprise that you were terrible at it. After barely two seasons, you'd already given up. However it was surprising to see Miguel in the stands during the times that you had a game, but there wasn’t much to watch anyway— not when you’d been relegated to the bench for most of the time. All you felt was shame. 
Oddly enough, he didn't question it. He remained silent during the rides back home, his gaze distant and never once looked at you. Had you embarrassed him to an extent where he couldn’t even acknowledge you? Or have you given him the impression that you were just no better than the little girl in his pictures?
You dared not to talk about it too.
Music was your passion; the pulse, the poise and elegance of it all resonating with you deeply. Ballet was something that spoke to you particularly in ways no other art form could. You found a special joy out on stage, a feeling that grew deeper and greater each time you danced.
But like every flame that you desperately try to keep alive, Miguel had a way of snuffing it out. 
You remember it all so vividly, even though you'd much rather the memory be nothing more than a faint blur. Your very first recital and yet he wasn't anywhere to be found amongst the audience.
Your focus was a tunnel-vision, only set to finding even a glimpse of him— you had been so determined to find him that you forgot about all of your own movements. Soon, the few wrong turns had turned to missed cues; as soon as the music stopped, you made a run for it.
Your teacher had done her best to console you that day, attempting to coax a smile from you in front of the vanity mirror with its bright lights. She had wrapped her arms around you, doing anything she could to draw even the faintest curve of your lips. But you stayed slumped on your seat, feeling the weight of the unshed tears on your eyes. 
The door swung open, finally revealing Miguel; he was out of breath and sweat glistened on his forehead. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top and his tie was undone, a clear sign that he had run all the way here. He paused for a moment to catch his breath before walking in frantically, eyes looking for you. 
His eyes softened at the sight of you in your pretty pink tutu– then the tenderness was replaced with a feeling akin to plummeting one hundred stories down. How could he miss this? How could he let his sweet girl wait? He rushed to your side, sinking down into a kneeling position. He looked upon you with lines creasing his forehead and you already knew what was to come out of his lips.
“I’m sorry muneca, I came as fast as I could.” 
The other parents of your classmates started to barge inside the very room, their children giddy with joy and excitement, running to them with beaming smiles. You could hear their loud congratulations– voices singing sweet praises and telling how they looked outstanding on stage. The noise sounded like static in your ears, like their words were unfamiliar to you. They received bouquets of flowers, sweets– gifts for a job well done. Miguel came late and only with apologies. 
“You want pretty flowers too, mijita? We can stop by the flower shop a few blocks away from here, you can pick any bouquet you want.” His lips curved into a gentle smile, desperate to make his daughter feel better– the same daughter who wouldn't even meet his gaze. “Papa had to deal with something. I’ll be sure to go to your next recital– pinky promise.” 
“But I worked really hard for this.”
You wanted so desperately to blame him; to yell at him for every mistake that you've made on the stage. You felt ashamed, humiliated, and helpless all at once- and still, you couldn’t have the heart to be mad at him.
He looked at you apologetically, "Baby, I'm sorry I couldn't make it earlier. How about we talk about the flowers you want to buy instead? There are lots of restaurants nearby as well— you can pick whatever pleases you, just name it." He paused for a moment before continuing, gently nudging your shoulder. “I know how much this meant to you.”
If he did, why couldn’t he have come at all?
You let out a deep sigh, feeling completely ridiculous in your tutu. All of the sudden, the leotard appeared to be two sizes too small and utterly irritating; your tights seemed unbearably itchy. You looked down helplessly, wanting nothing more than to leave this situation behind. “I just want to go home. Can we just leave? Please?” You pleaded softly. 
He bit the inside of his cheek, a gesture that conveyed own sinking heart in a way words could not. His shoulders sagged ever so slightly, breath hitching as he gave in to your request instead. 
“Of course.” 
After that very moment, you'd vowed to yourself never to wait in anticipation of something that may or may not come. You wouldn’t put your faith in any more of your father's promises spoken under the dead of night. It took a toll on you– your naivety had taught you better than before.
But when your fifteenth birthday drew near, you never expected he would go so far.
The locks clicked and whirred as Miguel fumbled with the keys to the front door. You could hear your Father's voice, clearly agitated as he jostled the keys back and forth in an attempt to fit them into the lock. Finally, he steps inside, eyes immediately darting to you.
“You’re not wearing your birthday dress, sweetie. Is something wrong?” He’s wearing a smile, struggling to keep the two boxes of cake upright as he locks the door from behind. The banner is lopsided and the balloons scattered all around seem small– like they’ve been there for days and were starting to deflate themselves. He kisses the top of your head once he gets close, getting a better view of what you were working on on the counter. Homework. “Did you have your friends over today? How was it? Wanna hear all about it.”
And he must have forgotten. You decided to pretend not to hear his question, continuing to jot down notes, only humming at his presence. He settles the boxes down, sitting on the stool beside you. 
“I know papa’s late, but you can still go and wear your dress. I want to take pictures– should we order pizza? Do you want something else?” He’s rambling, hurriedly searching for his tone to dial down a few numbers. Miguel turns frantic, looking at the closed signs under every nice restaurant. “Pizza should be fine, mijita– you’ve eaten dinner, right?” 
“Not hungry.” 
Miguel chuckled, dialing anyway. “Did school suck today, sweetie?” He jokes, trying to lighten the mood. “You know what can cheer you up? Cake. You love cake.”
“I don’t like cake anymore.” You say, your voice barely above a whisper. You can feel frustration boiling over inside– and you fear it wasn’t the kind you’ve grown accustomed to suppressing. He was oblivious and it was killing you, hurting you in so many ways possible. “I’m not hungry.” You repeat again.
“Don’t be like that, __. Besides, it’s still tradition.” He stands up to check the drawers, only finding worn out candles from past birthdays. He takes a lighter. “Know what’s better than a cake? Two cakes! You’ll change your mind, go and open the boxes mija,”
Miguel excitedly pressed his hands on your shoulders, pushing you gently forward to open the two boxes of cake. The look in his eyes was that of pure anticipation as he waited eagerly for you to do so. It almost hurt you to tell him the news— that you wanted more than to just take the blame itself. It was conflicting. 
You finally got up from the bar stool, settling on your feet in front of the counter. Taking a deep breath, you carefully opened the lid of the boxes. What greeted you had made you visibly recoil– the small flicker of hope that settled in your chest gone as quickly as it came. The cakes were crumbled and the frosting was all over the box, like it had been trampled and tossed around.
Was this all a joke? Were you a joke to him? Your shoulders trembled as you couldn't bring yourself to look away from it; the letter was still visible but amongst the cake crumbs lay written a name– Gabriella. Not happy birthday to you, but Gabi. 
You didn’t know what hurt most. Your lips quivered and all you could mutter was, “Gabi?”
His eyes widened in surprise as he quickly moved to your side to take a look at the cake himself. He swiftly closed the lids, shaking his head. “Must’ve been a mistake back at the bakery. I can–” 
And you could barely catch your breath, not when the hurt piled over one another. 
“Are the medals from her? The one’s from your bed? The trophies?” 
He furrowed his eyebrows, clearly irritated. “What did I tell you about snooping around my things, __?”
“Is this the girl–” A ragged inhale cuts your thoughts, “on your nightstand and wallet?” You didn’t even realize you had started to cry, but when another breath had caught itself in your throat, you were inconsolable– finally letting the dam break all at once.
Miguel did nothing to console you– he didn’t know how to. He knew he had messed up royally and all he could do was helplessly watch you break down. Who knows how long you’ve kept this? 
“__, come on. It’s just a simple mistake, it’s still cake–”
“And it was my birthday!” 
“Baby, what’s the big deal?” He was shocked and understandably so. His sweet, babygirl, who was usually so quiet and docile, was talking back angrily to him– but Miguel knew better than to point fingers. This was his fault– your unbecoming was his own doing.
“You just had to be late– on my birthday!” 
“I have work, baby, you know this.” 
“That still doesn’t explain anything!” You cried out, desperation flooding your voice. “Why are you never home? Where do you go? Who is Gabriella– why do you love her more than me?” You could feel your breath catch in your throat as your voice rose and trembled with every question. Your breathing grew unsteady and your throat began to close up, not allowing anymore words to come out as much as you wanted to scream. You feared there’d be no more room for air.
And there was something about Gabriella that everytime she was brought up, Miguel would be defensive. Perhaps it was the plenty of times Lyla would reprimand him when she catches him watching the few videos of them or when Jess would pity his state. “Don’t be ridiculous, __. I made a mistake– that’s it. We don’t have to fight.” He says, grabbing a spatula. “If it bothers you so much, here,”
Miguel frustratedly spreads the lettering with the spatula, leaving smudges of red on top of perfectly white frosting, resulting in a more muddled mess. He's making a complete mess of it and you can't bear to watch any longer. Your still figure finally reaches out to grab his wrist, “Stop— stop that! What are you doing?!”  
It was no use. The cake was nothing but totally ruined now. You didn’t even have the chance to read the message. He forcefully digs the candles on both, sliding it in front of you. Your eyes stayed on the cake– you didn’t have the heart to look at him. Anger boiled up within you and without a moment's hesitation, the words leaped from your mouth, "You're not listening to me! This is not what I'm so upset about—!"
But he responds in the same loudness as yours, slamming his hands down on the cold tiles of your countertop. “Okay, champ, you got it– go for it! Say what you have to say,” A sarcastic chuckle left his lips, adding insult to the already deep wound. “What do you have to tell me so bad?”
And you didn’t think it was possible for silence to be more deafening, but as you stared each other down, all you could think of was how maybe Miguel was worse than the archetypal absent one who chose to abandon his child or the dead-beat-dad who ultimately never cared for them. 
You were right. Fathers were capable of unloving their daughters and the way his dark eyes burned into yours was all the answer you needed. This wasn’t your papa– did you ever know him?
“My birthday was two days ago.” 
He furrowed his eyebrows, doubt creasing his forehead as he looked back to the calendar hung on the fridge. His gaze resting on your birthday date, the red circle mocking him in vivid reminder— two days ago. Your birthday was two days ago. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks, and he felt nothing but guilt tying his stomach in knots. 
“Mijita–” He’s quick to console you, the anger in his words disappearing immediately and turning into an apologetic one– but every time he’d try to move forward, you’d only step back. Miguel couldn’t even bear to think how you’ve celebrated on your own. How you waited for him all night in your birthday dress. He subtly shook his head, trying his best not to clog his mind yet. 
He needed to make it up to you. He couldn’t lose you too.
“My birthday– why did you have to take it?” You rubbed your eyes harshly, but the more you wiped the tears away, the more they seemed to fall. “It’s mine and I still had to wait for you to be able to sing the song. It’s my day and all I could think of was what time you might come home tonight.”
You wanted nothing more than for him to run to you with open arms, to let you cry on his shoulders– but as his silence stretched on, you mistook it as nothing but ruthless. He simply didn’t care. Miguel was too much of a wall for that. 
The look you gave him was nothing but hate– a look no parent wants to ever come across and it almost makes him stagger back. It was like what he had done was the most disgusting– most inconsolable act ever beyond repair and all he could do was watch; watch as another daughter of his slip through his fingers. He’s holding you like water and he doesn’t know how to keep you in.
You scoffed, averting your gaze. “You don’t want to talk about it? Fine by me.” You turned your back, letting out another shaky exhale. You couldn’t look at him the same– not after this.
“You make it really, really, hard to feel like a daughter.” 
And with that, you run to your room, leaving Miguel to stay rooted to where he stood. He thinks to himself– had he taken that from you too?
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hongcherry · 3 months
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stuck with you || c.sc (m)
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Your road trip takes a turn for the worst and leaves you stranded during a winter storm. It's not long until the car gets chilly, but luckily for you, your boyfriend has an idea to keep you both warm.
❄️ Pairing: boyfriend!Seungcheol x Reader (afab)
❄️ Rating/Genres/AUs: M(18+); Smut, fluff; Established relationship
❄️ Warnings: Pet names (baby, baby girl, princess, angel), unprotective sex (dont be like them), fingering, breast play, creampie, dirty talk, car sex so technically exhibitionism, reader is slightly inexperienced/shy (not a virgin tho)
❄️ Word Count: 3.7k
❄️ Project: @k-vanity's event. Prompt is "snow day/snowed in".
❄️ Author's Note: Honestly, I'm not sure about this one aha. This was meant to be posted last holidays, but I never got it finished in time. Now, I rushed it to meet this deadline sdfk;bjfdlsk. So... Please be kind 🥲
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Your idea of a mini road trip was going well. You were sharing memories with your sweet boyfriend, who you had dragged with you, filled with laughs and a few forced smiles. Sure, Seungcheol was grumbling fifty percent of the time, but the other fifty percent was genuine happiness… Well, he slept for fifteen percent so that other fifty wasn’t accurate. Nevertheless, you weren’t going to let his party-pooping butt rain on your parade.
However, what did ruin your parade known as a road trip was when your car started to break down in the middle of a snowy night. Unsurprisingly, Seungcheol let a few expletives slip from his pout. His hand was wavering in different directions as he lectured the car for being “a complete waste of a fucking car.” You would have found it amusing if it weren’t for the fact you were about to be stranded in a deserted area.
“Hurry and call for a pickup before either of our phones dies,” Seungcheol instructs as the car begins to slow to a stop.
You oblige quickly, looking up a local towing company and giving them a call. Unfortunately, it’s going to take a couple of hours to arrive due to the bad weather. Seungcheol curses once more before locking the already-locked doors, yanking out the keys, and tossing them onto the dashboard.
“We should have stayed at the hotel one more night like I said,” he huffs with his arms crossed over his chest, glaring out into nothing. Both of you are sitting in the dark as you let the situation sink in. Guilt is forming in your chest.
“I just wanted to get to the next city by the morning so we could see the festival,” you mumble. Seungcheol knows this already, but you feel it necessary to explain again. You didn’t anticipate or wish for this to happen.
Hearing your dejected voice, Seungcheol’s body relaxes as he turns to look at you. “I know, baby,” he sighs.
“Let’s move to the back so that we can be more comfortable,” he suggests. You’re about to open the door when he stops you suddenly. “Climb in from here. We don’t want the cold air in.”
“Oh, right,” you say sheepishly. It’s warm now since the heater was on before the car shut off.
Carefully, you squeeze through the seats to sit in the back. Once you’re seated, Seungcheol follows suit. He reaches back into the trunk and digs out the blanket you had packed.
He pulls you into his lap, wrapping the blanket around you. You tuck the ends of it behind Seungcheol so he can hold it in place with his back.
“I’m sorry I made you feel bad,” he speaks softly with a deep exhale.
You shake your head. “You didn’t—”
“You don’t have to lie to me,” he chuckles and rubs his hands up and down your clothed thighs. “I’m just tired and grumpy.”
“Hm,” you hum and give him a small smile. “You are tired and grumpy.”
“Tired and grumpy Seungcheol is sorry,” he says, lips pursing in a tiny pout and voice slightly higher.
Giggling, you hit his chest playfully. “You’re forgiven.”
“Good. I hate when my baby’s mad at me.”
“I wasn’t,” you reply. “Now, go to sleep, Cheollie,” you smile.
Seungcheol nods, bringing you down for a quick kiss before he wraps his arms around your body. You lean forward to lay against him. With the warm air, blanket, and his heated body, you’re feeling hot; however, you know the temperature is going to drop soon.
As expected, the car grows chilly within thirty minutes.
You wake from your slumber with a shiver. Seungcheol’s head is leaned against the headrest, breathing evenly as he sleeps. You reach up and softly graze his cheek. It’s cold under your touch. Frowning, you cup his face to heat his skin. He stirs for a second and then flutters his eyes open.
“Are they here?” he questions, referring to the towing people.
Shaking your head you say, “No, you were just cold.”
“I’m okay,” he replies even though his body shivers as soon as the words come out. “You’re cold?”
“A little,” you confess. You let your hands leave his cheeks and land on his shoulders gently.
Seungcheol’s eyes roam your face, taking in the occasional shakes of your body from the low temperature.
“I have an idea,” he replies belatedly.
“For?”
“To make you less cold.”
“Oh?”
You stare at him in confusion. You figure he’s going to grab the second blanket in the trunk, but instead, he grips your hips and slides your body against his crotch.
“Oh,” you gasp, face warming at the implication. “But we’re in public.”
Seungcheol shrugs. “In the middle of nowhere during a snowstorm. I doubt anyone is going to come this way.”
You hold his shoulders firmly when he rolls his hips under you. The action has him rubbing your clit briefly. You tighten your grip on him.
“The towing people,” you explain, trying not to focus on Seungcheol’s movements.
“You said they’d be here in a few hours. I don’t need a few hours to get you to cu—”
“Cheol!” you scold his language. Seungcheol just smiles. “I thought you wanted to get warm. Not… that.”
He clears his throat and stops grinding against you.
You bite your lip to suppress the whine that wants to come out. His actions had felt good, and you admit silently you were feeling warmer as your body became aroused.
“Right. I mean, I don’t need a few hours to get you warmed up,” he corrects innocently.
“I’m not sure,” you answer hesitantly. “Cuddling works too.”
You’re not too experienced—Seungcheol having been your first a few months ago—so having sex in such an exposed space feels like you’re skipping some imaginary steps.
He gives you a reassuring smile. “Then cuddles it is. Let me get the other blanket.”
Seungcheol moves to reach backwards. With his back no longer holding the blanket, it pools around the both of you. The cold air hits your body, causing you to shiver again. Even with the second blanket, you will only be warm for a little bit before the coldness consumes you again. You could say the same about what Seungcheol proposed, but at least you would have more fun.
You stare at him as he gathers both blankets and wraps them around you again.
“What?” he asks when he sees the flint in your eyes.
“M-maybe I’ve changed my mind,” you say a little nervously.
“Oh?” he wonders. “You don’t have to. I’m really okay with just cuddling.”
Your hands on his shoulders slowly slide down until they rest flat on his chest. You can feel his heart pumping quicker as the seconds tick by.
“I-I just don’t want to go to jail,” you say.
Seungcheol grins, rubbing up and down your arms to warm them. “Like I said, I don’t think anyone is going to catch us, and the snow will slow down the towing people. Plus, I’m sure Soonyoung and Seokmin will come bail us out.”
You huff at his last sentence. “Why them?”
“Because if they can’t do it the normal way, at least they can cause a big enough distraction so we can escape.”
“Babe,” you whine. You don’t like the thought of being a fugitive.
“Relax, angel,” Seungcheol chuckles. “It’ll be fine, but you don’t hav—Hmph!”
Not wanting to repeat the conversation, you lean forward as he’s talking and press your lips on his.
Seungcheol grips your arms in shock but soon eases his hold once he gets his bearings. His hands move to your waist and pull you closer until your arms fold against his chest from the close proximity.
With a surge of boldness, you wiggle your arms away and readjust to grab onto the seat behind him for leverage. He moans into the kiss when you start circling your hips against his.
“Just shut up and get me warm,” you mumble into the kiss.
Seungcheol smiles against your lips as he nods. His cold hands slip under your shirt to push your bra up. He doesn’t want to get you completely naked since it’s cold, so this will do.
You sigh softly when he gropes your breasts, massaging them gently. The contact heats your body blissfully.
He pulls away from the kiss to look at you. “Feeling better already?”
“A little,” you reply meekly.
Seungcheol gives one last squeeze to your breasts before pushing your shirt up. A gasp leaves your mouth when the cold air hits your bare torso. You try to pull the material down, but he keeps a firm grip on it.
“Kinda wanna press you against the window like this,” he murmurs.
“C-Cheol!” you scold.
“What?” he asks, suppressing his wicked grin.
“People will for sure see us then! Plus,” you begin to pout more, “it’ll be cold.”
“You’ll warm up when I start fucking that pretty pussy of yours.”
Your face heats at his vulgar words. You’re not used to people speaking in such a way, but you can’t deny the way your walls tighten in anticipation.
“Think about it,” he suggests, then leans down to latch his mouth onto one of your nipples.
Your lips part at the sudden difference in temperature on your chest. Seungcheol’s warm mouth feels so good.
Your hands move to play with his hair, fingers tugging on the strands occasionally.
Seungcheol pulls you closer to him as his eyes flutter close. He’s licking and sucking your nipple like it’s his favorite way to pass time. The sight itself makes you moan.
You can feel Seungcheol’s bulge press against your core, which makes your arousal pool in your underwear more. Hesitantly, you start grinding your hips against him. Though when Seungcheol hums against your chest and pulls away with a soft pop, you stop moving. Your hands fall away from his hair to land on his shoulders.
“Don’t be shy, baby. Make yourself feel good,” he reassures, giving your lips a quick kiss for encouragement.
“I-Is this right?” you question, moving your hips again albeit a bit slower.
He grins. “Whatever makes you feel good is right. Do you feel good right now?”
“I—kinda.”
“Kinda? Is there something else you want?” he asks, carefully pulling your shirt down and cupping your face.
Your eyes dart away from his brown ones. It seems you used all your bold moves earlier.
Seungcheol begins to glide his thumb across your cheeks lovingly.
“Show me what you want,” he instructs gently and offers one of his hands.
You glance at it. Seungcheol has used this tactic several times in the past. It’s a way for you to take charge in your own way. It isn’t that he makes you uncomfortable, but it takes time to get used to things you’ve never experienced before.
You’re grateful Seungcheol is so understanding. Some of your exes became exes for being the opposite.
Taking his hand, you push it down until it rests against his crotch.
Seungcheol smiles. “My good girl just wants to get to the main course, hm?”
His light attitude lessens your nervousness.
“Need to feel you,” you murmur.
“I need to feel you too, baby girl,” he agrees and leans up to capture your lips.
You lax at the feeling of his plush lips, hands sliding down his arms to play with his shirt. Seungcheol eases your mouth open so he can slip his tongue inside as he grabs your wrists. He guides your hands under his shirt slowly. You feel his abs tense momentarily at the cool touch of your skin.
Once your hands are settled against his chest, he releases you. You take the opportunity to rub your hands along his torso, enjoying the feel of his strong muscles beneath your palms.
After a while, you finally pull away with a gasp.
“You give the best kisses,” Seungcheol compliments.
You grin. “I’ve gotten better?”
“You were never bad to begin with,” he chuckles. “But yes, you have improved.”
Your smile grows at his words.
“You’re so fucking cute,” he huffs as if it’s too much for him to bear.
“Now, we better hurry before help arrives,” he says and gently lays you back on the car seats.
The blankets get tangled, but Seungcheol pulls them away and leaves them on the floorboard. You supposed you don’t need them at the moment anyway.
Seungcheol nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck and starts kissing your skin. His hands grab ahold of your sweatpants and pull them down. Before you can complain about the coldness, one of his hands slither between your legs to circle your clit.
“Gotta’ prep you a bit, okay? Then I’ll give you want, angel.”
You nod and wrap your arms around his shoulders.
Seungcheol continues to pepper kisses against your neck, but you can tell his attention is elsewhere.
His fingers glide down and slip between your folds.
“I could slide in so easily right now with how wet you are,” he moans.
“T-then do it,” you say,
He shakes his head. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”
Carefully, he slides one finger inside your dripping hole.
You bite your lip and remind yourself to relax.
Seungcheol stops kissing and simply rests his head against your shoulder. His eyes are closed as he pumps the single digit a few times before adding a second. You moan softly, legs spreading a little wider despite the small space.
“Doing okay?” he asks after a while.
“Yes,” you reply. “More, please.”
Seungcheol nods and slips in a third finger. However, not long after, he adds a fourth. He moves them slowly, not seeing the need to speed up when he’s saving that for later.
A gasp escapes at the stretch. It feels good, but each pump of his fingers makes you eager for his cock.
“Cheol,” you beg.
“Okay,” he says and removes his fingers. He brings them to his mouth and licks up your arousal. The lewd sight makes you want to look away, but you’re also mesmerized by how satisfied Seungcheol looks.
“When we get to the hotel, I’m going to eat you out for hours. You taste so fucking good,” he groans, then pushes his sweatpants down.
You turn your head and bite your lip. Seungcheol laughs and leans over you, arms caging you in.
“That a yes, princess?”
You peep at him and nod. “Yes.”
“That a girl,” he praises and pecks your lips.
“Just tell me if it hurts, okay?” he asks while aligning his tip to your entrance.
You nod, used to him saying that, but you know he means it.
Seungcheol waits for a second before easing inside. He slides in smoothly from how soaked you are. A small mewl comes from you. Although he prepped you, he’s still big and stretches you more than his fingers did.
As usual, the first few seconds are… indescribable. It doesn’t hurt as much, but you still need to get used to his size. The stretch is a mix of pleasure and pain—though the pleasure is more prominent.
“Oh, fuck,” Seungcheol curses while pushing more of his length inside.
“Feels good, Cheol,” you moan when he presses himself fully against you.
Seungcheol eyes flicker from where you’re connected to your eyes.
“Tell me when,” he instructs and rests his forehead on yours.
A minute ticks by until you tell him he can move. Seungcheol doesn’t waste another second and starts slowly gliding in and out of you. The sensation causes you to fill the car with your whimpers.
The coldness in the car seems to fade away with each thrust. The windows are fogging up and it’s getting a little stuffy; however, your focus is solely on Seungcheol’s cock rubbing against your walls heavenly.
His pace eventually increases as you relax more. He continues for some time until a certain sharp snap of his hips has you crying out.
“Shit, I—” Seungcheol begins to apologize.
“Again, Cheol. Please. Again.”
“A-are you sure? Did I hurt you?” he questions.
“No,” you beg with a cry. “Need that again.”
“Fuck, okay, baby,” he rasps.
Seungcheol pulls out most of the way then slams his hips forward. You gasp his name and clench around him. It’s a sight he wants to capture in his mind forever.
The heat in the car has increased and sweat beads are forming on both of your bodies.
You tug off your shirt and bra to get some air.
Seungcheol moans at the sight of your exposed breasts and moves a hand to grip one. He massages it in his hand and continues to snap his hips. He feels like he’s losing his mind slowly at how good you feel wrapped around him, but he wants to try something different.
“Come here, angel,” he huffs and pulls out.
Your lips dip down as you whine at the emptiness. Seungcheol coos at you, adjusting positions so he’s sat with you above him. He discarded both of your sweatpants fully in the process. He then guides his hard cock between your legs and slowly eases you down.
You moan loudly as your pussy gets filled once more. Your hands clutch his shoulders for stability and try not to get nervous at the new position. It’s not often you’re on top.
Sensing your worry, Seungcheol gives you a reassuring massage on your hips.
“I’ll guide you, okay?”
You nod.
Seungcheol smiles, lifting you until his tip remains then pushing you back down carefully.
Your eyes drift from his face to where you both connect. Seeing how his cock disappears makes you clench around him. The sight is arousing, and a sense of pride fills your chest seeing how much easier you can take him now.
Without realizing it, your hips begin to move. You start with the pace Seungcheol has set but gradually move faster. You become addicted to the feel of his cock against your walls and need to feel it more.
It’s not until your thighs start to burn that you slow in realization.
“Don’t slow down,” Seungcheol groans, eyes hooded as he rests his head back on the seat. “Fucking me so good, baby. I knew you could do it.”
“A-are you close?” you question, a little shy.
He hums while nodding.
“Keep moving,” he says, guiding your hips up and down. Seeing how fucked out he is spurs your movements to quicken. Eventually, Seungcheol’s hands relax on your body while he watches you bounce on his cock.
“Fuck,” he curses lowly, eyes taking in your body above his. Your tits look so good and your pussy feels so tight.
Unable to stop himself, he grips your hips firmly and starts thrusting upwards.
You gasp, mouth hanging open as he chases his high. The sound of skin slapping skin feels loud in your ears, but part of you loves it. You love hearing and feeling how fast he’s sliding his cock in you. You love knowing you’re making him feel so good.
Seungcheol slams into your once more, a guttural groan escaping his mouth as his cum fills your insides. He gives you a few more shallow thrusts before he stills completely. His breathing is labored, and his eyes are shut as he floats back down.
You try not to move, but your orgasm is near, and you need a release.
Seungcheol’s eyes peel open after a few more seconds.
“You need help, angel?” he asks when he sees you trying not to squirm.
You pull your lower lip between your teeth and nod.
Seungcheol plants a kiss on your forehead, then adjusts your bodies. He leans against one of the doors while sitting you between his legs, back to his chest. He hooks one of your legs over his to spread you open. You’re so focused on Seungcheol that it doesn’t cross your mind how exposing the position is from the opposing window’s view.
Seungcheol runs his hands down your body, briefly squeezing your breasts before he slides them between your legs. He circles your clit with one hand and uses the other to slide into your dripping hole. He pumps his fingers a few times before pulling out to look at his hand.
His digits are covered with a mix of your arousal and his cum. The sight makes you squeeze your legs and for Seungcheol to moan deeply behind you.
“So messy just for me,” he murmurs, then plunges his fingers back into your cunt.
He moves both his hands quickly, bringing forth your impending orgasm.
“Play with your tits, baby,” Seungcheol rasps. “Don’t forget to make yourself feel good.”
You adhere to his request and bring your hands to squeeze your breasts. Your head falls back against his chest, moans spilling out of you nonstop as you pinch and fondle yourself while Seungcheol continues to circle and pump his fingers.
Seungcheol’s name falls from your mouth incoherently as you climax, your body slightly jerking in his hold as pleasure washes over your body.
“That’s it, baby girl,” he praises in your ear. His fingers still move quickly until he feels you start to relax.
Seungcheol angles your face so he can kiss you. He holds you close, one hand pressing against your tummy while the other keeps your head in place. The kiss is sloppy, but neither of you care.
“You still cold?” he teases after he pulls away.
“No,” you mumble, hiding your face from him.
He laughs and leans down to grab your clothes. “If you are, we can go another round.”
“M-maybe we should wait. The towing people should be here soon,” you say.
Seungcheol nudges you and mumbles, “Arms.”
You comply, lifting your arms slightly so he can put on your clothes. He kisses your shoulder blade after he’s done. You both slide on your sweatpants again, then cuddle once more.
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About fifteen minutes pass when bright lights shine nearby.
The worker eyes you both—taking in the fogged windows and disheveled clothing. It doesn’t take a genius to put the pieces together. Nevertheless, they say nothing and get started with trying to fix the vehicle.
Maybe the road trip didn’t go as planned, and maybe you’ll miss the festival, but at least you had some fun nonetheless.
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©️hongcherry // DO NOT REPOST OR MODIFY Please consider reblogging if you liked this work to show your support. Feedback/commentary is always welcomed.
taglist (tbh i forgot abt this but i will start doing it now! sorry!): @cheolcherries, @oncloudvii23, @mystikhal-blog, @lithelust, @doom-fics
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popquizhot-shot · 8 months
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EVERYTHING IS FINE- Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader
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this is it. angsty asf. bittersweet ending it’s sad people. tw: infidelity. based on my most recent post. please comment i’m literally begging you and tell me how you like it<3
In the depths of your heart, you already know. Your Miguel is not yours anymore.
You remember the stolen glances between him and Dana where you pretended not to notice the palpable tension between the three of you amidst the throng of about ten other people in the house.
It was a nice dinner that you’d planned, after spending almost a week away because of your actual job as well as your little side gig that was being a part of spider society.
But fifteen minutes into the little shin-dig and you get a call from none other than your boss. Not the nice one who showed you the ropes when you first joined and provided you with hours of mentorship. The bitch that was a variant of your husband was currently floating above your watch as you glared at him in the bathroom.
“We need you.”
“Not today.”
“It’s an emergency.”
“It’s always an emergency.” you roll your eyes.
“Look this was unplanned, you think my life’s aim is to torment you?”
“Kind of.” you nod and he groans, “Give me twenty minutes.”
——
At the end of twenty minutes, you storm out of your house as quietly as you can, yes it’s an oxymoron but you’re pissed off.
At Miguel, at your husband, at yourself.
Your mother always said that you were one to pity yourself, even when every bad thing that happened was the result of your own actions. All your life you’ve disagreed, but now you think that maybe your mother was probably right.
None of this would have happened if you’d just said no. No to Dana making her way into your marriage to her guy best friend and co-worker.No to the variant of him with fangs and red eyes and No to your own urge of fucking things up because you wanted to see what happened. If maybe what your heart felt was wrong. That there was nothing wrong with you and Miguel, that he still loved you.
You let out a shaky breath and open a portal from an alleyway behind your apartment building. The purple hue reflects onto your face. No, you weren’t a spider. Just a traveller that stumped your boss and changed his perception of everything he knew about the multiverse.
The man himself nodded at you as you stepped onto the platform he was standing on, looking back to the holo of what looked like a rogue Doc Ock, Goblin and another Spiderman.
“What, now we have evil spidermen? Isn’t that breaking the canon?” you raise an eyebrow.
“That’s the thing. There’s no canon event broken. He was meant to be a villain. Yet, I’ve never heard of him, or of this universe.”
You look at him like he’s just told you that he used to be a stripper in college and all his money came from his side-gig, “I’m sorry, what? The all powerful Miguel O’Hara with the pixel suit doesn’t know of the existence of a universe?”
“You’re being real helpful right now.” he grumbles.
“Thank you, I knew you’d appreciate the help.”
——
The house is quiet when you walk in, evidently everyone has left. The kitchen has been cleaned and the lights are off.
He’d always been your biggest supporter. Always so humble even though he had a high position and a fat paycheck, always telling you to let him help you. Doing some of your work for you when you were busy.
The bedroom door creaked a little as you enter, the sound of your loves breathing makes you crack a small smile. His hulking figure curled up and moving up and down. His face slack.
God he was so beautiful.
You shed your clothes and go through your night routine as fast as you can. Brushing your teeth and scrubbing your face. Cursing the pimples that always make their way onto your forehead at the wrong time.
The mattress squeaks as you get on, slowly wrapping your hands around his body. He stirs and looks up at you, his eyes softening. He’d been drinking, you can tell. He hasn’t looked at you like this for a while.
“Hi.” his hands cup your face and you smile softly as you kiss his rough palm. Your own covering his.
“Sorry I disturbed you. Thank you for cleaning up.” your hands mirror his actions, thumbs caressing his cheekbones.
He answers you with a soft kiss. And then another. And his hands are travelling down to pull you to him. Engulfing you as he hides his face in the crook of your neck. Your hands move to play with his hair as he drifted back to sleep.
You close your eyes and pretend that everything is fine. That the lipstick stain on his shirt in the laundry basket wasn’t the same as Dana’s.
———
“Are you fucking dumb?” O’Hara seethes, as he disinfects the gash at the bottom of your neck.
“It’s just a graze, i’m fine.” you grumble, “it’s not like anyone’s gonna care if i die.”
“No, just shut your mouth. Stop talking like you’re some martyr. There are plenty of people here who would miss you.”
“Miguel, let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.” you chuckle, “i get it-
“No, you don’t. actually, you don’t get it. the woman i loved died, and she’s gone and i’d do anything to have her back, and you’re so convinced that if you died your own fucking husband wouldn’t want to die too? Stop acting like you’re expendable.” his eyes glow and yours widen, “This may come as a surprise to you, but people care.”
You gulp, “Sorry.”
He grumbles under his breath as he sprays the wound with bacta so it heals faster. Apologising when you wince.
You look at his concentrated face that is focused on wrapping the bandage around your shoulder and the bottom of your neck. His face is mere inches from yours. He is the splitting image of your husband, save from the red eyes and fangs. But this close you can see the differences, his eyebrows are a tad thicker and his ears are smaller.
He is harder and his words are sharp. Your love is soft and quiet. Mean when he has to be, but kinder. More open.
More loving. Yes. He’s more loving and he loves you.
You look away and focus on the ceiling. You don’t see his eyes watching your face. Eyes filled with sadness and want.
——
“Dana, here. Have some tea.” you pour a cup for the woman sitting next to Miguel at the table. At your spot.
Is it toxic to think that maybe you want her to choke on her tea?
She’d started to carpool with Miguel a few months ago , seeing as they worked together and were on the same team, it was more efficient and made more sense.
You didn’t want to seem like a toxic wife so you nodded and agreed, because you were secure in your relationship with your husband.
“Thank you.” she says your name with a wide smile as she sips the tea, “Amazing, as always.”
“I know right, she makes amazing tea.” he smiles at her and raises an eyebrow. Dana snorts.
You look between the pair trying to hide their smiles, “Did I miss something?” an awkward smile makes its way onto your face.
“Inside joke, you wouldn’t get it. It’s a scientist thing. I don’t think your writer brain could handle it.” Dana waves you away as if you’re a fucking waiter and you bristle.
But what drives it home is that Miguel laughs out loud when she says that. His hair flops onto his forehead and Dana fixes it for him, her hands running through this hair.
You fight the urge to break a plate on her head but you know it’ll be fruitless. Because your husband will take her side.
Maybe you’re just being dramatic. Maybe the tears you’re trying to hide as you make breakfast are unwarranted and you can’t take a joke.
Everything is fine.
You call out to them from the kitchen, telling them you’re going to be late and his voice is brighter when he says, “Okay, honey.”
—————
“You okay?”
“I’m fine, boss.”
“You look dead.”
“Your eyes bags suggest the same.”
“You’re hilarious.” O’Hara smirks
“Thank you.” you take a sip of the beer he’d passed.
It was late, far past dinner time. And the both of you had taken time to go over the record of what anomalies were most common and key weaknesses in most villains.
“But seriously, are you okay?”
You gulp, “Tell me about your wife. Please.”
He blanches, and then looks at the tears welling up in your eyes.
“Well, where to begin?” he turns to face you, “She…was a writer, she had her own business. She loved sunflowers because they faced each other when the sun wasn’t in the sky.” he smiles sadly, “she was terrified of frogs and dead fish. And she hated onions. The pickiest fucking eater.” he shakes his head and chuckles.
“She sounds sweet.” you know she was variant of you, Miguel had shown you the web of life and in every universe there was version of you that made their way into his life. It was beautiful, honestly.
“She had short hair, and her smile. God, it could make anyone’s day better.” he rested his head on his hand and looked at the hologram shining in front of the both of you.
“She sounds like a dream.” you reply.
“She was.” he nods.
“Hey would you mind bringing up a live of my house?” you ask.
“Why?”
“Humour me, will you?”
He grumbles and a hologram showing your universe pops up, on the screen is your living room. And Miguel freezes when he sees the scene before him.
He sees himself kiss Dana. The version of him who is married, is kissing his co-worker. He’s taking her in his arms and nuzzling her nose. He’s pecking her cheeks and tickling her like she’s his wife.
Like he’s in love with her.
“I love you.” his voice echoes throughout the room. And Dana says it back.
His head whips to look at you. You don’t look surprised, rather, you look defeated. You breathe out like it’s a finality. Your beautiful beautiful eyes transfixed on offending scene in front of you.
Before anything else happens, he shuts it off. Immediately turning to look at your frozen form, “Hey, you with me?”
You shake your head and smile. Eyes still fixed onto where the hologram was, “I’m fine.” Tears fall down your cheeks as your mouth quivers, “I’m okay. Everyday he comes back around this time. And they carpool. I told him I’d be late today. Just after I made them tea and they laughed at an inside joke amongst themselves.”
His eyes widens, “Oh honey.” his moves to hug you and you let out an ugly sob, “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
“I knew it.” you say into his chest, “I’m so fucking stupid.”
His hand pats your back, “You’re not stupid.”
“I mean, I know i was busy, i know i wasnt always home. But I tried, i fucking tried. WHAT IS SO WRONG WITB ME?” the dam breaks and you let out a wrecked shout of agony that breaks his heart into two, “Why wasn’t I good enough?!” your body shakes violently.
“No.” he says firmly, taking your face in his hands, almost squeezing your cheeks and forcing you to looking at him, your hands fly to cover his, “ You are good enough. You are enough. Listen to me. That fucking idiot doesn’t know who he just lost.”
“But-But if i wasnt so busy-
“If he had a problem, he should’ve told you. He’s a fucking pussy.”
Your words are silenced when he shakes you once, hands still holding your cheeks, “You are the most perfect person. And the both of them will pay. I promise that, cariño.”
His arms wrap around you to engulf you as you hide your face in the crook of his neck, rapid breaths slowing. His pulse beats and you can feel the vibrations on your own skin.
You close your eyes and pretend everything is fine. Because you’re in his arms.
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jayteacups · 4 months
Text
It's A Wrap!
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Working on Attack on Titan as a makeup artist has irreversibly changed your life. As the end rapidly approaches, you find that letting go is harder than you’d thought. After years of harbouring feelings for Levi that you can’t divulge, his final day on set arrives. You know it’s time to say goodbye to him and part ways—but maybe you don’t have to. 
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Pairing: Levi Ackerman x GN!Reader 
Tags & warnings: Actor!Levi, Makeup artist!Reader, fluff, confessions, friends/idiots to lovers, alcohol consumption, briefly implied sexual content, AOT finale spoilers
Word count: 6.9k words
A/N: I’m back, happy Levi month everyone! I wrote this over the last month to cope with the fact AOT was ending and also life stuff. This is incredibly self indulgent, also I would love to tell more stories and scenarios in this AU, so this probably won’t be the last one-shot I write for actor!Levi and MUA!Reader hehehe. Disclaimer that I don't work in film or TV or makeup, sorry if there are any inaccuracies. Also please forgive me for the uncreative title, lol. Hope you enjoy the fic!
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Levi’s last day on set is bittersweet. 
For the final time, you lean against the wall and count down the seconds on your watch. The trailer door swings open to reveal the man of the hour. On par for the course, Levi arrives fifteen minutes on the dot before his scheduled arrival time. He’s holding his usual steaming flask of tea in one hand, with a nondescript rucksack (save for a Badtz-Maru keychain gifted to him from the Sanrio collaboration) slung over his shoulder. 
“Hey,” you greet him, pushing off from the wall, moving towards him like a moth to flame. He sets down his things in the sitting area and meets you halfway, letting you pull him into your arms. After years of working alongside each other, you’ve both grown accustomed to greeting each other like this in private, especially after the stress the two of you had put yourselves under during the Season 3 shoots. 
“How are you feeling? It’s your last day.” You ask him as the two of you part. To your dismay, you’re already missing the warmth of his embrace. 
“I’m fine. I’m not going to get all sappy about it.” His face is placid.
“That’s what Hange said when they filmed their death scene, and we saw how that ended,” you say lightheartedly. Hange had sworn to remain jovial and upbeat throughout their last day, but after seeing the several other actors cry at their phenomenal acting, they had promptly broken down. “And I bet you anything that Eren’s going to say that when he and Mikasa do the cabin scene next week, and we all know he’ll be the first to start crying and the last to stop.” 
Levi rolls his eyes before he enters the wardrobe area, but you know he’s not serious. “If you think I’m going to break down in tears like Hange and the kids did, you’re dead wrong,” he continues, out of sight. 
You smile. “Sure. It’s alright, you know, if you do end up crying. It’s an end of an era, we’re all going to get emotional.” 
A few moments later, Levi emerges in costume, sans the bandages. He sits down in front of the mirror at the vanity table. “Yes, but I’m satisfied with what I’ve done here, and I have no regrets,” he muses out loud, continuing on from before. “And it’s not like I’m done with the show. There’s the wrap party, then the press tour and all that. So don’t expect me to get all worked up today. I’m not saying goodbye to Attack on Titan just yet.” His voice softens towards the end. 
But it is goodbye for us, you wish to say. And I don’t want it to be. You haven’t been contracted for any of their press events. After you finish with Attack on Titan, you’ll have a handful of weeks before your upcoming contract for a new show begins. It’s a wonderful opportunity; the show is airing on a major streaming service and requires you to push your SFX skills to the limit. Sasha had been cast in one of the main roles and both Onyankopon and Nifa will make appearances too, so you’ll see some familiar faces on this new project. But selfishly, you aren’t ready to let go and move forward. Selfishly, you aren’t ready to part ways with Levi. 
Sure, the two of you will make an effort to talk every now and then. You know him far better than to assume he’ll stop talking to you the moment Attack on Titan is finished; despite him being standoffish at first, it’s clear Levi cares deeply about everybody he’s ever worked with, cast or crew alike. But the chances of your demanding schedules ever lining up again are close to zero, and sooner or later, your frequent messages will fizzle out into a conversation lost to the ages. You’ll drift, until the two of you are strangers once more. It’s inevitable; you’ve seen it happen before with your actor friends from old projects. No doubt it’ll happen again. 
You consider addressing the elephant in the room, wondering if it lingers on his mind, too. But instead, you hum in agreement and pass him a headband to hold his hair out of the way. He puts it on, clearly content to not bring it up just yet. 
Levi chews on the inside of his cheek as you sort out your equipment on the vanity table. Your eyes are immediately drawn to his lips, which are a little more chapped than usual. It’s clear there is something else that’s bothering him, but you decide to let it go for now. Sometimes Levi just needs to sit with his thoughts for a moment. You’ve learned that being pushed just makes him close himself off even more. A life in the limelight can be unforgiving. Kuchel Ackerman had been the brightest star of her generation, but behind the scenes, her personal life was far from glamorous. It doesn’t surprise you that her son keeps his heart and feelings well-guarded. 
As he sits and stews, you apply chapstick and some basic ‘barely-there’ makeup on his face, before creating the illusion of a hard-fought battle by adding a light layer of grime to his face. You’ll add more after the scar and bandages. As you work, Levi takes out a folder from his bag, which is embellished with a small cat sticker that Hange had stuck on years ago. From it, he takes his copy of the script, nary a crease in the sheets. Brow furrowed, he reads it over and over, mouthing his lines with the fervour of a prayer. 
Now, that is odd. 
“There is something on your mind, isn’t there?” You’ve also read the script for today’s scene. The director had decided to save Levi’s most poignant scene—where his character salutes the ghosts of his fallen comrades—for the very end of his shoot. (Levi’s epilogue scene had been shot a week prior.) This would be his most challenging scene yet, for it would be the first time he and his character will ever cry on screen. “You can tell me if you want. Anything you need to help you focus. There’s still time.” You give him a quick squeeze on his shoulder. 
Stormy eyes glance up at his reflection, than up at yours. He puts down the script and sighs, voice subdued. “I just want to do the Captain’s ending justice, and I don’t think I can.” 
“I think you can,” you murmur. You gesture for him to close his eyes, and pick up your finest brush. Willing your hand and heart into steadiness, you bring the brush up to his forehead, where the largest scar begins. You’ll never get used to how infuriatingly gorgeous he is. “No. I know you can. There is no doubting just how much you care about portraying him correctly.” 
He swallows. “Well, I’ve never cried on camera before.” He stops, giving you a moment to work. 
With the utmost care, you begin to draw the main line of the largest scar, the one that passes through his eye and lips. As the brush passes over his eyelid, it twitches ever so slightly, his long lashes tickling your hand. Smiling, you brush away a stray lash that had fallen onto his cheek. As you extend the line down his cheek, you try to reassure him. Levi’s usually so steadfast, but it makes sense that something like this would grow heavy on his mind. 
“You’ve been practicing it with your coach, though, right? I mean, I’ve had to cover up your swollen eyes a number of times this season.” 
“Yeah. Thanks for that, by the way.” 
“Don’t mention it.” 
The brush reaches his lips. He opens his eyes, looking up at you through lowered lashes. Your heart aflutter, you staunchly ignore any and all thoughts of kissing him. Doing so has become more and more difficult with every passing day. Especially when every now and then, you think you see him glancing down at your lips whenever you lean in close to examine a detail of your work. 
It’s more than likely that you’re imagining it, though. 
Finally, the brush reaches his chin, finishing the outline of the first scar. You lean back to admire your work. After many instances of painstakingly painting on the scars and agonising over continuity, you don’t have to look at your old reference pictures to know the exact shape and curve of them, down to the millimetre. But you do so anyway, and smile in satisfaction when you compare today’s line to the pictures from the first time you drew them on him for practice. A perfect match. 
“I know you’ve been working hard at it,” you continue assuring him, putting down the reference photos. “You’ve definitely come a long way.” 
“Yeah, but I’m shit at it, actually. All those times we joked about how Eren would take forever to conjure a single tear every time he needed to cry, and now here I am in the exact same position. He’s going to rub this in my face should he ever find out.” He chews the inside of his cheek again, looking down. “Damn it. Don’t know what’s wrong with me today. I’m not… I don’t get nervous. I don’t show up to work feeling unprepared. That isn’t me. But today, it is.” 
It’s unsettling, to see him so unsure of himself. His nerves are understandable, as he came into the show with more of a stuntman background and little actual acting experience. But anybody who’s worked alongside him could easily tell you just how dedicated he is to improving his craft, and that nobody else could play the Captain with the same quiet subtleties that Levi brings to the screen. 
You hope your smile is somewhat reassuring to him. “And that’s okay. You know, crying on command really isn’t easy. I’ve worked with countless actors and many also find it difficult.” In your experience, most actors need a while to work themselves up to cry. The most obvious exception is Armin, who has the unnerving ability to turn it on and off like a light switch. “For you, all you need to do is make one tear out of one eye. You’ve managed to do that before, right?” 
He nods, but the firm clench of his jaw and the crease between his brows don’t fade.
“So, it’s nothing that you haven’t practiced. And on the off chance that you can’t do it today, that’s perfectly fine. I have eyedrops in my bag.” 
“Yeah, but…” He shakes his head in frustration. “This is going to sound dumb, but it… I don’t know, that feels like cheating. I know you’re thinking I’m being an idiot, and I probably am. I know eyedrops are common practice. It’s just… This is my character’s last moment before the epilogue, and I want it to be real. I don’t want to take the easy way out.” 
“No, it’s not stupid. There’s no shame in needing to use eyedrops if you end up not being able to cry today, but it’s really admirable that you want to do it as authentically as possible. I think that since this is your final scene, and so many people are returning this morning, it’ll be easier than usual to muster up those tears.” Reaching for a set of different brushes and paint, you instruct him, “here’s what we’re going to do. I need you to just listen whilst I do the rest of your scars. I don’t want you to get trapped in your head about this, okay? Overthinking will just make it harder to get into character. Isn’t that what you said to Mikasa all those years back? It worked wonders for her. I often forget that this show was her first ever gig, with how good she’s become.” 
He scoffs. “Really? You’re using my own words against me?”
“Well, what use is your own advice if you can’t follow it yourself?” 
After a moment of hesitation, Levi sighs in defeat and closes his eyes again. “Shit, you’re relentless. Fine, then. I’ll trust you.” 
You get to work, drawing the outlines of the second scar parallel to the first, then the smaller ones on his other cheek. As you add in the details, such as the texture of the stitches, you remind Levi of another story that he himself told you. He’d never worked with horses before being cast in this show, and yet was one of the quickest learners. Unsurprisingly so, since he’s incredibly kinaesthetically intelligent. To this day, the cast insists he looks the most at ease atop a horse, only second to Erwin, who actually used to ride in his childhood. You remind him that every single time, his hard work has more than paid off.
Somewhere down the line, you go off topic. Levi makes no move to stop you. In fact, he seems content just to listen to you talk about anything, everything. As the wounds take shape on his face, you reminisce on anecdotes from set, on the time the two of you spent together. With fondness, you recall your first meeting. Back then, you were an lowly assistant on the SFX team, transforming an unassuming man into the wounded soldier who, in his dying moments, listened to the Captain’s vow to eradicate the titans and bring meaning to his sacrifice. You talk about how the two of you grew closer during the filming of the second season, when Levi had a lot more free time to talk. How difficult the third season had been to film due to both of you being spread thin by additional responsibilities.
You skim over that time Levi mentioned you in an interview when asked about a favourite memory on set, and how warm it made you feel. You don’t talk about how you’d genuinely teared up after watching the final cut of the scene where Hange discovers a half-dead Levi by the riverbank, despite knowing that his ‘injuries’ were nothing more than your own handiwork.
And, with your heart clenching painfully, you certainly don’t dare to bring up the almost-kiss at last year’s cast and crew Halloween party.
——— 
“Cut! Perfect! Aaand that’s a wrap for Levi!” 
The set erupts into thunderous applause. You clap heartily alongside the rest of the cast and crew. A deafening symphony of whoops and cheers fills the air, and if not for the growing lump in your throat, you’d join in too. 
A standing ovation. Levi deserves it and more. Just as you expected, every angle the director wanted to capture had needed one take each, not a single one more. No eyedrops needed. 
From your position, you can see Levi still sitting by the rock. Strangely, he makes no move to get up. Curious as to why, you peer past some crew members that had moved in the way, but you’re greeted with a sight that pulls at your heartstrings. Your eyes sting with new tears. 
Curled up by the rock, Levi has his face buried in his hands, his shoulders heaving with quiet sobs. 
Something in your chest aches. You knew that he would get emotional at the end—there was no way he wouldn’t, especially considering that his character cried too—but you didn’t expect him to feel so overwhelmed. 
On instinct, your feet propel you towards him, but you’re promptly cut off by a few other crew members moving around. Through your rapidly blurring vision, you can only watch as several of the returning cast members rush forward from the smoke. Hange reaches him first, and pulls him into a bone-crushing hug. Erwin is second, kneeling next to the duo and rubbing Levi’s back comfortingly. 
Sniffling, you quickly wipe away your tears, remembering suddenly that you still have something to do. Unnoticed, you slip away from set.
There is a tradition amongst the cast that whenever a character dies, the actor receives a bouquet of flowers from the cast and crew. (A size limit had to be enforced after a very emotional Gabi had presented Sasha with a bouquet so large it couldn’t fit through the trailer door.) For this final season, the tradition has expanded to gifting the actor a bouquet when they wrap, for the characters that survive all the way to the very end. 
The door to Connie’s trailer is unlocked when you arrive, just as he said it would be. Inside, you find a vase full of vibrantly coloured flowers on the kitchenette counter in the exact spot where you’d left it earlier this morning. Several weeks ago, the cast and crew had all nominated you to put in the order for the bouquet and present it to Levi on his final day, and Connie had offered to help you hide it from Levi until it was time. Careful to not drip water all over the floor, you pick up the flowers and jog back to set. 
The fog machines are being carried out by the time you return. You immediately scan the set for Levi, but it seems he has been completely buried under a massive group hug with the veterans cast, no doubt Hange’s doing. You can’t help but smile at the sight. Most of the crew members appear to be taking a break before clean-up, as it is the end of the day. The air is filled with chatter, but a hush descends upon the crowd as you approach. 
The actors peel away from the hug one by one. A smiling Petra helps Levi get to his feet. The bandages on his face are halfway unravelled. With one hand, he yanks them off, leaving both of his eyes to gaze at you unobstructed, ablaze with an intense emotion you can’t quite place. With his other hand, he quickly wipes away the half-dried tears on his cheeks. 
“On behalf of the cast and crew,” you say hoarsely, “I give you these.” You step forward and present him the bouquet. “It’s been an honour. Thank you for everything, Levi.” 
His fingers gently graze yours as he takes the flowers from you. Tenderly, he holds them close to his chest. 
“I was wondering where you went just now,” he says. Of course he’d noticed. “Should’ve known you’d be the one to give me this…” His voice wavers towards the end. He scoffs and wipes at his eyes. “And to think I was done blubbering like a baby. Damn it. You were right.” 
He pulls you into a hug without a second thought. 
——— 
Somehow, you’ve been roped into taking photos for everyone. Levi unwraps the bandages around his hand before he begins. He first takes a photo with the director and producer, who both thanking him dearly. They part with a handshake. Almost immediately after, the cast members of the Alliance, along with Eren and Zeke, all swarm forward for a big group photo. They’d all come to watch in support, even if several of them weren’t scheduled to come in today. Connie confesses that he’d helped hide the bouquet by letting you into his trailer. Levi makes a light-hearted remark that he should’ve figured that out too, considering Connie also helped hide Hange’s bouquet—which Levi himself had been responsible for ordering and retrieving. 
The veteran actors come forward next. Fitting them all into the camera frame was a challenge, but you manage to do it after one of your makeup assistants finds you a stool. Somehow, Erwin manages to persuade Levi into doing the Scout salute with the rest of them. (“I just did it in the scene, though… Fine, I’ll indulge in your corniness for today, you dorks.”) When he presses his fist to his chest one last time, the veterans erupt into cheers. 
Hange and Erwin both stay back for a little longer. The trio pose for more photos, all grinning widely, though you decide to put a stop to the mini-photoshoot when Hange attempts to pick Levi up bridal-style and almost drops him. 
(“When I said ‘put me down’, I didn’t mean for you to drop me with no fucking warning!” 
“I didn’t mean to drop you. Besides, I caught you, didn’t I? You’re fine, see?”) 
After that fiasco, Levi asks to take one with the original Special Ops Squad, as it had been years since they’d managed to meet up. 
Zeke comes back for another photo, slipping one arm around Levi’s shoulders. As you meet the taller man’s eyes over the top of his phone, he winks mischievously, holding two fingers up in bunny ears above Levi’s unsuspecting head. Say nothing, he mouths to you. With a herculean effort, you suppress your laugh. Zeke has made it his personal mission to photobomb every main cast member from the finale. After months of shooting, Levi is the last one standing, and it’s incredibly entertaining how hard Zeke tries to finish his mission, even now. 
“Hand down, Zeke.” 
“Damn it, how did you know?” 
“You’re about as subtle as Reiner is when he pretends he hasn’t broken a prop.” 
Zeke laughs. “Nothing gets past you, Levi, does it?”
As the two continue to playfully bicker, more jokes than actual verbal barbs, you open the photo you’d managed to take split seconds before Levi called Zeke out. “Mission accomplished,” you say, and a delighted Zeke reaches over Levi’s head to high-five you. Looking mildly betrayed, Levi whips his head back around to face you. 
You grin sheepishly as you pass Zeke’s phone back to him, the photo on display. “Sorry. I had to help him.” 
“Why are you two like this?” Levi says, shaking his head, barely holding back a smile. He and Zeke part after a hug and a promise to get drinks soon.
Levi’s promptly joined by Falco and Gabi, and after their photo is taken, he ruffles their hair affectionately, which makes Gabi yelp. He really has stepped into the ‘cast dad’ role, a development that you find endlessly endearing. Soon after, their parents arrive to take them home— the kids have quite an early start tomorrow to film their scenes with Annie and Kiyomi on the boat. 
Jean and Connie take the chance to snatch a couple of selfies with him, before the latter asks if he could join them to film a TikTok for the show’s official account. To Levi’s utmost relief, it isn’t a dance challenge. Connie instead asks him a few questions about how he feels about the show ending, and what the show means to him—he’s putting together a montage of every cast member’s responses. 
On the sidelines, just out of view, you watch Levi give his answers. An ember of warmth kindles in your chest. 
Soon after, Levi’s approached by the stunt team, headed by an old friend of Levi’s from his stuntman days. She’d made a cameo in the third season as Kenny’s lieutenant. You happily take a group photo for them. 
After you hand Caven’s phone back to her, Hange taps you on the shoulder, having finished catching up with the other cast members. You smile as they hug you tight, swaying on the spot; today is the first time you’ve seen them since they filmed their death scene a few months back. 
“It’s so good to see you!” They say, linking arms with yours. “Sorry it took so long to come and find you.” 
“Don’t worry! It’s lovely having you back. How are you finding your return?” 
“It’s great! I’ve really been missing this, even though it hasn’t been that long.” They pout. 
“Oh, we’ve all missed you too, Hange,” you say, smiling. “Have you been up to much since you left?” 
“Well, I visited my dad for a bit, then I sent in an audition tape for this thriller movie that my agent thinks I’ll be a good pick for. I also got a few other offers, but I’m a little on the fence. I’ll consider those if I don’t get that thriller role, but who knows when I’ll hear back from them?” 
“I bet you’ll get it. Thrillers are right up your alley.” 
“You flatter me, dear,” They grin. “Anyways, I am here to say that you are the only one left who has not taken a picture with Levi. And that needs to change. The two of you need something to remember this day by!” You realise they’ve been guiding you towards the rock, where Levi, Mikasa, Armin and Eren are deep in conversation. The younger actors are laughing boisterously at something Levi had said, heads tilted back, sporting wide grins. Levi’s still cradling his bouquet carefully, a soft smile as he speaks, looking up at his younger cast mates with endearment. Your heart warms at the sight. 
The quartet look up as you approach. The younger actors wave goodbye, disappearing into the crowd. Hange quickly ushers you and Levi together, their phone already out of their pocket. “Alrighty, here we go!” They cheer. “Oi, look lively now, Levi. It’s the last photo!” 
“Was about time we did this,” you whisper to him as you come close. At first, you settle into your usual stance whenever you take a photo with a cast member, but Levi is not just any cast member. Not to you. Gnawing on your lip, you grapple with yourself for a fleeting moment. Your professional side barely puts up a resistance, and so you lean in to whisper a question. Briefly, you wonder what it would feel like to kiss the delicate shell of his ear. You banish the traitorous thought, best as you can. 
“Hey, can I put my arm around you for this?” As close as you and Levi have grown over the years, the two of you save your brief hugs for behind the scenes, in private. Physical affection is rare with him otherwise—whilst the cast tend to be very touchy with one another, Levi is usually seen on the sides, watching them with a quiet fondness in his eyes. That hug from earlier—it had to be a fluke, right? 
And yet, he sighs, and bridges the small gap between you. His free arm moves behind you, a warm, firm hand comes to rest at your back. “You don’t have to ask, you know,” he murmurs in return. “I hugged you earlier, didn't I? Quit worrying. Go ahead.” 
Warmth blooming inside you, you lean sideways towards him on impulse. You slide your own arm behind him, and Levi leans into your touch. “Just so you know,” he continues, “it was an honour working with you too.” 
Hange starts to count down from three. A wave of emotion hits you, almost sweeps you off your feet. This is it. Your last day of working with him.
Still so much left unsaid. 
Straining to keep your composure, you offer a wide, bright smile for the camera. 
——— 
The next few hours are spent tidying and cleaning up. Most of the actors have gone home, but Levi stays behind to help out the crew, as he always does without fail. With how emotionally taxing the day had been, it’s a wonder he didn’t go back to his trailer immediately to crash. As if you couldn’t admire him any more. 
Your eyelids are heavy by the time you finish up and arrive at Levi’s trailer. When you enter, he is slumped in a chair in front of the vanity mirror, already changed out of his costume. 
Neither of you say a single word as you carefully wipe away the scars and the grime. Your traitorous hands linger for a split second too long whenever they brush against his smooth skin. In his stormy eyes are that same intense look he’d given you when you first appeared with the bouquet. 
You wonder what it means. 
Sooner or later, one of you will have to break this fragile silence. Levi decides to take the matter into his own hands, catching you off guard. “I guess this is it.”
The sting in your eyes returns with a fierce vengeance. You turn away for a moment, rapidly blinking your oncoming tears away. An invisible vice clamps down, mercilessly clenching your chest. 
You choke on your words, but you get them out somehow. “I’ll miss you.” Not the three words you’ve been yearning to say for the last year, but it will have to do. “I’m going to miss you. So much. It’s been…” You wrack your brain, but there is no singular adjective you know of that could truly describe the past few years working on this show with him. “You know what I mean. Right?” 
“I know what you mean.” Levi stands, turning to face you properly. The troubled crease between his brows return. “Look, I… I have to tell you something. Hear me out?” 
Your heart thunders in your chest. You nod. “Yeah. Of course.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Remember this morning? I said I was satisfied with my work here. That I have no regrets.” 
Barely able to breathe, you can only manage to nod. 
“But that isn’t true. Not really. There is one thing I regret,” he says, slowly, cautiously. 
Voice barely a whisper, you ask. “What is it?” 
“That we never talked about what almost happened at Halloween last year.” 
The world comes to a halt. 
Dimmed lights. Bass reverberates through your bones. The aftertaste of a Bloody Mary lingers on your tongue. Levi is just centimetres away, his chest almost flush with yours. His eyes valiantly fight to stay focused on the intricate titan-shifter makeup on your cheeks, before he gives in and his line of sight drops to your lips. Unconsciously, he leans in slightly, seemingly gravitating towards you.
Devastating. That is the first word that comes to your mind. It is high time you realise that he will be the end of you; he could ask anything of you and you’d do it. Your heart beats for him. 
Caught in his orbit, your face tilts towards his.
A drunken crew member barges past, jostling your shoulder. You yelp, stumbling to the side, before Levi’s hands—warm, steady, safe—catch you. The spell broken, he lets go the moment you are upright, averting his eyes from yours. Levi takes a step backwards—a small one, because there is barely any space in the corner of the room the two of you are tucked into. But to you, he suddenly feels so distant, that he might as well be on the other side of the universe. 
“I need some air,” he says, stoic mask falling back into place. Before you can ask him what’s wrong, Levi turns on his heel and disappears into the crowd, taking all the warmth of the room with him. 
No. This is dangerous territory. Since that night, the two of you had constructed an unspoken agreement to pretend nothing had ever happened. Levi had never made any impression that it was anything other than a drunken lapse in professionalism. For a while, you wondered if he even remembered that moment, or if it had all been in your head, a result of you projecting your own desires onto him. 
Regardless, he had never brought it up. You’d been content to do the same. It was—and still is—impossible to fathom that Levi would ever want you. 
“Tell me,” he says hoarsely, “that I wasn’t imagining things that night, and every day since. Tell me I’m not imagining that you’ve been looking at me like…” 
Your breath hitches in your throat. “Like what?” 
“Like that!” He snaps. His hands tremble in a way you’ve never seen before as he gestures towards you, voice tinged with desperation. “Like how you’re looking at me right now. I-I don’t know how I didn’t see it sooner. Because if I had… maybe I would’ve…” 
The staggering realisation of what he’s trying to say sinks in. 
Choking back a sob of relief, you reach out for his hands, and he offers them to you with no resistance. A light blush sweeps across his face as he stares at your interlocking fingers with something akin to wonder. 
Breathlessly, you dare to ask. “Do you mean it? That if you had known how I felt, you… you would’ve kissed me?”
“Yes. I would’ve. I wanted to, more than anything.” With that, Levi finally looks up from your joined hands. The burning look he’s been giving you all throughout today—you recognise it, now, plain and simple. 
His earlier words ring in your mind. I don’t know how I didn’t see it sooner. 
“Oh, Levi,” you whisper. 
He continues on. “And if I had known how you felt, I wouldn’t have upped and left you like that. I was being a shitty coward, for running away and pretending it never happened, and never giving you an explanation when you deserved one. I was scared, I think, of ruining what we already had. You didn’t imagine anything on my part, it happened, and you didn’t do anything wrong that night… I’m sorry.”
Smiling, you squeeze his hands; warm, steady, safe. “You aren’t imagining things on my end either. I’m in love with you, and have been for a while now.” You don’t need him to say those precious words back for now—Levi’s endearingly clumsy attempt at confessing means more to you than he’ll ever know. “And I forgive you for running out on me that night. We both thought it didn’t mean anything to the other person. For so long, I thought that even if you did, things would never work out, that today would be goodbye, because I have a new contract on the other side of the country, and you’ll be going back to stunt work, a-and…” Your voice trembles, so you force yourself to stop, and breathe. 
“It will work. I swear it, I’m not saying goodbye to you. I don’t care what’s coming next, we can make it work.” He seems to muster his resolve, tugging you closer. “No more dancing around this like idiots. We have enough lost time to make up for.” 
Smiling so widely your cheeks ache, you playfully poke his cheek. “Well, you can always begin with the kiss you owe me, yeah?” 
“You smart-arse.” Levi chuckles, before gently cupping the back of your head with his hand. In a swift movement, he leans in and captures your lips with his.
It’s nothing short of divine. 
Levi kisses you with years worth of yearning behind it. His other hand moves to cradle your face, thumb brushing against the curve of your cheek, wiping away a stray tear of happiness. 
Eyes fluttering shut, you deepen the kiss. Tongues move in tandem, and it isn’t long before hands begin to roam, exploring the terrains of each other’s bodies with an almost innocent curiosity. Heat simmers underneath your skin, a carnal flame yearning to be stoked, to devour. 
For now, though, you’ll have to temper it. 
Coming up for air, you close your eyes, resting your forehead against his. As much as you desperately want him, you don’t want your first time having sex with Levi to be in a trailer on set, with multiple crew members still milling around outside and packing up for the day. You tell him as such, and he murmurs his agreement after kissing you once more. 
“Glad we’re on the same page about that, so…” Realising what you’re about to say next, you choke back a grin at your own cheesiness. “You wanna go back to your place or mine?” 
Levi rests his forehead on your shoulder and chokes back a laugh. “Fuck, that’s such a cliché line.” 
You roll your eyes good-naturedly. “Yeah, yeah, laugh all you want, but the question still stands.” 
He looks up at you, mirth dancing in his eyes. “Yours, then.” 
The time spent packing up and driving back to your home crawls by agonisingly slowly. The moment the two of you cross the threshold onto your home, he’s closing the gap between the two of you, kissing you breathless, thoughtless, until only your longing for him remains. So much so that you almost forget to stop and get a condom out from your drawer—in fact, Levi has to remind you. 
The rare few times you had allowed yourself to think about it, you’d pictured Levi as a tender lover, gentle despite his coarseness. He is all this and more. At his fingertips, you come alive. As he makes love to you, laughs and sweet nothings fill the air between the deep kisses you share. You should’ve expected just how generous he can be in bed, but it still takes you by surprise, the way he worships your body with a deep-rooted reverence, determined to pleasure you over and over. In turn, you reciprocate eagerly, honoured that Levi trusts you to take care of him in return, that he is so readily vulnerable with you. 
Once the two of you are finally, utterly spent, Levi nudges you awake before you can fully slip into a deep doze, cosy and comfortable in his embrace. “Hey. Gotta clean ourselves up, sleepyhead.” 
You chuckle drowsily, and miraculously muster up the strength to crawl out of his arms, out of the warm sheets. “The bathroom is just down the hall,” you yawn, trudging towards a cupboard not the other side of your room. “You can shower first whilst I change the sheets and find you a towel and some spare clothes, ‘kay?” 
“Or,” Levi says, voice hoarse with the same kind of contented exhaustion that makes you yearn to curl up beneath the sheets in his arms, “you could come with me.” He pulls you back in, peppering gentle kisses along your neck and shoulder, which tickle slightly. 
Euphoric, you close your eyes and laugh. “Okay.” 
Showering together is an incredibly sweet, domestic affair. Long after you’ve rinsed off all the lather, you’re both hesitant to leave the warmth of the running water, content to cling onto each other and relish in the feeling of skin against skin. 
After the two of you dry off and change the sheets, you climb into bed. Half awake and basking in each other’s presence, you pull him close, nestling your head on his chest. When was the last time you had felt so cherished, so happy? 
Sleep claims you swiftly, but not before Levi kisses the top of your head and tells you what you already know: 
“I’m in love with you, too.” 
——— 
Several weeks later
The wrap party is well underway by the time you and Levi arrive. 
The lights are dim, and the music reverberates through your bones. Levi’s hand finds a home in the curve of your waist as he guides you through the crowd of drunken cast and crew members. His touch anchors you, and you find yourself smiling giddily. 
After helping yourself to a cocktail, the hours fly by. Apparently, the entire cast plus half of the crew (including all of the makeup assistants under your command) had been rooting for you and Levi to get together. Tonight when you finally revealed you were in a relationship with him to your juniors, you were subjected to an intense barrage of questions. This, however, paled in comparison to Hange’s reaction when Levi held your hand in front of their very eyes—they’d launched an interrogation so brutal you wonder why they didn’t enter law enforcement instead.
Soon after escaping Hange’s interrogation, you two both get another drink. “Everybody seems far too invested in this development than they should be,” you sigh, still frazzled. “How long do you reckon they’ve been shipping us?” 
A look of exasperation flits across Levi’s face. “I don’t know, and I hate that I even know what ‘shipping’ means in this context. Also, I saw Zeke give Erwin money when Hange was drilling us. Fuckers had some kind of bet running on us. Don’t even wanna know how long that had gone on for.”
You tip your head back and laugh. “Colour me unsurprised. That sounds very on-brand for Zeke and Erwin. You know, I think I saw Armin and Connie do the same. Guess Armin’s not as angelic as he looks.” 
“That’s been known, sweetheart. The kid’s a menace in disguise.” He kisses your cheek. “Just like you, actually, now that I think about it.”
Playfully, you swat him away. “Hey, who are you calling a menace?” 
Eventually, the two of you find yourselves catching some air outside, needing a moment to sober up and recalibrate after a whirlwind of social interaction. Levi’s hand returns to your waist and tugs you closer to him, seeking out your warmth. Melting into his touch, you do you best to commit the feeling of his embrace to memory. Soon, you’ll move away for a few months for your next contract, but you no longer fear it. Levi had sworn to you that this would work out, and there is nobody’s word you trust more than his.
Your love for each other has endured for years in the past. A handful more months is nothing.
Levi shifts slightly to get a better look at you, and cups your cheek. Meeting his gaze, your heart stops; his eyes are a breathtaking silver in the moonlight. Easily the most expressive feature he has, you could get lost in them for hours. 
Caught in his orbit, your face tilts towards his. 
This time, Levi meets you halfway.
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babyleostuff · 3 months
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SUPER DRIVE
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・❥・ for the 2k followers event
summary: the one where your boyfriend tries teaching you one of their choreographies, but you end up in the hospital
pairing: idol!hoshi x fem!reader
genre: fluff, established relationship | word count: 2k
warnings | a couple of swear words, and one suggestive joke
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“Are you trying to get me killed?” 
Having a boyfriend who was a dancer was a dream and a nightmare at once. You loved watching him on stage and in practice, how he changed into a whole different person when he worked on a new choreography, working his ass off until dusk - you felt so proud whenever he ran straight to you at the backstage after they won an award.
But right now you wanted to curse him more than ever. This wasn’t the first time Hoshi tried to teach you one of their choreographies, but it had to be the first time that he wanted you to fall face flat into the ground. 
“How am I even supposed to move my foot like that?” You looked at his reflection in the mirror, horrified. “Oh come on, it’s not that hard, you just have to,” and then proceeded to make the most confusing moves known to humankind.
Your boyfriend was an excellent teacher, that was not up for debate, but it seemed that he forgot you weren’t a dancer - you struggled with learning the choreo for Darling, and now he wanted you to dance to Super like it was Macarena. 
“Baby, slow down, please,” you whined, pulling at his arms to stop him from moving. “I know you’re this cool super star dancer and shit, but I don’t know if you’ve noticed, I’m not,” you pointed to yourself, looking at him with a serious expression.
He laughed, pulling you to a sweaty embrace, his arms tightly wrapped around your shoulders. “I’m sorry, I’ll go a bit slower ‘kay?” He looked down at you with a smile and you rolled your eyes, because you knew it wouldn’t help much. “What are you smirking at Kwon Soonyoung?” 
“Nothing,” he murmured, running his knuckle across your cheek. “Very funny,” you snorted, pushing him away, though he didn’t move much. Damn you muscles. “Keep joking like that, and you won’t get dinner for the next month.” 
“I could live without that,” he smiled, turning back to the mirror. 
“Okay then, I won’t suck yo-,” 
“Okay, okay, I get it. Let’s get back to dancing.” 
You smirked watching how his ears turned slightly red, as he tried to concentrate on the choreo. 
The sun had long set when you finally got the first steps and could easily dance the chorus of the song, which earned you a total of fifteen kisses from Soonyoung messily placed all across your face. “I told you you could do it,” he couldn’t stop smiling as he watched you dance more comfortably now.
Soonyoung loved dancing as much as he loved you - he breathed and lived for performing, and he never thought he’d find someone who’d be as supportive as you were. Even if you had to come to the studio in the middle of the night because he was having a mental breakdown - you never complained, you were there for him through thick and thin, and he’d never be able to thank you enough for that. 
You were his comfort place, his safe haven, and Sooyoung would do anything to make you happy in return. 
But almost killing you - that wasn't on his list.  
“Okay, babe, let’s teach you the next part.” 
You sighed, rubbing your forehead. You weren't sure if it was because you had been dancing for the past couple of hours, or if it was just because you were hungry, but you felt your vision blur a bit. But that didn’t matter - your boyfriend looked over the moon as he showed you the next steps, trying to take it as slow as he could so you could match his pace. 
Besides, you were sure you'd get better in a second.
“Did you get it?” Soonyoung turned around, his sweaty black bangs sticking to his forehead. If you weren’t feeling so bad you’d run your hand through his hair, pushing them back from his eyes. He always scrunched his eyes adorably whenever you did that. “Baby, you okay?” your boyfriend asked, this time more concerned.  
“Of course, don’t worry,” you tried to sound as convincing as possible. You didn’t want to cut your date short just because you were feeling a bit off. With their tight schedule and overseas trips you weren’t sure when would be the next time you’d get so much time for yourselves, and if you told him you weren’t feeling good, he’d immediately make you go home. “I just had to take a short break,” you smiled. 
Although Hoshi didn’t seem that convinced, looking a bit sceptical back at you, he resumed his explanation on the choreo as you tried to follow along. A couple of minutes passed and you actually started to feel a bit better, you even went back to bickering with him, as he laughed at you failing miserably at a certain step. 
“Next time,” you said, gasping for air. “We’re going to have a cooking date, and then we’ll see who’ll be the one laughing, you moron.” 
“Hey! You didn’t have to agree to this,” your boyfriend whined, looking at you with the biggest boba ball eyes. “I’m just kidding, baby, you know I love dancing with you. I just didn’t realise how extreme this choreo is.” 
“Let’s just finish up this part, and go home, yeah?” 
You nodded, as Soonyoung placed a kiss on your forehead, caressing the back of your head. “You’re doing such a good job, baby. No matter how much I laugh at you, you’re fucking amazing,” you scrunched your nose at his corniness, as he pecked your forehead again. 
And that’s when the blurriness came back. With nausea this time. 
Now you were sure you needed to eat something or else you’d collapse, but that would mean you’d have to leave the studio because neither of you thought about bringing any snack with you. You just decided to push through it, a couple of minutes wouldn’t make a big difference anyway. 
“And then you do the jump, but watch your feet because you have to kind of twist them like this when you land,” Hoshi showed you the footwork and how you were supposed to finish the step, looking at you carefully through the mirror. “Got it, babe?” 
You nodded your head, though you weren’t sure how much of what he had just shown you you got. Soonyoung pulled out his phone, turning on the music, totally oblivious to how much you were struggling next to him. 
For a while you were doing great - you followed Hoshi’s every step as best as you could, paying attention to your footwork and arms. You could do this, it was almost over. 
But the moment your foot touched the floor after the jump, you felt a sudden ache in your ankle radiating up your entire leg and before you knew what was happening, you fell unconscious to the floor. A panicked “baby” was the last thing you heard before everything turned black. 
Soonyoung knew something was wrong, he was your boyfriend - of course he knew when you were unwell, he was too in love with you not to notice it. If he only knew how badly you were feeling he’d carry your stubborn ass home himself, because he knew that there was no way you’d leave the studio, you’d just keep on repeating that you were fine. 
The plan was to finish the last part of the dance, hug the shit out of you as a reward, and drive you home, so you could eat and rest, but everything went to shit as he saw how your foot twisted in a weird angle, as it met the ground after the jump. Hoshi had never been so grateful for his quick reflexes, because the moment he saw your body unconsciously fall to the floor, he rushed towards you, catching you in his arms. 
"Baby? Baby, please open your eyes," Hoshi felt his arms shaking as he gently lifted your head off the floor to place it on his lap. "Baby," his voice cracked with helplessness. What was he supposed to do now? Wait until you wake up, take you to the hospital, or call an ambulance? 
The only thing that kept him from going completely crazy was the slight rise and fall of your chest - you were breathing. 
"Why didn't you tell me you felt so bad, you idiot?" he sighed, brushing your hair away from your forehead. 
The cold December air was blowing through the open window and Soonyoung could feel the goosebumps on your skin, but he didn't want to close it, you had to have some access to fresh air - it was the least he could do - but he also didn't want you to freeze. He quickly took off his flannel shirt and covered your body with it. Maybe it wasn't the warmest, but at least because it was a few sizes too big for you, it covered your whole body.
"Hey, baby? Please wake up," he whispered, his lips against your forehead. He kissed it tenderly, and in that moment, Soonyoung promised himself that when you woke up, he wouldn't leave your side for the next week. He would follow you everywhere, he would be as clingy as a puppy, but there is no chance that you would get rid of him. 
He had no idea how long it was before your eyes finally slowly opened. "W-what happened?" You croaked, trying to get up. “Hey hey, not so fast,” Soonyoung scolded you in, holding you down so you were still lying on his lap. "You overworked yourself and fainted. Why didn't you tell me right away how bad you felt?"
You sighed and looked at his worried face. It was obvious how concerned he was. "I didn't want to worry you, and besides, I knew that if I said something, you would tell me to go home. And... I thought nothing that terrible would happen," you admitted.
"Of course I'd tell you to go home, you little genius,” he snickered, rubbing soothing circles onto your hip. “I can't believe you're the one who's always mad at me for working too much and when you're the one who's worse!"
You would have agreed with him if it weren't for the pain in your ankle that wouldn't go away.
“Could you check my ankle, honey? It hurts,” you said, and quickly noticed how your boyfriend’s brows furrowed even more. “I’m sure it’s okay, it just stings a bit,” you tried reassuring him. 
You heard him curse silently, and you were about to ask him what was wrong, when you felt pain shoot through your ankle, making you whine because of the ache. “Shit, we have to get you to the hospital,” he said, gently laying your foot down, so he wouldn’t cause any more pain. 
“What do you mean?” You asked concerned, and tried lifting yourself up to look at your foot. “Lay down or I’m going to tie you down,” he said, and you decided to do as he said because you felt sorry for how shaken he seemed. “Soonyoung, baby, look at me,” you said, running your hand over his cheek. "No, no, we have to call an ambulance a-and they will take you and it won't hurt anymore, I p-promise."
“Soonyoung, calm down!" You had to raise your voice slightly because it looked like your boyfriend was about to cry. "Everything's fine, it’s just a sprained ankle."
“Excuse me for freaking out, I only thought you were dead!” He yelled, tugging at his hair, making a mess on his head. His chest was rising and falling rapidly and you seriously had to do something to calm him down.
"But Soonyoung, you can take me to the hospital, we don't have to call an ambulance," he looked at you, surprised for some reason. "You want me to drive you?"
“Yes,” now you were the one who was confused. Why was he so surprised that you wanted him to drive you to the hospital?
"So you trust me behind the wheel?"
"Baby, what do you mean? Of course I do," you said immediately, grabbing his hand.
"And you're not afraid to come with me?"
“Soonyoung, what are you talking about?”
"I just feel like not everyone feels safe with me driving, and I thought you'd feel better taking the ambulance," he said quietly, looking down. As if the pain from your ankle moved to your heart, you grabbed his hand tighter and brought your joined hands to your chest.
"There is no other person in the world with whom I feel as safe as with you."
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annabelle--cane · 3 months
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does the tma tumblr fandom know about the madness that seized the tma tiktok fandom (specifically the cosplay side) in the ~month after the finale released? I can't remember the exact order of events, but it went something like
week leading up to the finale: lots of oliver banks cosplays. makes sense, with The End and all that.
the day of the finale: people must have been sitting there already in costume with their cameras and lighting set up to listen to mag 200 when it dropped cause there were some really quite spectacular videos set to dialogue from it within about fifteen minutes.
the next week: cursed cosplays. I think it started with another resurgence of catboy elias (always a favorite), then something Happened to everyone because it immediately moved on to things like the calliope, ex altiora, the daedalus space station, jon's rib, the billboard from mag 74, the metal pipe, jane prentiss's ashes, the blanket (of "never did anything" fame), the homophobic vase, the bag of teeth, the beetle wife, and, my personal favorite, the man upon the stair who wasn't there. most of these were extremely detailed and high quality.
for maybe 18 hours: in-universe in-character avatar discourse. arguments about whether people should reveal that they were avatars in the apocalypse on the first date. it immediately got out of hand, people started satirizing certain kinds of prejudices that it was Not their place to, and almost everyone deleted their videos about it by the following morning so it vanished like a collective fever dream.
three weeks post-finale: the magnus carchives au. they work at a car dealership now.
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luminoustarlight · 4 months
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As Fate Would Have It | Chapter Two
It's your first day of work at Skywalker Enterprises.
◂ chapter one ▸ chapter three
rating: mature | pairing: dilf!anakin skywalker x afab!reader | wc: 3.7k | read on ao3
warnings: swearing, age-gaps, sexual fantasies
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The moms at St. Lucas Preparatory School are shameless. Single, divorced, and married women (and some men) alike can’t help but hold their breath when Anakin Skywalker steps onto campus. The dads are intimidated by him and the moms… well, let’s just say the moms have less than school appropriate thoughts about the billionaire. 
Anakin detests the end of the year. He hates being involved at the school. He doesn’t want to spend 2 hours of his day off packing meals in a crowded gymnasium with other parents who also don’t want to be there. 
He doesn’t want to make small talk or ask about Luke and Leia’s classmates because frankly, he doesn’t give a crap. The only children he likes are his own and he won’t pretend otherwise. 
“Mr. Skywalker,” Leia’s teacher, Ms. Clark sighs, “you are the only parent in my class who has yet to sign up for a slot at this year's Cranberry Sauce.” Cranberry Sauce is just the name the school gives the Thanksgiving Drive to make it sound more “fun”. 
Anakin gives his children a kiss on their foreheads and sends them through the school gates. Once they’re out of earshot, he addresses Leia’s teacher. “I already wrote a check to buy the damn food. Isn’t that sufficient?” 
“Mr. Skywalker,” Ms. Clark repeats with annoyance. If it were up to her, she’d let Anakin donate all of the money he wants in order to keep him from volunteering at school events. She thinks he’s arrogant, stuck-up, and far too handsome for any man to be. So she decides to loathe him since she can’t fuck him. But Headmaster Franklin is adamant Anakin attends the event. 
“I really insist that you participate for at least an hour at Cranberry Sauce next weekend. It is important for your children to see you involved at the school. At their school.” 
Anakin’s tall and broad stature seems to grow even larger at this statement. How dare this woman insinuate anything about him as a father? 
“You think I’m not involved in my childrens’ lives?” Anakin has just enough self-control not to completely raise his voice at his daughter’s fourth grade teacher. Especially since parents are continuing to drop off their kids. “You think I’m an absent father who gives the school money to compensate for my lack of paternal instincts?” 
“I didn’t say that,” Ms. Clark answers cautiously. “There is no need to make a scene. I have no doubts you are an excellent father, Mr. Skywalker. I don’t think Leia would be the young lady she is if you weren’t. One hour. That's all we ask.” 
Anakin raises an eyebrow. “We?” 
“Oh, um, well-” Ms. Clark stammers. Busted. She sighs with defeat. “Headmaster Franklin would very much like to see you there.”
“I’m sure he would,” Anakin replies smugly. Headmaster Franklin wants him there for publicity. Anakin should be more pissed about that than being accused of not being a present parent, but he’s not. He likes his ego stroked every now and then. “One hour.” 
“Thank you,” Ms. Clark smiles tightly. “Does 10-11 work for you?” 
“Fine,” Anakin waves his hand dismissively as he gets a message on his phone. 
Ben Kenobi 
Your new secretary is here. 
Shit. It’s Anakin’s first day without Dorothy. No wonder the morning has gone the way it has. Between Luke spilling orange juice on his shirt, Leia’s uncooperating French braids, and his conversation with Ms. Clark, Anakin can’t help but fear the change in routine with a new assistant. He types his response. 
Anakin Skywalker
Assistant. Not secretary. I’ll be there in 20 minutes. 
Ben Kenobi 
If you say so. 
Ben Kenobi is Anakin’s closest friend. Some might even call them brothers. Ben is fifteen years older than Anakin, married to the mayor, and enjoys fly fishing on the weekends. He’s also Luke and Leia’s godfather. Should anything happen to Anakin, there is no one else he’d trust to raise and watch over his children than Ben Kenobi. 
And Ben knows better than anyone that Anakin doesn’t like change. He’s been dreading Dorothy’s last day since she told him she was retiring a year ago. How was he going to find someone as good as her? Someone who anticipates his needs before he does? 
That’s why he tasked her with finding her own replacement. He’s just too busy to interview a replacement for Dorothy himself. He wouldn’t know what to look for, anyway. If he doesn’t know what he wants in a woman to date, how is he supposed to know what he wants in a new assistant? 
.
.
“Mr. Skywalker is not in at the moment. Can I take a message?” You’ve uttered that exact sentence at least seven times since you arrived at the office at 8:00 a.m. Now, as it nears 9:00, you expect to see your new boss very soon. 
Each time you hear the elevator ding, you look up with hopefulness at the arrival of the esteemed Anakin Skywalker. What will you say to him? How will you introduce yourself? Will he be nice and welcoming? God, you hope so. You’ve read just about every article, watched every interview, and listened to every podcast he’s done to prepare yourself for the job. The consensus is the same in all of them. 
Anakin Skywalker is generous, he’s polite, and generally gets along with everyone— if you don’t get on his nerves. And, according to Dorothy, he’s a charmer. 
“Yes, absolutely,” you say while taking notes of the message on a legal pad. Your head is down so you don’t notice Anakin walking out of the elevator. He stops 5 steps away from your desk. His ribs feel like they’re collapsing around his lungs because of that voice. Why does he know that voice? 
“I will let Mr. Skywalker know you called as soon as he gets into the office.” You hang up the phone and as you look up, there he is in all of his gorgeous glory. 
You actually have to tell yourself to take a breath because he’s even more handsome in person. Faint lines around his eyes represent years of life he lived before you were born. His dark blonde hair is combed back effortlessly and is it wrong that you want to run your hands through it? Yeah, probably. He’s your boss and over twenty years older than you. 
“It’s-” Anakin can’t even say more than that because holy fuck. Is he dreaming? He squeezes his eyes and then opens them, only to see you now standing with your hand extended to him. “It’s… you.” 
“Um, yes,” you say while awkwardly returning your arm to your side. “I’m Y/N. Your new assistant. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Skywalker.” 
“I- um, yes,” Anakin clears his throat. Christ, that wasn’t even a sentence. “I need to take care of something,” he says on his way towards his office. “I am not to be disturbed until I come out. Do you understand?” 
“Y-yes. Yes, sir,” you barely answer before Anakin’s office door is shut violently. Well, that certainly wasn’t the introduction you were expecting or hoping for. You’re starting to think not meeting him beforehand was a bad idea. It honestly should’ve been a red flag but Dorothy insisted it was fine. 
It doesn’t seem fine. 
And things definitely aren’t fine. For Anakin, that is. To say he’s freaking out is putting it lightly. He paces the length of his office, shoving his fingers through his hair and muttering to himself. “It can’t be. There’s no way it can be her.” 
Maybe he’s hallucinating. Maybe he’s having an incredibly vivid dream where his favorite OnlyFans performer, who he has known as HoneySuckle for the last three years is his new assistant. What did you say your name is? Anakin couldn’t hear you over the erection that was forming in his pants because he knows your voice. He’s cum from your voice alone. He’s cum because of you so, so many times. 
This can’t be happening. 
He’s never seen your entire face but he knows it’s you. He’d recognize your lips in a police lineup. He hears your voice in his wet dreams. He just knows it’s you. 
And the fact that he has a hard-on is a problem. A problem he wishes you could take care of but you can’t because now you work for him and he’s your boss. This is all so, so wrong. 
Anakin doesn’t so much sit on his leather chair as he does collapse into it. This was never supposed to happen. Yes, he has dreamed about meeting you on more than one occasion. He’s thought about telling you who he is during your countless direct messages so many times. He’s thought about using his infinite resources to find out who you really are on more than one occasion.
But he always concluded that it would be so insanely wrong and borderline creepy if he did that. You were always supposed to remain a fantasy. Just a nameless woman on a screen who doesn’t live in the same country, state, or city as him. 
Yet here you are— sitting outside of his office, taking his calls, calling him Mr. Skywalker and being even more beautiful than he could have imagined. 
You are no longer the woman on his tablet spewing filthy words as you make yourself orgasm. You’re tangible. You have a name- although he can’t remember what it is. He replays the interaction over in his head. The feeling he felt when he saw you was reminiscent of seeing his wife walk down the aisle at their wedding. He was a blundering mess then, just as he is a blundering mess now. 
He doesn’t even want to think about your first impression of him. He’s supposed to be Anakin Skywalker for crying out loud! The suave, handsome millionaire who has the ability to make men cower and women fall to their knees. The embarrassment he feels from that interaction is enough to subdue his hard-on. He pours himself a bit of Bourbon, shoots it back like it’s a normal thing to do at 9 in the morning, and prepares to reintroduce himself to you. 
Anakin smooths his hands down his slacks before opening his door. As his eyes are magnetized to you, his heart starts beating irregularly. Get a fucking grip. 
You stand attentively when you notice Anakin walking towards you. Worried you made a terrible impression on him, you wait to speak. But Anakin doesn’t say anything either and now he’s standing in front of your desk, all tall and lean and smelling like Cedar and Whiskey. He’s looking at you with an expression you can’t read. Did Dorothy tell him anything about you? Or did he go into this just as blind as you did? 
His eyes seem to dance all over your body which makes you feel like he’s studying you. Or criticizing every single thing about your appearance. From your simple burgundy dress to the pearl studs you bought with some of Skyguy81’s most recent (and overly generous) tip. 
Finally, because his gaze on you was becoming too much to bear, you are the one to talk first. “Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Skywalker?” 
Yeah, you can remind him of your name for starters. “Do you have messages for me?” is what he asks instead. 
“Yes,” you answer, picking up the pad you’ve been scribbling notes on for the last hour. “Rex sent over the final schematics for the 0525 project that needs your approval by 3 p.m. today in order to begin production. Mayor Kryze’s office called about the upcoming Gala in December and wanted to know if you would be in attendance. And if so, how many tickets should they reserve? Oh, and someone from St. Lucas Preparatory School called to let you know that your son ripped his pants and needs a new pair brought to school because they don’t have any new pants in his size.” 
Anakin taps his index finger on your desk while he listens to you. He barely registers anything you say because it’s really hard to hear your voice without getting aroused. It’s hard even looking at you without automatically picturing you naked. There’s not an inch of your skin he’s never seen. Well, except for the top half of your face which now, of course, he has seen. And God, does he love what you have to offer. 
You’re still relaying messages but suddenly you’re bent over your desk, gripping the edge of it with pale knuckles as Anakin slams into you over, and over, and over. He’s making you yelp his name so loudly the whole building can hear you. 
“Mr. Skywalker?” 
Anakin snaps back into reality where you’re still fully clothed and definitely not moaning his name. “What?” comes out a little harsher than he intended. And he immediately regrets it when he sees you visibly shrink right before him. 
“What- what would you like me to tell the Mayor’s office?” 
Anakin has gone as a bachelor to the last two Christmas Galas. Ben stays close to Satine the whole night and he really doesn’t see the point in asking a woman he has no interest in to be his date. Plus, going alone lets him leave the party with whomever he wants or to call it a night and go home early to watch ELF and drink peppermint cocoa with his kids. 
“Have them put me down for 2.” 
You nod whilst making another note on the pad. “And what about your son’s pants?” 
“Did they say where he ripped them?” 
“Right down the middle,” you answer. 
Anakin shakes his head. “Oh, Luke,” he mutters to himself. “Alright, I’ll go home and get him a new pair.” 
“Icandoit,” rushes out of your mouth. 
“What?” 
“Sorry, my mouth moved faster than my brain,” you reply, hoping Anakin will find it endearing instead of annoying. “I said I can do it. I don’t mind. It’s my job, isn’t it?” 
Anakin opens his mouth but doesn’t say anything. Yes, technically it’s your job to do this sort of errand. But Anakin doesn’t want you going to his house alone, sifting through his son’s drawers, and bringing him new pants to his school. 
Primarily because he’d much rather you be in his home under different circumstances. 
“We’ll go together,” Anakin decides against his better judgment. “I’ll drive.”
.
.
.
So, Anakin definitely didn’t think things through when he said he’d drive. 
In what world did he think sharing a close, confined space with you was a good idea? This whole morning has been a cluster-fuck. Honestly. He’s still struggling to wrap his head around who you are. When you announced Squirting for Sky was going to be your last video, he thought what a devastation it would be to not look forward to your videos every week. Who would’ve thought you’d be the one replacing his dear old assistant the very next week? The odds of it all are overwhelming. 
But isn’t this what he’s always wanted? The opportunity to meet you? To know your name and know you personally? Every wish of his has been granted— except for the fact that he is your boss and you are technically his subordinate. He says technically because Dorothy always felt more like family than an employee. 
You could be family. 
You could be so much more than his assistant.
Oh, Jesus Christ, Anakin. Be reasonable. She’s your employee. She’s practically a kid. 
Anakin looks over to you for the first time since getting in the car. You’re pressed against the side of the passenger door, knees angled away from him and arms crossed over your chest. “Are you cold?” 
“Oh,” you say, looking at him with a tentative smile. “A little.” 
“You should’ve said so,” Anakin turns on the heater and your seat warmer. “My kids call seat warmers butt toasters. Let me know if your butt gets too toasty.” 
You have to bite your lip to keep from laughing. 
There’s an awkward pause as Anakin realizes what he just said. He absolutely cannot think about your butt any longer than he has to because we all know how that will end.
 (A hard cock, in case that wasn’t clear). 
 “I mean, uh- shit,” Anakin briefly closes his eyes to compose himself. Let me know if your butt gets too toasty? 
“Just turn it off yourself if you get too warm.” 
Do you make him nervous? No way. You decide to let it go. “Kids? Plural?” 
“Yeah.” Anakin drapes his right arm over the center console and taps his fingers against the gear shift. Long, dexterous fingers at that. You have to look away before you start thinking about something completely inappropriate of your boss. “I have twins. A boy and a girl. Luke, he’s the silly one. Right now he’s big into archeology. He’s also pretty clumsy, hence the rip in his pants. And Leia, my daughter, she’s far too serious for any 9 year old to be. She says she wants to be a senator when she grows up.” 
This is the longest you’ve been able to look at Anakin without feeling your cheeks burning. Now, they’re just hot because of the heater blasting in your face. “You light up when you talk about them,” you say. “You must love them a lot.” 
“More than anything,” Anakin doesn’t hesitate. “Here we are.” 
You should’ve been paying attention on how to get to his house from the office. Surely, you’ll be running these errands on your own if things go well with your employment. Oh, well. That’s what the Maps is for. 
Anakin’s house is a stunning Eichler. It looks straight out of an Architectural Digest cover. The lawn outside is perfectly cropped and perfectly green but littered with a soccer ball, football, a baseball bat and whiffle balls. You wouldn’t have pegged Anakin for a mid-century modern kind of guy. You would’ve thought he’d opt for an insanely modern, sterile house. 
As you walk through the atrium and into the main body of the house, it’s clear it is a family home. Anakin uses his foot to sweep his kids’ shoes out of the way so you don’t trip over them. “Sorry about the mess.” 
“It’s okay,” you shrug. Anakin’s house isn’t even all that messy. It just looks like a home. There are so many pictures on the walls, it would be impossible to look at all of them in one go. One in particular, though, catches your eye. It’s the largest out of all of them and the only one in black and white. A significantly younger Anakin is at the bedside of who you presume to be his wife with two bundles of babies in their arms. They are both looking down and smiling. His wife was stunning. They definitely made an attractive couple. 
It’s not lost on you that there are no other pictures of Anakin’s kids with their mom. He’s only spoken about his wife’s death in one interview, about a year after her passing. If you remember correctly, she died shortly after the twins were born. 
You can’t imagine the kind of pain and heartache Anakin must have felt losing his wife. You don’t know what it feels like to experience that kind of grief. You want to tell Anakin you’re sorry for his loss, but what good will that do? Is there any consolation in that at all? 
You’re still looking at the photo when Anakin returns from Luke’s room with a new pair of tan pants. You can feel his presence right beside you and the silence is louder than words. 
He shouldn’t have brought you back here. It’s only your first day and you’ve already seen too much of his life. 
“Let’s go,” Anakin orders. You nod without a word and follow him out to the car. 
The tension in the air is palpable on your way to St. Lucas Prep. You feel like you’ve done something wrong by simply stepping foot in Anakin’s house. His whole demeanor shifted when he came back to the front room with Luke’s pants. Does he regret bringing you to the house? If so, why? Dorothy clearly laid out your responsibilities to you. Tending to personal matters at Anakin’s house is part of the job. You are not just a professional assistant, but a personal assistant, too.
You can’t stand not knowing why someone is upset with you. “Did I do something wrong?” 
Anakin’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. “No.” 
Wow, how reassuring. “Okay, then why do I feel like I did something to upset you?” 
You’re really pressing your limit with him right now. You’ve only just met 2 hours ago. See, this is why meeting him should’ve been part of the hiring process. You’d be a lot more acquainted with each other than you are right now. 
If only you knew how acquainted Anakin is with you… 
“You didn’t,” is all he says. But with a twitch of his jaw, you still feel like he’s not telling you the truth. 
“Look, Mr. Skywalker,” you begin. “I understand Dorothy meant a great deal to you, and her leaving is going to be an adjustment. But I promise you I am capable of this job. I’m never late, I’m up late all the time so if there was anything you needed, I’d be able to fulfill it. I love kids, I’m a hard worker and I would really appreciate it if you gave me a chance before making any decisions about me.” 
“You’re right,” Anakin says. “I’ll give you a chance.”  But he’s already made up his mind. He doesn’t have to ‘give you a chance’ to know that he wants you. He is crawling out of his skin with how badly he wants you. And he knows it’s wrong, probably immoral, but he really doesn’t care. Because now that you’ve been inside of his home, the boundary that should exist between him as your boss and you as his employee feels impossibly blurry.
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◂ series masterlist ▸ chapter three
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formulaforza · 4 months
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—everywhere, everything
keep my hand in yours ('til our fingers decompose) pairing: daniel ricciardo x female reader warnings: parent death, angst, language, driving under the influence, underage smoking/drinking love, mackie... 6.6k. part two of this guy (but I think can be read stand-alone). I hope I make u all sad enough that you never ask me for a part two ever again <3
I hear you’re snooping around the old stomping grounds. I’d love to be there when you do it. Bring your dad if he’s free. It’ll be a good night, lots of strawberry wine—the real shit this time. All love, (always your) Danny.
— —
Danny is notably absent from your mom’s funeral. Granted, he is in Budapest at the time, and he had two races this weekend. You know this because you still keep tabs on him, even if he’s not yours to keep tabs on anymore, even if there’s nobody to blame for that but yourself. 
If you didn’t know better, hadn’t spotted Grace, Joe and Michelle a dozen or so people back in line to greet you and your dad, you would have been able to convince yourself Danny didn’t have a clue your mom was even sick. She went quick, less than eight months from her death sentence to… well. From death sentence to death. 
Two hundred and thirty-one days since her diagnosis means two-hundred and twenty-eight days since you broke things off with Danny. So even if he was in town, you probably wouldn’t have seen him. You wish you would have though, that he would have appeared in the plethora of grieving faces. Not for you, but for her. She always loved him, even before you did. 
Grace’s arms feel like the light at the end of a dark tunnel when she finally gets to the front of the line. She squeezes you tight, the only way a mother knows how to, and you cry in her arms. Grace doesn’t tell you how sorry she is, or that your mom loved you so much, or that she’s in a better place now. She just hugs you and wipes away your tears. 
“Danny wishes he could be here,” she tells you, but you don’t want to think about him and you don’t want to believe her. 
“Tell him I said ‘thank you?’” you say, a forced smile on your face. It’s got to be the hundredth of the afternoon. If there’s one thing your mom is—was. If there’s one thing she was, it’s loved. Tell him I hate him, is what you wish you could say to Grace. Or maybe tell him I love him. 
A million and two hugs later and you find yourself missing his arms more than you should. He was always a good hugger, and you could use a good hug right now. 
— —
You showed up at the property fifteen minutes after the event started. You’d hoped to slip in and out, to at least be able to say you went, that you tried. You had no intention of trying to find Daniel, and you figured it would be easy to avoid him, especially if you showed up after everyone else did—it’s his show, he’s the man of the hour, everyone will be fighting for his attention. 
You don’t even know why you came, really. Maybe it’s to figure out how the hell Daniel even got your address to send the invite in the first place. You’d moved half a dozen times since he last knew you. Or maybe it’s that you don’t believe, even after seeing it with your own eyes, that somebody actually had success with growing berries in the heat. It could be that you just… It could be simple, that you miss your Mom, and that everything about that place reminds you of her. 
Whatever the reason, you put on a long, flowing sundress, tied your hair back, and slipped on a pair of comfortable sneakers and a denim jacket. You didn’t even bother to tell your Dad—knew he’d want to catch up with Daniel, or maybe want to strangle Daniel. You didn’t want to give him the chance to do either. You park on the dirt road that leads to the vineyard, because the parking lot is overflowing, a pattern you’re beginning to notice since he’d taken over. 
The place looks the same as it did last time you were here. DR3 Wines still adorn the fleet of ATVs out front, and the wooden letters on the perfectly red barn are still perfectly white. You give your name to the woman working the door, regret it as soon as you catch her announcing your presence over the radio-headset she wears. 
Momentarily, you consider turning around and walking right back to your car. But, you aren’t one to waste a good outfit, not if you’d gotten all dolled up like this, so you walk into the Barn with your head down. 
It smells the same inside; wood, lavender, citronella and alcohol. There’s candles burning to make it feel cozy, but they do a poor job at changing the aroma in the air. The walls are still hung with photos, and the counter is still that slab of wood. It’s exactly the same as it was a few months ago, and manages to remind you of the place you grew up without wearing your childhood memories like a costume. 
Daniel has always been easy to find in a room. He’s loud, his voice and his laugh vibrate off the walls of whatever room he’s in. He’s loud and he’s confident and sometimes it feels like he’s the only person in a room that’s really alive. That’s how it felt then, at least. 
It’s been thirteen years since you last shared a space with him, but the fact you can hear his laugh on the other side of the crowded room assures you that while everything has changed, some things have stayed exactly the same. 
You can’t see him, but man can you hear him. 
You sign the guest book—proof, in case anybody asks. Proof that you did show up. It’s the top of a wine barrel, DR3 2023 branded into the oak—two tops, because so many people are here. It’s covered in signatures and messages from people he loves. You feel guilty even signing it, but you do. 
Congrats Dan—your marker pauses. You scoff at yourself. Congrats Daniel. Time flies, 13 years! The place looks beautiful. Wishing you continued success, you write, finishing it off with your signature. 
He still wears the same cologne, you realize, when you look up and he’s leaning against the table watching you write. He wears the same cologne, and the same smile, even if less crooked. Everything else about him is different. His hair is shorter, eyes older. His arms are covered in art, face is all together thinner, and his five o’clock shadow is less of a pipe dream and more of a full-fledged beard. He’s taller, maybe. Or you’re shorter. It doesn’t really matter, you suppose. 
You purse your lips into a curt smile. He matches—you didn’t even know he could smile like that. “Hi, honey,” he says, leaning over to read your message. 
“Hi.” “Who’s Daniel?” He teases, the smile on his face growing into one you’re much more familiar with. You look back at your writing, but you don’t laugh. If anything, you’re sure you look a little scared. “I’m teasing.”
“I know,” you nod.
“Okay,” he nods right back, slow, apprehensive over your apprehension. 
“Sorry,” you force out a chuckle. “I’m being so weird,” and you adjust the strap on your dress. He shoves his hands in his pocket, rocks back and forth on the sole of his shoes. Do you know how weird it is to be face to face with someone you were head over feet in love with? It’s really fucking weird. You put your best smile on your face, “Hi, sorry,” you continue, opening your arms for what you think might be the most awkward hug you’ve ever given. 
He’s quick to pull his hands back out of his pocket, like he’s worried if he doesn’t act fast enough you’re going to rescind the offer. 
His touch is uncanny; familiar and comforting and unsettling. It melts the years away and you feel just like you did some twelve years ago when you wished so desperately for one of his hugs. You’re nineteen again, and he’s twenty, and everything feels like it’s going to be okay. 
“How are you,” he asks quietly, his arms tight around you. “You look great.”
“I’m okay,” you say over his shoulder, and then again, as if you’re trying to convince yourself: “I’m okay. How are you?”
“Oh, y’know,” he shrugs, pulling away from the hug, gesturing your question away. “Same old, same old.”
“Yeah,” you nod, even though you don’t know. Even though it’s been eleven years since you forced yourself to ignore his existence, since you last kept any sort of tab on him. You can’t get over how different he looks. How you’d still recognize him without a second glance. “You look different.”
He laughs, looks down at himself. At his arms, his hands. He can’t look at his face, but it’s different, too. “Yeah, I guess so, huh?” He keeps looking back at you every time he laughs. He makes sure you’re laughing, or smiling at least, before he lets his slip. “Is your Dad here?”
“No. He uh, he wasn’t feeling well.”
Once upon a time, Daniel could spot your lies from the other side of the vineyard. You get stiff and stuttery, he told you, it’s easy when you know what you’re looking for. That was once upon a time, though, and this is now. Now, you don’t know if Daniel remembers any of those little things about you. 
His eyes go momentarily soft, worried, almost. “Just a cold, yeah?”
“Exactly.”
“Well, can I get you a drink? Give you a tour?”
You look around the place—not much to tour. Not when it used to be yours, not when one of his teenaged employees gave you a tour a few months back. He seems so excited about the idea, though, so you go along with it. “Sure. Yeah, that’d be nice.”
“Nice, awesome,” he says, looking around the place like he forgot where everything is. He claps his hands together, pulls them apart into a snap, and points at you with both hands. “Stay here? I’ll be right back.”
“Okay,” you chuckle, and it’s genuine. “Staying here.”
“I know you, Bee,” he says, walking backwards away from you. B. He totally knows you’re full of shit about your Dad having a cold. “Don’t try to sneak out while I’m gone.”
“I won’t.”
“You promise?”
You nod. “I promise.”
— —
You, Daniel, and your Mom worked the closing shift that night. When he was around, that’s almost always how it went, because the two of you were the only ones who’d worked there long enough to know how to properly close up without a babysitter. 
Your Mom worked tediously in the office counting all the money—she was the slower counter of your parents, but it wasn’t like anyone was ever sitting around waiting on her. There was always something to be done, and Daniel was always good at making sure those closing tasks took up more than a chunk of the evening. 
You’d cleaned inside, swept the floors and vacuumed the rugs and cleaned the tables and the counters. You washed glasses behind the bar and restocked displays. The landline on the counter rang while you were writing up the day’s inventory, and you almost didn’t answer it, but your parents had told you to improve on your customer-service skills, even when you or the customer weren’t on site. 
To your surprise, the voice on the other end was Daniel’s. He was calling from the cellar, is too lazy to come over there to get shot down. “Is your Mom finished counting?” He asked, and you pulled the phone away from your ear to try and listen past the office door. 
“I think so,” you say, bringing the phone back to your ear. “We should be heading out soon.”
Sometimes you feel like you can hear Danny’s smile. “You wanna do the lock check with me?”
You slot the phone between your shoulder and your ear, returning your hands to the task of finishing up your paperwork for the night. You needed to be done when he got here, or there was no chance your Mom let you go with him. “How do you know I’m done with my shit?”
You can hear the lull of the old beat up golf-cart engine in the background, can almost feel the vibrations, can see clear as day Danny sitting there, lounging on the leather seat—tanned skin, unruly hair, toothy grin. “You always finish fast so you can daydream about your boyfriend,” he says, turning the last word into his own little sing-songy ballad. 
Your pen pauses on the paper, and you roll your eyes. “Jake isn’t my boyfriend.”
Danny laughs, and you roll your eyes again, pretend like you aren’t smiling. “Oh? But you knew who I was talking about!”
“Because you never shut up about him being into me.”
“Because he is!”
You set the pen down for good, now, grab the phone again because you want to make sure your next words come across loud and clear, even if it is the millionth time you’ve told him. “He’s my friend, Danny!”
“Oh, come on!” His laugh intensifies. “I don’t think a guy has ever been just friends with you.”
“You’re my friend, aren’t you?”
His laughter quells, and you’re sure he’s picking on the plastic of the steering wheel. There are so many scrapes on it from the same thing. He’s always picking at it, ever since you told him to give his poor nails a rest. He has to destroy something, you suppose—teenage boy and all—but you prefer a destroyed golf cart steering wheel to a destroyed Danny, so you let it slide. He sighs, and then he clears his throat, and the memory of your question dies in the silence. “Are you coming with me or not?”
“Are you coming to get me?”
— —
The air is chilly—nippy almost, especially with the sun dipping below the horizon like it is. You’re walking stride for stride with Daniel over the gravel path to the cellar, glass of sweet pink wine in your hand. He’s taking you to the strawberry field, per your request, because even after tasting it, even after telling you which field it’s in, you still don’t believe him.
“So,” he asks, one hand deep in his pocket, the other hanging in the space between your bodies. He’s very hesitant with you today, you’ve noticed. It’s nothing like the brash boy you called your first love. He’s gentle, softer, like he’s scared of his next words. “Who finally put that ring on your finger?” The threat of a smile is weak, but the idea of it alone is charming. 
You look at your free hand, carefully decorated with several different rings. “Which one?”
He drops his head to his shoulder, gives you a pathetic smile and a matching chuckle. “The only one an ex-boyfriend would ask you about, Bee.”
The sunlight—the little bit that’s left of it—catches the diamond on your ring finger. “Oh,” you shrug, dropping it back to your side. “It’s Mom’s.”
“I know,” he nods solemnly, and your head shoots over to look at him. You don’t know why he would remember that. “Who put it there, though?”
A smile pulls on your lips, and you bury it in the lip of your wine glass. “I’m not engaged, if that’s what you’re asking,” you laugh. “I just wear it… I don’t know, it makes me feel close to her.”
Sunsets at the property have always been gorgeous. When you were younger, you thought that maybe it was the most beautiful place in the entire world. The blues and the pinks and the yellows all mix together into some grand watercolor and tonight is no exception. 
The silence that lingers in the air should be awkward, but it’s not. It should be harder to be here, to watch the sunset, to walk the paths you have memorized, to stand next to Daniel after all these years. It’s not hard, though. It’s comfortable, like it was when you were sixteen and seventeen and eighteen and barely nineteen. Like it was all the time you knew him, even before you loved him. 
“I’m sorry,” he finally speaks. “She was really cool.”
You chuckle softly. It’s a familiar routine, consoling those attempting to console you about her death. “That’s what everyone says,” you say, even though Daniel might be the first person to posthumously describe your mom as cool. Lovely, you’d gotten more times than you could count. Beautiful and kind and oh honey, she loved you so much, you knew already. She was really cool, that’s a Danny-original if you’ve ever heard one. 
“I should have been at the funeral.”
“It’s okay,” you nod, because his presence wouldn’t have changed that your Mom was lovely and beautiful and kind and that she wasn’t around to be any of those things anymore. There wasn’t anything Daniel could have done to remedy that reality. “You were busy. We weren’t together,” and before he can come back with something, insists that it’s a bigger deal some decade later than it was, you change the subject. “What about you, though? Putting rings on anyone’s fingers these days?”
He laughs. A person can only get poetic about Daniel’s laugh so many times before it’s easier to just leave it at that. He laughs, everyone around him lights up, and he laughs some more. “Believe it or not, my work-life balance isn’t super great at fostering long-term relationships.”
You don’t exactly know what Daniel’s work-life balance looks like. The last time you paid any attention, he was racing with Toro Rosso. Every update you’d heard since had been one you weren’t looking for—commercials and posters and billboards and word-of-mouth; more than a couple ex-boyfriends and a few stray friends. 
You never cared much about racing. It was Daniel you cared about. 
There aren't a lot of specifics you remember about Daniel’s schedule, but you remember that he was almost always coming or going. There wasn’t much staying, and that was before he’d even made it to the big show. “You mean, women like it when their partners are around for most of the year?”
“They do, yeah,” he nods, dimples digging into his cheeks. “Crazy, right?”
“Crazy.”
— — 
Danny didn’t go down without a fight. He caught what had to have been the first flight home—home, you’re not sure that he can call Perth home now that he doesn’t live here. He caught the first flight to you, threw wood chips at your window at three-in-the morning. He didn’t need to wake you up, it’s been two weeks since you had any kind of meaningful sleep. You spend the majority of your time in bed looking at the ceiling fan spin or staining the sheets with your tears. 
You let him throw mulch for twenty minutes though, hoping that maybe he’ll give up and leave so you don’t have to face him. 
You’d done the breaking up over the phone for a reason. It wasn’t that you couldn’t wait until whenever he was home next. You could. It was that you couldn’t break up with him while looking him in the eyes, and you knew it. 
Eventually, though, you pull your pajama-clad frame out from under the warm covers, drag your feet the entire way to the window, pulling the curtains open just enough to confirm what you already knew—that it was him in the driveway. His entire face relaxes when he sees you there, forcing the window open. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“What the fuck am I doing?” He scoffs. “What the fuck are you doing?”
You cross your arms over your chest. The night air is cold and your pajamas are scarce. “I’m trying to sleep.”
He rolls his eyes, always dramatic, always over-the-top. “Come down here, honey.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
You stand there in silence, shivering in your bedroom window. He stands there in silence, thick jacket on and a handful of wood chips from the garden in your driveway. It’s a stalemate, and you don’t know which of you is more exhausted. Appearance points to him, but you dread that fact that you’re standing, that you’re tired enough to give up the fight this quick. 
“Fine,” you relent, and it’s less than two minutes before you’re running into him on the back porch, slowly closing the sliding patio door behind you so as to not alert anyone else in the house of his presence. “What do you want?”
“Where are your clothes?” He asks, and is already taking his coat off to wrap around your frame. You huff and puff the entire time he’s doing it, because your lack of clothing was a choice—you were hopeful that he wouldn’t keep you long if you were shivering. 
“What do you want, D?”
“I want you to talk to me,” he says. “Tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it.”
Your lip trembles, and you bite down on it to try and stop it, chew on the skin until you taste copper and then it still trembles. You don’t look at him, you can’t. “You can’t fix it.”
“No, no,” he argues, grabbing your elbow in a plea, stepping closer to you, speaking hardly above a whisper. “Just tell me, baby.”
You yank your arm away, tone a direct contrast to his when you insist: “You can’t fix it this time, okay!? Nobody can fix it.” You point an accusatory finger, like there’s actually something he’s done to deserve this. There isn’t, there never will be. “You can’t fucking fix everything just because you want to.”
He matches, points his finger at you, presses it into the middle of your chest. Your heart races. “You can’t just fucking break up with me because you want to.”
You swat his hand away, offended by the accusation that you wanted this, that any part of you is enjoying this, finding relief in this. You hate this. Fucking loathe it, but it doesn’t change any of the facts. “I don’t want to,” your lips downturn into a frown, all pathetic and trembled, and your voice cracks and shakes half as much as your lips. The tears that burn in your eyes are reflected back in his, tired and bloodshot and wet. 
“Then don’t do it,” he pleads. 
You gulp around the lump in your throat, voice leaving your body meekly through tears. “I have to.”
“No, you don’t,” he assures you quickly, his hands slotting on either side of your face, the pads of his thumbs wiping your tears, his fingers locking into the hair at the nape of your neck. He shakes his head before he speaks, brown eyes searching yours, begging you to change your mind. “You don’t.”
His hands on your face are what push you over the edge, turn you from poised and sniffly to half-wrecked—choking on sobs and swallowing snot. It all hits you at once, all the weeks of testing, the days of trying to come to terms with a diagnosis, the hours spent grappling with the fact that nothing will ever be the same about you. You’re changed, now, and you’re only going to continue to change. It’s not Daniel’s responsibility to see you through any of this fucking shit.  “I do, I do,” you sob. “I have to, I’m so sorry, I have to.”
He presses his forehead against yours, your tears mixing with his every time your noses bump. It calms you, if only slightly, and your eyes close, mind focused on remembering this, on remembering what it feels like to have his skin on yours, to feel his voice in your bones, to breathe in the same air, the same space, the same atoms. 
Your breath is shaky, but the pattern is steady. In, out. In, out. Your nose is so stuffed you can’t breathe through it. Your lips are all but touching his, a stray tremble holding the power to force them together. You don’t know if you want to kiss him or not, if it would make things better or so much worse. 
He swallows hard, pulling your faces apart. “I love you,” he mutters softly, like a wounded animal, and then he presses a long, hard kiss into your forehead. 
You sniffle, your hands holding onto his wrists. “I’m sorry.”
He nods, drops his arms, your hands falling into his. “Yeah.”
He lets your hands go, lets you go. You feel like you might be sick watching him walk down the steps of the patio, along the path of pavers to the gate. A shiver runs up your spine, and you pull his jacket closed over your chest. His jacket. 
You wipe a new set of tears from your cheek with the back of your hand. “Your jacket,” you sniffle, “hold on.”
He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even turn back to face you. “Keep it,” he says, unlatching the gate and slipping through to the other side. You sigh, and then you cough, and then you cry some more before finally finding the ability to move again, to go back inside and up to your bedroom, and that was that. That was the last time you saw Danny. The last moment that he was yours. 
— —
You’re walking back from the unbelievable strawberry field, quickly approaching the still lively barn, people and smiles and conversations pouring out into the adjacent spaces. Someone appears in front of you with a camera, with two cameras—one professional, and one a cheap polaroid. Smile, they said, and you laughed, your cheeks burning red. 
Daniel slinks his arm over your shoulder, and you step closer to his side. He flashes a toothy grin and a shaka sign to the camera. You hear the shutter of the camera take a dozen photos, and then the photographer holds up the polaroid—one for the road, she says, and Daniel pulls you that little bit closer, you blush that little bit harder. 
There’s a flash, and then you both relax, the photo printing out of the bottom of the camera. She holds it out Daniel, but he nudges you with his elbow to take it. You do, even though you aren’t sure you want it. 
You shake the polaroid while the two of you make your way into the barn. “What do I do with this?” You ask, looking carefully at the developed print. 
Daniel shrugs, leaning over. You flip the photo in his direction so he doesn’t have to lean as far, but he still does. “It’s cute,” he says. “You don’t want it?”
“I mean, I’ll take it, but…” But. But I’m going to throw it away when I get home. But it only reminds me of you. But it only represents what won’t be. 
He looks to the wall of photos behind the counter, eyeing the display carefully. You follow his sight line, your eyes going to the exact place you remember the photos of you being. You don’t know why you’re surprised that they’re still there, like you knowing they exist means they’d vanish. “Hang it up,” he says. 
You laugh. “Where?”
Daniel shrugs. “Anywhere you want.”
— —
The best part about only being able to afford cheap workers, was that you spent every day at the property with a new teenager looking to have just as much fun as you were. Between that, and the plethora of college kids that were constantly leaving to go back to school, to get a grown-up job, to get any job that paid more than your family could offer—there was always an opportunity for going away parties. And party, you did. 
You and your coworkers turned friends had slept down by the river more summer nights than you could count, hiding six-packs in the staff locker-room and hiding ziploc bags of joints behind the six-packs. 
Tonight, the going-away party is to honor someone whose face you won’t remember in a year, much less thirteen. He’d worked there for the holidays and not much more, and there wasn’t much memorable about him. 
The bonfire on the back of the property snaps and crackles, sparking off into the night and lights everyone in flickers of orange and yellow. The breeze has picked up after dark, and the tank-top and shorts you’d donned earlier in the day aren’t appropriate any more, one of Danny’s hoodies—a purple one that sits in his locker just for you to steal and smells like weed and wood from all the past nights just like this one—takes the chill out of the night and keeps the goosebumps off your exposed legs. 
The sky is clear and cloudless, a big moon staring back at you and a million shining stars fill the night sky. It’s times like these you think there’s no prettier place on Earth, nights like these where you feel completely rich. 
Two joints are being passed around the circle lazily, laughter and conversation filling the air. The first one comes your way from the left, from Daniel. He takes a long hit, the embers at the end of the paper burning orange with his inhale. He holds it in, nodding his way through someone else’s joke, and exhaling into a laugh. 
He looks at you, hesitates to hand it over. “I really don’t want a lecture from your parents tomorrow morning,” he teases, playful smile pulling on his lips, mischievous glint in his eye. 
You roll your eyes. “They won’t know,” you insist, to no avail. Daniel chuckles, but holds his resolve and passes the joint around you to the next person. 
Undeterred, you keep your eyes on the joint that moves clockwise, that comes to you from the other direction, a path with no Danny-sized roadblock. With practiced ease, you take a hit, exhaling slowly, savoring the warmth in your chest. You meet Danny’s eyes on exhale, find them half-amused and half-concerned, brows raised and smile drawn. 
“Whatcha got there?” He laughs, gently taking the joint from her. “I told you not to,” he continues, taking a hit himself before passing it along again. You grin, a wave of giddiness washing over you. It always goes like that when he laughs—makes you all warm and fuzzy and silly. 
“It’ll be okay, Danny-boy,” you laugh, leaning against him. Lazily, without hesitation, he tosses his arm over your shoulder and pulls you that much closer. You like being closer, can feel his laugh instead of just hearing it. You like the way his arm rests on your shoulder, the way his fingers trace patterns over the fabric of his sweatshirt, every touch echoing on your skin for minutes. You like being close, even if it makes your palms a little sweatier and your heartbeat a little faster. You could get used to being closer, you think. 
The fire is starting to die out now, and the air gets colder. You wonder how long your parents waited up for you to get home. The original excuse was that Daniel had forgotten the lock-check, that you wanted to come along and really, it’s no problem to drive her home. After about fifteen minutes, you’d snuck away from the newly-built fire to make a phone call, to let them know you were grabbing food on the way home and don’t wait up for me. You’re sure they did, though, even if only for a while longer. 
Anyway, the air is colder and the joints have been smoked through and the beers have been drunk—not by you, you’re too messy when you’re crossed. And not by Daniel, either, who refuses to drive drunk but insists on driving high. 
You yawn under Daniel’s arm, find a way to somehow lean in closer. “Sleepy?” he asks, and you nod. Carefully, like he’s done it a million times before, he presses a kiss into the crown of your head. It’s not the millionth time, it’s not even the second time he’s kissed any part of you. It’s the first time you've felt the press of his lips and you think that you’ll feel it there forever. “You wanna go?”
“No,” you say. “I’ll stay, make sure the fire gets out and everything.”
It’s not much longer, anyway, until the fire is being doused with water bottles and beer and everyone is taking turns spraying the same perfumes and colognes over their clothes in a poor attempt to mask the smell of smoke and weed. 
Daniel drives you home. It’s not the first time you’ve been the passenger in his old Ford Bronco. It’s not even the first time you’ve been in the truck while he was high. Usually, car rides with Danny consist of cranked down windows and loud music, of louder conversations and excessive laughter. This drive is quiet, though. 
His hands are steady on the wheel, eyes focused on the road ahead. There’s no music, the windows are up, and he doesn’t talk. You watch him carefully from the passenger seat, study him in your paranoia. You haven’t done anything, you don’t think. There’s no reason for him to be mad at you. Unless there is. 
“Did you have a good time?” You ask. Danny nods. “That’s good.”
He turns to face you at a stop sign. “Sorry,” he laughs. “I’m trying to focus.”
“It’s okay,” you nod. 
“It’s harder,” he explains. “It’s hard with you here.”
— — 
The evening you’d anticipated is far from the evening that unfolds. Fifteen minutes, maximum, in and out. That was the plan. But then Daniel—Daniel, and all the far-fetched dreams of him making himself at home in your life, all the passing thoughts you’d had over the years about the what-ifs; the grocery bills and the taxes and the white wine and the rusty barn doors. He glues you to his side for hours that feel like minutes. 
The event is winding down, people keep coming up to him, firm pats on the back and handshakes and hugs goodbye. They tell him how great the place is, how great the wine is, how great he is, and you move around like his shadow, smiling awkwardly whenever someone catches your eye and waiting for the next joke Daniel has to crack quietly, just to you.
You stand at a high-table next to him, elbows on the tabletop, shoulders bumping everytime one of you moves. There were people around the table, a reason—an excuse—for the proximity, but they’re long gone now.  “You know,” Daniel says quietly, dropping his head against his hands, speaking to nobody in the room but you. “I’ve missed you a lot.”
“Yeah,” you nod, speak just as softly. “Me too.”
He takes a long drink from the wine glass in front of him. Liquid courage, you know now, for what he was going to do next. The glass returns to the tablecloth with a soft pat, and he lets out a heavy exhale. “I heard there’s a new coffee place opening in Northbridge?” He asks, and you assume it’s because he knows your neighborhood, wants to know more about it. The wine has made you naive, or maybe you’d just pushed the reality of his implication so far from your mind that it’s an impossible thought. 
“Yeah,” you nod. The new coffee shop in Northbridge is a seven minute walk from your apartment, and is on your way to work. You’ve been eyeing the place since the empty building went up for lease. “It’s got this super cute bakery right next door,” you add. “I think they opened last week.”
Daniel nods. “I’d love to try it out.”
“Yeah,” you continue, still genuine and naive and oh-so silly. “You should. I’ve heard good things.”
He laughs, then. Laughs this specific kind of Daniel laugh that you used to get so excited to hear. It meant he was going to do something for—or to—you. He’d laughed like that before he kissed you for the first time, and he’d laughed like that while orange juice ran down his arm and he asked you out for the hundredth time. He’d laughed like that on every anniversary, every birthday, every holiday. It’s Danny’s you laugh. “I’d need someone to go with, though,” he says. And the laugh and the words and the whole thing clicks. Daniel is trying to ask you out. “I don’t really know my way around Northbridge.”
A lie, objectively. One that confirms the assumption you’d just jumped to. Daniel’s first apartment was in Northbridge. He lived eleven minutes from where you live now. He knows the place like the back of his own hand, knows the streets like he used to know you. 
You nod into the bottom of your wine glass, watching the liquid spin around the clear glass. “You don’t?”
He purses his lips, looks all deep in thought. “No,” he shakes his head. “No, I don’t think I do.”
“Oh,” you frown, your eyes meeting his. It’s really hard to mess with him when he looks at you like that. Hard, but not impossible. “My dad’s usually around.”
He chuckles. “Your dad, huh?”
“Yeah, yeah,” you nod, a smile pulling impossibly hard on your lips. “Retirement and all, you know.”
“Oh, sure.”
“I guess…” you shrug, stop spinning your glass and set it down altogether. You push it slowly across the tablecloth towards the center. “I could always show you around, too.”
He leans back, stands up straight and scratches his beard, makes a piss-poor attempt at wiping the dimpled smile off his face when he cocks his head to the side and says, “As much as I like your dad…”
“As much as you like my dad.”
And, because Daniel was never really Daniel, because he’s always going to be your Danny, no matter the time or the distance or anything else that should get in the way, he says: “You’ve always been my honeybee.”
— —
“Don’t call me that, Mom,” you shouted from the office, gathering your morning gear. You were working tours with Danny, today, and the two of you had spent all morning bickering over who gets to be lead and who has to be secondary guide. While you shoved the batteries into the walkie-talkies, you could overhear Danny successfully pleading with your Mom. Honeybee, she’d called out to you. Let Danny take Lead today, won’t you? 
She laughs. You roll your eyes, slipping behind the counter where she leans, where Danny lounges on a stool. You toss Danny’s walkie at his chest, and he catches it before it hits him. She raises her brows pointedly, meets Danny’s eyes in some shared language, a shared silent remark about you. “Why not?”
“Because. It sounds like something Grandma would say.”
Your mom smiles, twirls the end of your ponytail around her finger. “But you’re so sweet”
Danny chokes on his laugh, shooting up straight in his seat to clear his throat, to cough into his elbow. “She is NOT sweet.”
You scowl, shove his shoulder gently. It only makes him, and your mom, laugh harder. “Hey!”
“You make my life sweet, baby girl,” she hums. 
Danny nods, falling back into his comfortable spot, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re kinda like a bee,” he says, leaning back even further. Your entire day would be made by him losing his balance and falling flat on his ass. “You make her life sweet but for me…” he pauses. “You’re just this annoying little buzzing I can’t shoo away.”
Silently, you hold up both middle fingers to him, walking backwards out from behind the counter, towards the back door. Your mom only laughs at you, always laughs at you and Danny. “Love you, Bee,” she calls to you, and winks at Danny. 
“Yeah,” he calls, the stool creaking underneath him as he properly stands up. “Love ya, Bee!”
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batfleshh · 5 months
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PLSSSS I LOVE THE SOAP X M!HYBRID! READER!!
Could you write another one one???
🥹
(Some tea, or coffee or whatever you prefer you deserve it 🍵, ☕️, 🧃 🥤)
More Soap x M!Dog Hybrid!reader
Implied continuation of this
Warnings: nsfw, life is kicking your ass, muzzles, and gay stuff, and this is kind of short
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★ the events off the week that have led up to where you are currently at now:
★ On that Monday, it was supposed to be a fresh start. You had made sure the night before you would be ready to work hard that day, being ready for any mission, task, or person that would be thrown at you throughout the week. Well that’s what you told yourself, but the way you had unintentionally slammed your own tail in the door that morning made you aware this week was going to be rough.
★ The pain eventually faded, but then it led to your hair not cooperating. So when you walked out to start your day, you felt like you looked dumb. You tried to blow off steam throughout the day, sparring with other recruits and chatting it up with everyone. You had to fill out something for the captain, but you ended up getting something wrong, leading to you being chewed out. You understood why, but it was still kind of irritating.
★ During dinner, you sat a little off to the side, Soap sitting around with the others. You didn’t wanna make a fuss about it, considering you knew, who they were. But you still felt the smallest pang of jealousy. That night when you went to clean yourself up, you ended up slamming your tail in another door, a yelp leaving your lips as the pain hit you like a truck. When you were done, you finally laid down to sleep, not being able to until the early hours of the morning. It felt like you had rested for about fifteen seconds before your door was pounded on, signaling for you to be up and out in less than five minutes.
★ The next few days when the same way, you becoming antsy with everything happening, you starting to be quite aggressive, snapping at more people than you usually do. When Soap would try to touch the top of your head, you would nip at your hand, grumbling. He stopped trying after a while, until that Friday. That Friday night, he went to touch you again, earning a quick unintentional bite to the hand. You apologized profusely, him attempting to calm you down. It wasn’t bad, but the action still made you feel horrible. After that, you just let go, tears falling from your eyes as the events that had been crashing down on you all week finally made you snap.
★ He slowly eased you to the bed, shushing you as you continued to cry to him. He listened to you rant and grumble, sniffling as your ears pressed flat against your head. He had eventually got you to calm down, you both had moved into a position with you laying on his chest, him patting your back gently. He gave you a few quick kisses on your lips, sitting himself up slowly and running his hand through your hair. Those kisses slowly turned into a make out session, Johnny grinding up against you slowly as you did it back, hips pushing down against him.
★ He kept the kiss going when he heard someone knock, choosing to ignore it. You let out soft whimpers, a little scared that person would just waltz in, not bothering to get an answer. But they never did, eventually leaving to find you both somewhere else. Soap laid you down on the bed, getting up and walking around the room, around for something. He eventually stopped when he opened a drawer, pulling out an object. He hid it behind his back, pushing your head back down onto the bed when you raised up to see what it was.
★ He eventually allowed you to raise your head up, fastening something around your head before pushing you back down. Johnny had just muzzled you, the object on your face making you whine, staring up at him.
★ “That should help ya with that bitin’ problem, pup.”, he teased, pulling you towards him. When you moved to pull at the muzzle, Soap pinned your wrists down, chuckling at the way you squirmed under him. “S all okay, doll. I’ll be sure to fuck that attitude right out of ya.” He said to you softly, asking quickly if you were okay with it all, smiling when you gave him your permission. Which is how you’re where you are now.
★ Soap didn’t even bother to lock the door, slamming his cock into you as you moan and whine underneath him. Did Johnny care if you got caught? Hell no. All he wanted was to finally relieve you of your stress, watching you unwind with his dick in you was one of his favorite sights. He continued to have your wrists pinned, your legs wrapped around his waist as you trembled. It bothered you the tiniest bit that you couldn’t kiss him, but other than that, you were fine with being muzzled. You trusted Soap enough to know when you needed it, and Johnny knew good dogs didn’t bite.
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the-crimson · 5 months
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I need everyone to understand that q!Tubbo, q!Bbh and q!Aypierre spent seven hours fighting a psychological war today and they lost… but it prevented both teams from dying and no one will ever know.
(All talk about character not ccs etc etc)
Tubbo wasn’t there during the egg battle so he doesn’t feel the betrayal and humiliation that the other two do. He looks at green team and sees his friends. People he cares about. He doesn’t want them to lose especially not like this! He’d made up his mind the moment he learned of the event. No one was going to die.
Aypierre looked at green team and saw the snakes who broke their promise to tie the previous challenge. Why would they agree to tie this time when they’ve already proven to be untrustworthy? They betrayed him. They humiliated him and his entire team. This was his opportunity for revenge. Why shouldn’t blue team take it?
Bbh is much more in the middle. He agreed with the premise of a tie because he wanted to give green a fighting chance. He had a gut feeling it wasn’t going to work but he was willing to try. However, he didn’t trust green either. The whole time he was paranoid about green logging in at the last minute to scrounge together the quests to beat them. He was constantly reminding the group to stay together so they couldn’t be killed in case green logged in. He did not trust green to keep to the deal but he was willing to try.
For the first five or so hours of the streams the three had too many conversations to count where Aypierre would try to convince them to just say fuck it and turn in their tasks. To break the tie and be done with it! But each time bbh and Tubbo manage to hold him back and keep to the plan. It was only when bbh and Aypierre were in green’s secret base standing in front of green’s merchant that Aypierre finally caved and turned in his missions.
This was one battle lost. The next was Aypierre and Tubbo pulling bbh in two different directions and Tubbo choosing to give Green the quest items to rebalance the score. Two different battles that culminated in the single decisive moment of bbh claiming all of his missions. But what happened leading up to that moment? Chaos.
Various members of green team were logging in and out for the next two hours which only fueled bbh’s paranoia even more. Aypierre was trying to convince him to just claim the tasks the games already over! While Tubbo was confident they could still tie the score. It all went to shit in the last fifteen minutes.
Bbh and Aypierre discovered the quest items were gonna from the chest and Tubbo was lying to them about where he was. Tubbo made an executive decision to try and balance the score knowing the other two were too on the edge and chaotic at the moment. They’d discussed potentially giving green some items to tie the score but this was never agreed to and bbh and Aypierre had no idea what Tubbo was giving them.
They arrive at the center and the score starts changing and bbh starts panicking. Aypierre calls Tubbo a traitor for going behind their back and bbh is trying to mediate and figure out what’s going on - what did Tubbo do? Tubbo doesn’t explain fully so bbh assumes he gave both ElQuackity and Roier the quest items. Then Mouse logs in and bbh’s paranoia goes into overdrive. Did green have the items stockpiled and ready for Mouse to turn them in to sweep the victory last second? It’s happened twice before so it’s not out of the question. Bbh looked at the being Coco that acted so much like his son and asked, and it told him to cash in the quests. So he did.
At this point, everything was pure adrenaline. All bbh was thinking was save Dapper. “Run over anyone you need to to win”. If it ended as a tie or if blue won, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was he could not LOSE.
All three of blue fought so incredibly hard today it’s incredible. I wouldn’t be surprised if the ccs aren’t completely emotionally exhausted. Aypierre gave into his revenge after fighting it for nearly five hours straight. Bbh gave into his paranoia after fighting it for SEVEN HOURS straight. Tubbo gave into his need to do the right thing at any costs by going behind his team’s back which lead to the miscommunication that lead to that pivotal moment.
Blue failed today. They fought an internal war for seven hours and they lost at the very last moment. But in so doing, they saved their entire team. And they’ll never know. And no one will ever know. They will continue being the villains in this story even though no one on red or green knows what they went thought mentally today. None of them understand that it took seven hours of constant stress for them to break when they could have cashed the quests and secured victory within an hour.
In the end, Aypierre said it best “Either we win a fraud or die a villain.”
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spinning-away · 22 days
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bad idea, right? | bradley "rooster" bradshaw x reader
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summary: you ditch your friends during a night out for your shitty ex
warnings: semi based on a true story, some events did happen, others, well...
a/n: this definitely isn't about my ex??? definitely not multiple paragraphs summing up what i went through at the hands of a college boy??? idk what you're talking about! if this is absolute nonsense, i'm so sorry-i'm at my miserable job!
word count: 1.9k
You're on the dancefloor with your friends, laughing and screaming along to the obnoxious pop song blasting over the speakers of the club, but your mind it's elsewhere. It's on the unanswered text sitting in your messages to an unsaved number that you know by heart at this point. 
You shouldn't have replied when your ex texted you fifteen minutes ago, but if nothing else, his timing is always impeccable and you were waiting for your drink at the bar, idly scrolling through Instagram when the message came through.
Hey
If he had waited a minute longer, your phone would've been shoved in your back pocket and forgotten as you made your way back to your friends with a fresh gin and tonic in your hand. If only. 
As the song changes, you pull your phone out and stare at the newest message. An address. It's not the one you remember, and in a drunken haze you respond with a simple question mark. He replies quickly–before your friends even realize that you're glued to your phone–telling you that he wants you to see his new place. And, really, who are you to deny him of that? You know it's just a ploy to get you in his bed, but that doesn't deter you. In fact, you've been thinking about him a lot lately–well, his hands and his arms and the way he took you so ferociously every time. And it's been a minute since you've been with anyone that made you feel that good.
You’re at a low point. You're not afraid to admit it, and your friends would agree. You’re sure they’d rip your phone out of your hands and block his number and social media accounts and figure out a way that you can’t just undo it all when you’re sober. It wrecked you when he ended things. Even before it was officially over, you were crying in the bathrooms of bars after seeing him flirt with woman after woman in front of you like it wasn’t a big deal. Like you weren’t exclusively sleeping with each other. But that’s all it was.
He wasn’t your boyfriend. He didn’t take you to dinner or ask you to hang out during the week. He’d only tell you he missed you when he was six beers in and hanging out with his friends while you were hours away. He kept you at an arm’s length and you let him.
He hit you up every couple of weeks immediately after he ended things. He mostly tried to apologize for being the emotionless asshole you said he was during your last blow up argument, but the texts stopped rolling in a few months ago, and that's when you deleted his contact–hoping to rid your thoughts of him once and for all. And then, just as you start accepting your life the way that it is and having a good time with your friends, he slithers his way back in.
Which is how you find yourself alone in an Uber, heading out of the city and away from your apartment where you told your friends you were heading. You look out the window, staring at the quaint, little houses on the street as the car drives past. You have no idea where you’re at, but you aren’t in a state of mind to worry about that. It shocks you when the car slows to a stop in front of one of the cute houses. You almost ask the driver if he made a wrong turn somewhere, but then you see the familiar blue Bronco sitting in the short driveway. 
You hesitate slightly before opening the door of the car, hand ghosting over the handle. It's not too late to back out, you think, but then your body just moves. You're shutting the door as quietly as possible and walking up the sidewalk to the front door before you have time to reconsider. The door is blue, matching his car, which contrasts the rest of the white house. It's the cutest one on the street, and he lives here. It doesn't really add up.
Before you can even knock, the door swings open, revealing the Bradley Bradshaw, looking especially delectable in a loose white shirt and gray sweatpants. A smile spreads across his face. His mustache has grown even better than you remember. His hair is a little longer, and he looks a little less polished than he did when he got back from his last mission when you were still together. You’re too busy staring at him in your drunken daze, wondering who this man is and what he’s done with the Bradley you knew, that you don’t realize he’s been speaking to you.  
“Are you going to come in?” His voice breaks you out of your spell, looking at him standing in the most picturesque doorway of the cutest house you've ever seen in your life–a stark contrast from the nearly empty apartment he was living in when the two of you met. It was void of any personality or sentiments. You do remember a few knick-knacks haphazardly thrown into his nightstand drawer, but other than that, you thought he was a square. You're not sure you even recognize the man standing in front of you, but you take a step inside anyway, letting him take your purse from your shoulder and hang it on the hook in the entryway. 
You look around, taking in the warm tones and personal touches in the living room. Pictures and art hang on the walls, books line the shelves, and an almost empty glass of whiskey rests on a coaster by the beige fabric sofa.
“Who’s house is this?” You wonder aloud, following him into the kitchen where he pours you a glass of wine. Your favorite wine. There’s no way he remembers. He chuckles and hands you the glass. You stare at it like you don’t trust it–like he poisoned it or something. 
“Mine, I bought it. Do you like it?” Bradley is very clearly proud of his accomplishment. You're still so stunned by this whole thing. Six months ago, he ended things with you because you weren’t on the same page. He didn’t want to be tied down by a serious relationship–it wasn’t what he was looking for. You remember his words from one of your last conversations. They haunt you.
“I think you know how I feel about you.” 
Did you? You thought he liked you. You thought that when he told you he missed you while he was away that he meant it in the same way that you meant it. You wanted him to think of you as more than a booty call on the weekends when he was already drunk. There were times you wondered if he was just calling you because he struck out at the bars. It’s why your friends hate him. He made you think twice about your worth. Once when you were in his presence, at the same bar he frequented with his friends, you watched him get way too close to a woman at the bar, whispering in her ear. You went ballistic. 
The next day, he told you that he had an entire handle of liquor before going out. He was drunk out of his mind and had no idea what he was doing. You believed him. Time and time again you believed every lie he told you. Still, knowing that, you can’t help but dream about the man you wish he could’ve been, which apparently is the man he’s turned into since dropping you. 
“Home ownership is quite the commitment.” You slur your words and Bradley realizes that you’re drunk. When you responded to his text so quickly, he figured you were at home watching trashy television–not out getting wasted with your friends. He reaches for the wine glass, but you move out of his reach. 
“It is, but I just figured it was time to make this place home.” He sounds sincere, but he’s sounded sincere a million other times. You know this isn’t what he had in mind when he invited you over. It’s not what you had in mind, either, and now that you’re here, you don’t want to lie to him and tell him that you're okay with meaningless sex. It’s always been more than that to you. 
You walk around the living room, sipping the wine and taking in everything. Pictures of him and his friends, and old pictures of him and two people you assume are his parents. There’s a model plane attached to the wall in the hallway and a glass cabinet of medals and other awards that he’s gotten throughout his career. You realize you didn't know much about him when you were together. He never let you in like he is right now.
“Why did you ask me to come?” You turn to face him. He stands at the end of the hallway with his hands in his pockets. He looks sad. 
“I’ve been thinking about you a lot.” You let out a dry chuckle and shake your head.
“I’ve heard that one before.” 
He crosses the floor and stands to front of you. You take a step back, hitting the wall behind you. Your wine glass is empty. He takes it from your hand and sets it on the console table to your left. 
“I thought I wasn’t ready six months ago.” He begins. “For a real relationship, or a place to call home, or even a cat.” He chuckles. “But the moment I let you go, I realized I was just being a headass.” 
“You were being a headass, weren’t you.” He smiles at your agreement.
“But I treated you so terribly, and for that, I’m sorry. I want another chance at this…if you’ll let me.” He says the last part softly like he’s afraid of being rejected. It’s hard to look into his eyes and not go soft for the man you met last year. You were set up by mutual friends who thought you’d hit it off, and they were right. You felt like the luckiest girl in the world because he was giving you, of all people, the time of day. You learned quickly that he’s the life of the party, and that made things fun for a while, until you realized your feelings were much deeper than his. “I know I don’t deserve it.” You don't have to verbally agree to his statement. You both know it's true.
“I was too embarrassed to tell my friends where I was going. If they knew I was here, they’d kill me.” 
“I understa–” You cut him off by pulling him down by the back of his neck and kissing him. He tastes like whiskey and trouble. It feels good and familiar and you don't want to stop, but you force yourself to pull away, keeping your hand on his neck. His hands are on your waist, searching your face for something–anything. You haven’t even forgiven him yet. 
“This is a bad idea, right?” You breathe out, chest heaving up and down. Your mind is spinning. You’re probably not in the right headspace to make a decision like this, but you’ll figure it all out in the morning. 
“It’s not, I promise.” He assures you, and for now, you’re taking what he’s saying at surface level. At the very least, you might get to sleep with him a few more times before it all goes to shit again. 
AHHH!!! so this is my first piece of writing on this blog (i have a few things floating around on a different blog) any feedback is appreciated <3 i hope you all enjoyed!! maybe some of you can unfortunately relate...kisses!
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ghost-proofbaby · 8 months
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FIRST IMPRESSIONS (a barista!eddie x barista!reader au)
summary: eddie faces the perils of being a coffee shop opener, and meets you. you, who's so damn optimistic it should be annoying. you, who makes the job that has given him trouble seem like a cake walk. you, who seemingly bleeds sunshine. god, he should really hate you.
warnings: TWO uses of "y/n", fem!reader (use of she/her pronouns), PHYSICAL descriptors used for reader (she has a nose ring and a septum piercing! that's all), eddie is just a bitter and grumpy idiot.
wc: 5.2k
a/n: i apologize in advance for all the technical 'barista' talk in reference to positions. i tried to elaborate on a few of them, haha. also... yes. i gave reader two nose piercings. it's definitely not even more self-projection psh. (because i have three)
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Eddie Munson is not a morning person.
So, why, for the life of him, he ended up as an opener, he couldn’t tell you. 
It had been a snowball effect. He got tired of working odd jobs here and there to produce enough cash to slip Wayne for bills, decided the quick change made off of fixing up neighbors’ cars or mowing lawns just wasn’t cutting it for his desired spending habits. He was tired of being so restricted by his misfortune; he was tired of watching Wayne pull long shifts only to continue living paycheck to paycheck. He was tired of his friends like Harrington and Buckley having money from their part time gig at the movie store to freely agree to impromptu late nights at Benny’s or seeing the latest slasher films in the theater as they premiered while he had to deliberate over counting change to see if he even had the funds to join in. He was tired of eyeing that guitar in the mall and constantly telling himself one day. 
Eddie Munson had been tired. But now, as he forced himself awake most mornings before the sun even rose, he was exhausted.
Originally, he’d wanted to be a closer. He didn’t mind being the clean up crew, having to spend late nights in a coffee shop sweeping up grounds and scrubbing away the stickiness of the day. But then the hiring manager that interviewed him had hinted towards the fact that their store already had enough closers when he’d spotted Eddie’s availability, made a few off comments about how what they really needed was a couple brave souls to take over opening shift, and that tiresome cycle rang in Eddie’s ears. Before he even had the chance to think it through, in his desperation, he’d insisted that oh, actually, my availability is completely open. I don’t mind working earlier than that. 
What bullshit. Eddie definitely minded working earlier than that. He more than minded it — he loathed it.
Long story short, it had been a series of unfortunate events that led Eddie to where he was now. In his van, fifteen minutes early, staring out at a parking lot bathed in the lingering night as he fought to keep his eyes open. 
The clock on his dash read 4:46 in a taunting blink, flickering against his bleary eyesight and making him question every decision in his life that had led him here. Adjusting to the new job had been easy enough — his trainer was nice enough, learning how to make drinks and what routines were required in the morning had been meticulous but rewarding — except for the time. It wasn’t just his start time that tortured him vehemently; shifts seem to pass miserably slow, the seconds dragging their feet in no hurry to get anywhere in particular. The clock didn’t care if Eddie yearned for his bed and a few extra hours of sleep gifted by a nap. Traffic didn’t either, when he’d hit the highways and catch just the beginnings or the tail end of the morning rush.
You’d think he’d complain more about the commute. But the gas spent on the twenty minute drive to the town over was the least of his concerns.
“Fuckin’ John,” Eddie mutters when a large truck pulls up to the drive thru, a notable regular he’d begun to recognize after not even a month of working there. They had just recently changed their opening time (they used to open an hour earlier, his manager had informed him. Eddie had nearly burst into grateful tears that he’d never experienced that crime of humanity.) 
None of his coworkers had arrived yet. Most lived closer, able to garner extra snoozes on their alarms and shorter drives of contemplation. Eddie only ever envied them on mornings like today.
“We don’t open for, like, another forty minutes, asshole,” Eddie curses out loud to himself, counting down the time until John gives up and drives away. The man would just circle the store like a vulture anyways. He always did; he always had to be the first customer, grabbing his ridiculous coffee order before scurrying off to play cards at the casino, “How do you come here every fuckin’ day and not know that?” 
It took the older man a full four minutes before he finally roughly shifted his truck back into drive, being the farthest thing from gentle as he hit his gas and jerked his vehicle out of the drive thru line. Eddie couldn’t see him clearly through the stubborn darkness, but he could easily imagine that look of irritation at not receiving the caramel frappucino with a quad shot that he seemed to feel entitled to. 
God, that man was a dick. 
Eddie nearly misses another coworker pulling up to park beside him during the spectacle. 
By this point, he’s learned what cars all his coworkers drive. 
Carmen, the fellow barista who had trained him but he now rarely worked with due to her availability being a bit later in the day, drove a bright red 2012 Kia Soul that had certainly seen better days. Nicole, one of the shift leads he worked with often during his opens, drove a small and silver Nissan Versa. The year is lost on him, but he’s willing to bet it was a few years old at this point. James, another shift lead who went by Jamie and never had much to say, drove a Volkswagen that looked to be straight out of the 70s. And that was just the beginning, the ones he could think of off the top of his head while he was still waking up inside his van. 
The car parked beside him wasn’t any of these. He didn’t recognize it at first glance, and found himself doing a double take as his face scrunched up. 
A Jeep. A two-door Jeep Wrangler with vibrant, chipped yellow paint now sat idle beside him. 
Who the fuck drove a yellow Jeep? 
He can’t even bother to be annoyed or fatigued anymore with the mystery presently before him. He can’t see through the tint of the windows, can’t make out the silhouette of who it was. He was well aware that he hadn’t been acquainted with all of his coworkers quite yet – there was a plethora of baristas in the store he’d only heard spoken of in passing rather than properly meeting – but it had seemed like the people who opened always came from the same rotation of sorry suckers. 
Nicole’s car pulls up. So whoever drove the Jeep was not one of the shift leads. 
Five minutes to 5:00 AM, Nicole’s car door opens first and Eddie can hear the Jeep’s engine kill. He’s quick to fumble with his own keys, pulling them from the ignition in a haste and throwing a hand out to blindly grab his apron from his passenger seat.
A deep shade of green. Everyone had one or two of them laying around, and they were the root of the nickname for all new hires: green beans. He had just finally gotten the one embroidered with his name a little over a week ago, and his manager had apologized profusely as she swore it usually didn’t take that long.
Eddie really didn’t care. The moment he started wearing the apron with his name on it, customers had taken to randomly addressing him by it, and it made him fucking uncomfortable. 
“Rise and shine, campers!” Nicole’s voice echoes through the parking lot the moment all three openers are out of their cars. 
Eddie doesn’t answer at first (which isn’t unusual; Nicole was used to his ever-present sleep-deprivation induced silence). He’s too busy nearly tripping over himself as his eyes stay glued on that Jeep, on the door that swings wide open roughly from two parking spaces away as he waits with bated breath. 
Would this new coworker he was about to meet even like him? 
“God, Nicky,” a new voice groans – a girl’s voice.
Ah, fuck. 
Eddie had noticed the mysterious phenomenon of the way everyone who worked here seemed to be attractive to some extent. Nice on the eyes, always smiling and always flirting in a friendly manner to garner more tips. He’d had plenty of bisexual panics in the bathroom anytime one of his coworkers extended that friendly flirtation his way. All the fellow guys (as few as there were) and all the confident girls he’d been in the trenches with – it didn’t matter, they all affected him. 
Hawkins didn’t have nearly as many pretty people. Eddie sort of felt cheated for having lived a mere twenty minutes from a goldmine of such people for so long, completely unaware. But he also felt sort of relieved, knowing that if he were still a teenager barely scraping by in high school, this coffee shop would have been his downfall with awkward stumbles and feelings caught from all those faux smiles and joking winks that his now coworkers laid on heavy with their regulars. 
With this in mind, he doesn’t know why he wasn’t prepared for when you stepped out of the Jeep. Slamming the door shut behind you, your arms were full with an apron that was definitely not green, along with an oversized water bottle and what he thinks is either a cardigan or jacket. A tote bag slung over your shoulder looked to be stuffed full as well. You were a walking cliche for the type of person that people would expect to work at a coffee shop. The type of person that embodied all those jokes of if an alternative person isn’t making my coffee, it’s not going to taste good. 
Eddie should know; he’d been the butt of many of those style of jokes given that he also fit into that category. With his long hair, with his sparse tattoos, with his new nose ring – he knew he was as much of a cliche as you were. 
Didn’t stop him from staring at you, suddenly wide awake. 
“Aren’t you just a ray of sunshine?” Nicole jokes as she rounds the front of your Jeep, stopping and looking between you and Eddie before she says to you, “You’d think after a month’s vacation you’d be happier to see me.” 
You take two steps forward, lining up right between Eddie and Nicole, and suddenly contort your face to be such an over-exaggerated smile that it’s nearly a grimace. Eddie is so caught up in the scrunch of your nose, he nearly misses the way you grit out a sarcastic “Better?” from between your teeth. 
“Oh, that’s the winner,” Nicole cackles, keys jangling as she shakes them and leads the two of you towards the front of the store. Over her shoulder, she continues to joke, “Keep on smiling like that, and I sense a twenty dollar tip in our future.” 
Eddie still hasn’t said a word. What is he supposed to say? All he can do is trail slightly behind you, doing everything in his power to not let his eyes roam over your legs or backside. You were just wearing black jeans, in line with the same dress-code everyone else followed, but they were doing you favors. 
“Y’know, I think I already saw John’s truck this morning,” your voice was surprisingly pleasant despite the insinuation Nicole had made that your first impression should be grumpy. Far less gritty than Eddie’s would have been had he spoken up, “Think I can sweet talk that out of him? Maybe I’ll ask about his wife. Or- Oh!” you exclaim, bursting with sudden energy that should give Eddie a headache this early, “Put me on bar! I’ll douse his drink in caramel how he likes, that’s sure to tug on his wallet- Sorry, I mean heart-strings.” 
Nicole continues to laugh as she fumbles with unlocking the door, and it’s not lost on Eddie that he has never made any of the fellow baristas laugh like that. Although, to be fair, he has never been quite as enthusiastic as you. He didn’t seemingly bleed sunshine like you. Here the three of you were, outside in the dusky beginnings of a morning, and he could have sworn that the sun had already risen from the light that seemed to emit from you. 
It should have made him nauseated. It kind of did, actually. 
You turn suddenly, just as Nicole finally turns the lock, and face him. Your smile is subtle, eyes so wide he wouldn’t notice the bags even if you had any. “I’m Y/N, by the way.” 
You stick your hand out and he can see you sticky with it – with hopefulness, with friendliness, with kindness. His stomach churns. 
Nope. Not a chance. 
The moment Nicole opens the door, he’s barely muttering his name back to you, and is rushing past you to enter the store. His shoulder brushes against yours, and he has to tell himself repeatedly he did not just shoulder-check you. He has to tell himself that it’s okay he didn’t meet your level of enthusiasm. He has to tell himself that you’re just another barista, someone else who makes coffee for a living and that this new energy you bring is just due to that vacation that Nicole mentioned. 
It’ll fade. He’ll be fine. At some point, his stomach has to stop churning. 
It doesn’t. 
Your energy doesn’t falter, to his surprise. Not only are you sunshine personified, but you’re also damn good at your job. Eddie can only imagine how sluggish he’d be if he had a month off from anything, especially a job, but it doesn’t even seem as though you have to dust any of your skills off for the day. 
You offer to take over opening up the ‘drive thru’ aspect of the store, brewing all the coffees and teas without complaint as Eddie lingers in his misery of shuffling through the tasks of opening up the food portion of the store. As he’s sorting the croissants to be replenished, implementing the technique of FIFO (first in, first out), he can hear Nicole still cackling at whatever you’re saying in the back of the house as you clean the syrup pumps. When he’s labeling all the new breakfast sandwiches for the day with their best-by dates, he can hear you humming a few feet away from him over the clicking of the sticker gun in his hand. And when the clock finally reads 5:30 to signify the time of opening, you’re putting on your apron, tying it around yourself more securely than Eddie always lazily did. Even your black apron seemed to fit on you better than his did, as if you were more made for this job than he was. As if you had years of experience to carry on your shoulders, and God, were you carrying them with grace. Constantly smiling, constantly joking. He’d once thought Nicole incapable of even breaking a grin, but he’d hardly gone longer than a minute without hearing her laugh during the time of your opening together. 
God, he sort of hated you. 
You never even mentioned how rudely he’d shrugged off your introduction. Occasionally, he’d even caught you looking his way during the conversation, a soft expression on your face as if you were ready to include him in all the inside jokes at a moment’s notice. 
He made sure to consistently stare straight ahead, never once seeming to glance your way when you wore that expression. 
You were just too nice. You were putting all the other openers to shame right before his eyes, himself included, and he hated you for it. 
Once the store is open, John is the first customer in drive, as always. Eddie wears the headset (the one you’d grabbed for him, sanitizing it and slotting a freshly charged battery in without him even asking. God, he hated you.) and listens in to you greeting the awful bastard, and his stomach does another flip. 
“Good morning, John,” you chirp happily. He couldn’t see your face from around the corner, but he could only imagine that you were wearing a smile. Maybe you even had that damn camera on so that the customers could see you just as you could see them. 
He waits. Anxious to hear John’s grumpy reply, be reassured when someone else also didn’t match your energy. The man had never been pleasant a single day that Eddie had worked thus far. Simply barking out his order, acting offended when someone didn’t recognize him. 
If anyone was going to be cruel to you, Eddie would bet all five dollars in his pocket that it would be John. 
But even John wasn’t fucking mean to you. 
He had replied in the most cheerful tone Eddie had ever heard leave the man’s throat.
“And who am I speaking to?” he almost sounds teasing. It fans at Eddie’s irrational irritability. 
“I’ll give you three guesses.” 
He hates the way your customer service voice was so similar to just your normal voice. A bit squeakier, a bit more polite, but still bottled sunshine. He hates how nicely it caressed his eardrum as compared to the grate of some of the other barista’s tones while on drive thru. He hates that some deep part of him secretly hoped that Nicole stationed you there your entire shift, and that if she did, he would fight tooth and nail to keep this damn headset on. Just to hear your voice. Just to hear your light.
“Only three?” John’s gruff voice scoffs, “There’s only one person who works here who is this damn cheery before eight in the morning.” 
Nicole laughs from where she’s bent over to put down a few of the sanitizer buckets by the bars, shaking her head as she also listens in over her headset. 
“I’m making it easy on you, then,” you say as you suddenly come into view for Eddie. He’s trying to replenish the sandwiches and protein boxes that the store keeps on display for the customer by the register, still working through his morning tasks as he realizes you’ve completed yours.
Man, he fucking hated you. 
You don’t miss a beat as you begin to tap one of the espresso machines awake, punching all the right buttons to pull John’s espresso shot before you turn to make your way towards the cold beverage station. “You still drinking the same thing, old man?” 
“I’m not old.”
“Right, and I’m not already over-caffeinated,” that’s a lie. He hasn’t seen you touch a drop of coffee this entire time, “Just pull on up. It’s a billion dollars, or whatever your total normally is.” 
John’s cackle is cut off by him pulling away from the speaker box, effectively disconnecting the two way mic. Even Eddie finds himself nearly grinning at your reply, but he stops himself. Because you’re annoying. Because no one should be this witty this early. Because the ability to make others laugh this often should be a cardinal sin. 
He stops the grin because he hates you… right?
You do manage to get a tip out of John. Eddie sees it with his own two eyes. It’s a quick deposit of whatever spare change the stingiest man Eddie had ever had the displeasure of meeting has lying around his car, and it happens so quickly while you’re leant out the window to pass the man his receipt that he always requests that Eddie almost convinces himself it didn’t happen. But it did. He saw it with his own two eyes, as he tripped over his two left feet, effectively nearly knocking Nicole over with him. 
The look she gives him makes his stomach twist this time as his heart lurches. It’s a knowing look. It’s despicable. 
She doesn’t say a word until later into the shift, once more baristas are scattered across the floor and peak is in full swing. Eddie isn’t kept on food, and you aren’t kept to manage taking orders or run the window – he’s the one reassigned to the window position as you are moved to the cafe bar. He’s tasked with quick connections before handing out drinks to bored business people, as you fly through making drinks for both mobile orders and any customers that choose to physically walk into the store. 
Nicole puts herself on the position of ‘DTO’ – she greets the drive thru customers over the headset and takes their orders, her tone not nearly as honey-sweet as yours had been. She’s lacking in jokes, she sticks to a script that must have taken her years to make sound even remotely natural. 
Eddie’s just grateful he doesn’t have to wear a headset and listen to her directly in his ear. 
Rush has died down when she turns to him and cocks a brow with her hip. He has the window shut, fiddling with his thumbs as he anxiously awaits for the partner on drive bar to finish making the iced white mocha for the customer currently sitting on their phone. He’s sure the look she shoots his way is in regards to the fact that he isn’t ‘connecting with the customer’ or putting himself through insufferable small talk. 
It isn’t.
“Do you not like her?” 
His head shoots up, fully meeting her curious gaze, “Excuse me?”
“Y/N,” she clarifies, “Do you… not like her?” 
“I don’t know her,” he weakly defends himself.
He had been a dick to you this morning, hadn’t he? What a weak defense for being a bad person to someone who makes this entire store glow simply by being here. 
“You should give her a chance,” Nicole speaks softly as she leans back on the counter that holds the order screens, “I… She can be a lot, but she’s one of our best. Think of her as the people’s princess, so to speak.” 
He knows you’re one of the best here, just in the short few hours he’s caught glimpses of you. He has no idea how you’re so quick with making drinks, or how you manage to hold such genuine sounding conversations with all of the customers who stand right at the hand off plane. He just gets irritable when they stare at him with prying eyes as he tries (and fails) to keep up his pace. 
“I… I can see it,” he nods, bringing a hand up to pinch his bottom lip, “I mean, John clearly loves her.” 
Nicole gives a pointed look, “He does. She doesn’t take his shit – him and his wife bring her gifts for every holiday. They know her damn birthday and bring her cards. It’s insufferable.” 
He cracks a shy smile at that, “They bring her birthday cards?”
“They bring her birthday cards,” she echoes back to him. Eddie finally receives the drink he was waiting on and turns, quick to hand it out with a soft mutterance of ‘have a good day’. Once he’s finished and the drive thru is officially empty, he faces her once more, “You don’t have to like her as much as everyone else. I know you’re still new and adjusting but… she’s one of the best for a reason.” 
“Because she can turn out drinks like it’s no one’s business?” Eddie questions, side stepping and lifting his chin in your direction as you finish yet another drink, as if to prove his point. 
“That,” Nicole shrugs her shoulders and pushes off the counter, “And because she actually gives a damn.” Eddie’s brows shoot up as he waits for her to continue, “She knows these customers, man. Learns about their lives, hears them out. Remembers the small things. She’s the same way with all of us, too. She once got turned down from being a shift lead because she’s too nice. Have you ever heard of someone being shot down from a job for that?” Nicole pauses, and Eddie can only shake his head, feeling the ends of his ponytail brush the back of his neck, “She has the management experience – she knows how to run this place. Sometimes, I see it. The way she steps up and takes responsibility. She chooses to be that kind even if it makes her seem like a nut job. She chooses to let people hear walk all over her, because she cares. She cares more about treating us as humans or whatever than she does an upgrade in pay.”
“Makes sense they wouldn’t make her a shift, then,” Eddie dares to say, which earns him a sharp look, “I mean, management positions aren’t for the weak of heart. You have to make tough decision-”
“Once, a man was harassing one of our baristas. This dude who was married. Came in like clockwork and picked up a mobile order under his wife’s name, wouldn’t take no for an answer and kept flirting with one of our poor girls. I’ve never really been afraid of her, but I was every time that man stepped foot in here,” Nicole grabs a rag and starts to wipe down the counters with a low whistle, as if she isn’t spilling serious store lore right now to Eddie. As if she isn’t bringing on more questions than answers, “She’s not weak of heart. She’s good of heart. And if she hadn’t been on vacation, she would have been your trainer. You don’t have to like her, like I said, but it would do you well to give her a chance.” 
Trainer? 
Carmen had mentioned something about another barista being the usual trainer. She had even tried to joke around with Eddie that he would have liked the other girl better, something about how she was funnier and easier to get along with. 
You. You were the girl she’d been talking about. The people’s princess, as Nicole had put it. 
Eddie opens his mouth to say something in reply, although he isn’t quite sure what he can say. 
God, he had been a fucking dick. And Nicole was matching sure he felt all seven levels of Hell, of guilt, for it. 
It ate him alive for the rest of his shift. His stomach churned with it. All that guilt gnawed on him from the inside out, using his bones for toothpicks, and he already knew what he needed to do without Nicole saying it.
“Did that hurt?”
The two of you got off your shifts at the same time, as most openers do. At ten o’clock precisely, Nicole was shooing the two of you off the floor, two fresh baristas taking both your places as you scurried to the back. 
He’d overheard the joke made ten minutes prior, Nicole speaking to a fellow shift lead about who would be replacing you, already mourning your absence. She didn’t make such a joke about Eddie.
“Huh?” you look up quickly from where you had been carefully rolling and folding your apron into a bundle. 
Eddie gestures vaguely to his nose again, repeating himself, “Did it hurt?” 
It was the best he could do – pathetic small talk about the nose piercings of yours that had caught his eye. 
You grin radiantly, and he tries to swallow down that instinctive voice that whisper hate, hate, hate. “Which one?”
Right. You had multiple nose piercings. A hoop that matches Eddie’s own, only on the left nostril rather than the right like his, and that septum piercing. He’d probably look dumb to ask about the nostril considering he had his done, and should already know that it definitely doesn’t feel nice. 
“The septum,” he clarifies, “That combination, though, um… It looks sick.” 
Oh, he sounds so fucking stupid right now. He wishes the sticky floors beneath the two of you would split and swallow him whole. 
“Eh,” you shrug, finally glancing away from him to finish wrapping the strings of your apron snugly around the bundle you’d made of it, “My nostril honestly hurt worse. If you’re thinking of getting one,” you pause, and look up, offering him a look of pure mischief. Heart, stomach, mind. They all lurch with that look as you whisper, as if letting him in on a secret, “Do it.”
“I don’t think I could pull it off,” he’s quick to blurt out, eyes widening, resisting the urge to take several steps back and put distance between you two. 
Fuck, he didn’t hate you. It hits him like a truck – this shift had managed to slip through his fingers so quickly. The fastest one to date. Between all of your jokes, all of the laughter you managed to pull out of others and that he had to fight down, the day had flown past as easily as a shift really could. 
He regrets spending the shift moping. He regrets ignoring your introduction. He regrets not giving you a chance. 
“I think you could,” your tote bag now hangs from your shoulder, and you have your keys prepared in one hand as you hold your water bottle in the other, “Everyone says that, but if you can already pull off the nostril, adding a little septum to the mix never hurt nobody.” 
Is your face stuck like that? Stuck with a subtle and shy smile pulling at the lips, making the corners of your eyes crinkle in the slightest? 
He hopes not. If it is, he’ll never be able to have a normal conversation with you. He’ll always be too distracted, too infuriated, too overwhelmed. 
“You’re a very optimistic person,” he almost lets it slip out as a scoff, but refrains, Nicole’s words echoing in his mind. It would do you well to give her a chance.
“I find your lack of faith disturbing,” you casually say to him. 
“Did you just quote Star Wars to me?” 
Eddie is aghast, staring at you with even more awe than before. And you – oh, you look so goddamn proud of yourself and the way you’ve left him shellshocked, smugly lifting your chin and smiling more intentionally. You’re smiling so widely that your eyes pinch nearly fully shut and even more of that sunshine is now flooding the backroom up to Eddie’s knees.
“I don’t know,” you start to step around Eddie, carrying an air of arrogance that would only be so endearing from someone who had been proven to be as kind as you were, “Did I?”
You never give him the chance to answer. You leave him there, standing in the middle of the back of house and not even clocked out yet as you walk away with a bounce in your step and a quick have a good day, Eddie! over your shoulder.
When he’s finally off the clock and having given a half-ass goodbye to everyone on the floor (which no one replied to as enthusiastically as they had yours, by the way), you’re still sitting in your damn yellow Jeep. You give him a slight wave through the windshield as he makes a beeline for his van, and he doesn’t even bother to return it. Pretends he doesn’t see it. Looks straight ahead. If Nicole is watching from the drive thru window that serves as a front row seat to the entire interaction, she’s going to rip him a new one next shift they work together. 
God, Eddie wishes he hated you. 
Instead, he’s left hoping that next time he opens, you’re there to make the time fly. Maybe he’ll be the one quoting Star Wars to you. If he can ever get the stick out of his ass, that is.
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thisreadswhatever · 5 months
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The Chase: Part One
Pretty Sweet
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series masterlist
[description]: jax teller x female reader
[wordcount]: 2.7k+
[summary]: Jax Teller is used to getting what he wants. At least that was the case before he met you.
[cw]: 18+ only minors do not interact - AU, follows some canon characters & themes but timeline is different. otherwise none yet, but stick with me, I have a smutty plan!
[authors note]: this has been really fun to write. thank you so much to this anon for requesting this idea! I plan on writing a good few parts of this.. as I am really loving writing this reader insert. if you have any ideas or suggestions on where you would like this to go, please let me know! I absolutely love getting your suggestions. I really hope you enjoy!
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It had been a long sixteen hour drive. You sighed with relief as you sped past the large wooden slice, “WELCOME TO CHARMING”. You rolled your windows down, the wind blistering through your hair as you took in the warm California sun. 
You turned the music up, attempting to drown out the events replaying in your head that led you here in the first place. 
Charming wasn’t exactly on your bucket list of places to travel. Your parents had split a few years back, after your mom decided she could no longer handle the baggage that came with the Sons of Anarchy MC. Your Dad was an avid member of the Denver Charter, and she soon realised she couldn’t sit back and watch as he grew deeper into the Club. It was a quick and amicable divorce, made easier by the fact you were an only child and more than understanding of why the relationship had to end. You were old enough to see the pain your mom went through trying to make it work, and you knew that it was the best decision for them both. Your Dad on the other hand, never really got over it. 
When your mom remarried last year, he decided to leave Colorado and transferred to the SAMCRO Charter. Charming was his home now. He’d been begging you to visit him for months, and despite the fact you were genuinely pleased that he was happy, seeing him so far from home and content without his family wasn’t something you’d looked forward too. 
Charming was a small place, and from what your Dad had told you, it had never really left the seventies. Denver was the total opposite, a city full of life and people, and ever growing with new expanding chains of business. Even with the freezing winters, there was always something to do in Denver. But Charming? They barely had a population of fifteen thousand. 
You had evaded the trip for as long as you could, blaming college assignments and exams for the reason you couldn’t make the drive. Now that you’d graduated, the excuses had run thin, and it was time to visit your Dad in Charming. 
You pulled into the road of the address he had given you, entering a long unpaved driveway that ended on the outside of a dainty cabin. Your Dad’s bike was parked stagnant on the dirt. You dug your suitcase out from your trunk and walked up the wooden steps to the porch, bringing your hand to the door to knock. Before your knuckles could meet the wood, the door flung wide and your Dad lunged at you with open arms. 
“You’re finally here!”, he squealed in excitement as he grasped you into a giant bear hug.
“‘Finally’ is right. That was a serious drive, Dad.”
He took your suitcase and carried it through the entryway. “Sure is. I’m so glad you got here safely, kiddo. Come on, let’s get you settled. You hungry? I was just about to make some lunch.”
You followed him inside as you observed the interior of the quaint, dusty cabin. “I could definitely eat.” 
Your Dad showed you to your room and then became sidetracked from lunch, giving you a full tour of his new home and the complete low down of all things SAMCRO. He’d explained that the place was owned by the Club, but nobody ever frequented it unless they were in hiding. Your Dad was housed here for the long term, or at least until he could find something he liked better inside the Charming suburbs. 
Once he’d caught you up, he made his start on lunch. You watched as he strolled throughout the kitchen, sitting patiently at the small round dining table. 
“It’s a nice place, Dad. Not sure how I feel that you’re out here all alone though.”
“I’m barely here, kiddo. Spend most of my time down the Clubhouse.” He shrugged nonchalantly as he continued to make sandwiches, dropping a piece of turkey in the process. “I can’t wait for you to meet the guys, y/n. A lot more warm than the ones up in Denver. Some of them are your age too.” He placed the plate in front of you, and you grimaced at the site. Your Dad had never claimed to be a great chef. 
“Thanks.” You smiled at him politely, taking a bite and struggling to swallow down the piece of dry sandwich. “I’m sure they’re great, Dad.”
“So, how’s your mom?” 
You shrugged dismissively, unsure how to broach the uncomfortable topic of the newly weds. “She’s doing well. Mike is good to her.” 
He nodded. “That’s good. I’m really glad she’s happy.” 
It was hard to see your Dad try to be okay with the fact that your mom had moved on. The awkward silence was interrupted by his chair scraping against the floor as he stood up from the table. “Finish lunch and we can head on out. The guys are getting together at the Clubhouse tonight, you can meet them all there.”
You knew an evening with a bunch of Californian bikers was going to be inevitable during your trip. At least you could get it over with on the first night. 
“Sounds great, Dad.” 
You weren’t thrilled to be back in the confines of your car so soon after your long road trip, but your Dad knew better than to ask you to sit on the back of his motorcycle.
You rolled the windows down of your car as you followed his bike through the winding road from the cabin. As you re-entered Charming, you passed by locally run stores and cafes. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think this was a quiet, peaceful town. But you did know better. You knew what the Club’s presence actually meant for a small community like Charming. If SAMCRO was anything similar to the Denver Charter, the underworkings of this town would be anything but quiet and peaceful. 
You pulled into the lot of Teller-Morrow Automotive Repairs, instantly drawn to the huge row of Harley motorcycles lined up on the inner bays.
Your Dad parked up and met you outside your car, telling you all about his new job in the garage as you walked together. He led you across the lot towards a small black door, entering into the SAMCRO clubhouse. It was impressive, a comfortable space with its own bar and lounge area. The place was full of MC memorabilia and pictures from the club’s long history. The furthest wall was centered by two large double doors that were surrounded by mugshots of the SAMCRO members. You had visited the Denver Clubhouse enough to know that room was where the decisions were made.
Your Dad introduced you one by one to several members that were there, a few of which he’d mentioned to you that afternoon. Bobby, Chibs, Trager, Juice and Opie all greeted you with open arms. They were extremely friendly and welcoming, just as your father had promised. The one your Dad called Trager seemed very pleased with your arrival, hugging you for a little too long. Your Dad managed to break the long embrace, pulling you away to start touring you around the building. 
“Don’t get too close to that one, kiddo. He’s a little out there.” 
You giggled as you nodded in agreement, “I’ll keep my distance.” 
You sat alongside the club’s Secretary, Bobby, on a leather bench that faced out with a view of the entire room. You observed as the Clubhouse filled with more members and women, a handful of which were old ladies. The rest of them, very clearly single. Of all the members you’d met so far, Bobby had been the easiest to talk to. He clued you in on some of the Club’s legitimate businesses, Cara Cara and Red Woody Productions. You figured that’s where most of the girls came from, retired and current porn stars. 
It was a little strange, and anyone else may have felt uneasy seeing their father in this kind of environment. But you were used to the life of girls and guns from growing up with a dad in a motorcycle club. The Denver Charter had its fair share of women in and out of their doors, but mainly just bartenders and the odd crow eater looking for a way in. These girls were more forward, scantily clothed, makeup on point, and obviously comfortable with their surroundings.  
Bobby nudged your shoulder, regaining your attention from the party happening around you. “You know your Dad talks about you constantly. He’s so happy that you’re here, kid. We all are.” 
You glanced over at your father, a huge smile forming as he collected a drink from the bar. 
“He does seem happy. Just weird seeing him away from home.” 
“You got a home here with us too now, y/n.” He placed his arm over you and squeezed your shoulder reassuringly, “we’re your family as much as we are his.” 
“That’s really sweet, Bobby. Thanks.” 
He pulled his arm back as he chuckled to himself, his large stomach bellowing as he laughed. “I am pretty sweet.” 
Suddenly, the front door opened and a roar of drunken welcomes filled the clubhouse as two more members entered. The President of SAMCRO, Clay Morrow, walked in smiling ear to ear, hands held up as though he was a celebrity greeting his adoring fans. You’d heard a lot about Clay from your father, mainly that he was the initial sponsor for his transfer from Denver, and some remarks about what an ass he was. Behind him, a much younger member followed, embracing Opie as he entered. He was different from the other members, not totally clean cut, but you could at least tell he had showered. Not only was he bathed, he wasn’t harsh on the eyes either. You watched as he talked with Opie, his hands pushing his long blonde hair behind his ears as he spoke. 
“Who’s that?” You asked Bobby, your eyes never feigning from the man. 
“That’s Jax. Club’s VP.” 
As you watched him converse with Opie, he suddenly glanced your way, locking eyes with you. You quickly turned away from him and back towards Bobby. 
“He looks a little young to be Vice President”, you mumbled as you took a swig from your beer, still conscious that he was looking at you. 
Bobby laughed, “Yeah, well, he’s a Teller. His Dad was First 9 alongside Clay and Piney Winston, Ope’s pops. Jax has been SAMCRO since he came out of the womb.” 
You raised your eyebrows, glancing back over your shoulder. Jax’s attention had now been obtained by one of the Cara Cara girls. She was pulling him in by his cutte, batting her eyelashes at him as she leaned against the bar. 
Bobby watched as you observed Jax. He sipped his drink, amused by your interest. “He’s known for his way with the ladies.” 
You wanted to press Bobby further, but your Dad suddenly was stumbling over beside you, placing a hand on your shoulder. 
“Come on over here, kid. I want you to meet my sponsor.” 
“The asshole?”, you whispered to him as you stood up from the chair.
He snickered back at you, patting you on the back. “He’s having a good day.” 
You were impressed by the brotherhood the Redwood Originals shared. It wasn’t unfamiliar to the Denver Charter, but the way the members of SAMCRO loved one another was palpable. You observed quietly throughout the night as they all ripped into each other with lighthearted banter and spilled beer all over the place. You were conflicted by the fact your Dad fit in so well here. It was painful to know he had chosen this life over one with you in Denver, but you still felt at peace knowing he had found a place in this family. 
He was now slumped over a leather armchair in the lounge, snoozing after one too many beers. You nudged his shoulder, trying to wake him. “I’m gonna head back to the cabin, Dad. I’ll meet you here in the morning?” 
“You sure, y/n?” He tried to stand up as he slurred, but his balance failed him, collapsing back into the seat. “I can lead you back-” 
You chuckled, placing a hand on his head as he closed his eyes, “No way are you getting on a bike in this state. I remember the way.” 
Tig overheard and slid himself beside you, placing an arm across your waist. “We’ll take care of him, sweetie. Don’t you worry. Get back safe, okay?”
You unwound from his grasp, collecting your bag from the coffee table as you searched through the contents for your keys. “Thanks Trager.”
A strange laugh left his throat as he watched you leave, before his face turned straight as a board. “Call me Tig.” 
You said your goodbyes to the members that were sober enough to communicate, and made your way to the parking lot. 
Jax Teller was sitting outside the clubhouse, journal and pencil in hand. He glanced up at the sound of the door opening, a lit cigarette hanging from his lips.
He smiled boldly, in a way that perplexed you. Almost like he was happy to see you, even though you’d never met. He took the cigarette from his lips as he asked, “you’re Ralph’s kid, right?”
“I usually just go by y/n.”
He placed his pencil inside the journal and tucked it snug in his cutte, standing from the bench. “It’s a nice thing you’re doing, coming all this way to see him.”
You nodded, “had to make sure my Dad wasn’t living with some crazed psychopaths, you know?” 
He exhaled, his lips forming a perfect O as the smoke left his lips. “Pretty sure a few of those knuckleheads could pass for psychotic”, he teased. His mouth pulled into an infectious smile, and you couldn’t help but smile back. 
Jax walked closer towards you, your bodies now inches apart. He held out an open pack of cigarettes, prompting you to take one. You shook your head, declining the offer.
 “And what about you? How’s your level of sanity?” 
Jax hesitated. “A work in progress.” 
You smiled politely as you walked past him, making your way to the car. “Anyway, I was just leaving. Was nice meeting you.” 
Jax’s brow creased in concern, “you heading to the cabin on your own?” 
You looked over your shoulder to see him pacing behind you, flicking his cigarette to the cement.
“My Dad’s not exactly in riding order.” 
“I can take you back.” 
You stopped outside your car and turned to him, scoffing at how forward he was. “I met you thirty seconds ago.”
“So?” He shrugged. 
“I don’t really think that’s appropriate.” 
“I’m not asking to get in bed with you, y/n. You can ride the Harley with me and I’ll leave the second you’re in the cabin.” 
You opened the car door, sliding into the seat. “Not gonna happen.” 
“I won’t lay a hand on ya, darlin’,” he raised his hand up, smiling, “scouts honor.” 
You pressed your lips together, suppressing yourself from giggling at his innocent gesture. “I don’t ride bikes.” You affirmed. 
Jax cocked his head at you, confused at the statement. “Denver girl’s scared of bikes?” 
Your eyes rolled at his assumption. “No offense, but I just met you. I’m not sure my safety is your concern.” You shut the car door, realising your window had been left ajar from the way there. You wanted to curse aloud that the good Californian weather enabled the opportunity to ride with the windows down.
Jax didn’t push further, nodding his head as he watched you settle into the driver's seat. “No offense taken.”
Jax leaned his head into the open window, resting his arms on the roof of the car. You turned the ignition, letting the engine roar to life. “Nice to meet you, Jax.” 
“You too, darlin’. Will I see you again?” 
You were looking directly at him, your faces parted only by the frame of the window between you. “I’m here for the week, darlin’.” 
His lips pulled from ear to ear, smiling playfully as you put the gear in reverse, forcing his hands off the car as you pulled out of the parking lot. You peaked in the rear-view mirror, finding Jax still watching you drive away into the Charming night.
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l44serbeam · 10 months
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hello, can i request college! ellie simping over oblivious reader 💝
eee i lov writing simp ellie shes such a munch
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— ALL FOR YOU 𖤐 𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
warnings — some good ol’ homosexual pining and loser lesbian syndrome, cursing, drinking, smoking, some fratty guy being creepy, sooome jealousy
For the past few years, Ellies followed y/n around like a lost puppy, accompanying her to all the parties, events, and get togethers. The two are attached at the hip, but lately somethings been eating away at Ellie and she just cant seem to let it go.
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“Ellie. Im not gonna fucking smell it.” Y/n laughed as she swatted away the jar Ellie aggressively shoved at her face.
“C’mon y/n. If i had to suffer so do you.” Ellie menacingly cackled, her hand following y/ns nose as she attempted to dodge the scent of the four month old jar of moldy tomato sauce Ellie had grabbed from the fridge and instinctively took a strong whiff of.
“You’re distracting me.” Y/n whined as Ellie threw the jar in the trash and plopped onto the seat next to y/ns on her 2 chair dining table.
“You’ve been doing that shit since you got here this morning. Im feeling quite neglected and unwanted in my own home.” Ellie huffed, crossing her arms.
“I have two pages left, fifteen minutes at most. Then we can do whatever, I swear.” Y/n finalized, biting her lip as she scribbled on the bright yellow paper.
Ellie watched her work, eyebrows permanently scrunched and lips a gelatinous red from her chewing. The way she shifted uncomfortably in the seat as her lower back ached and would quietly huff whenever a question got too complicated.
In the past few years of their friendship, this had become a sort of ritual. Y/n would show up at Ellies house a good 15 minutes within Ellie waking up and shed study on Ellies table and Ellie would sit with her and watch her.
Well the last part of the ritual Ellie didn’t exactly want y/n to know about, but she couldn’t help herself. How could she not stare when she looked so sanctified, in her barest form, wearing her most comfortable clothes and her hair still not tamed from slumber.
It almost felt domestic. At least thats what Ellie thought. Shed order breakfast and they’d eat together is silence as y/n played out loud lecture recordings as they ate to not fall behind and Ellie would occasionally pretend to listen, but end up distracting y/n and laughing throughout, making her have to rewind and get back into the lesson.
Pretty much everything about y/ns and Ellies relationship was domestic, the two constantly together even at the most uneventful and peaceful moments.
They’d met the summer after their senior year, both attending a party near their new campus a month before the start of their college years.
In all honesty, when Dina had first introduced y/n to Ellie and they first exchanged greetings, shed set her mind on sparking a casual hook up and then forgetting about her, but how could she do that when after an hour the two were sat on the curb outside the party, nursing a joint and laughing maniacally at each others jokes with the haze of the alcohol. How could she just fuck y/n and leave when in the two hours they were sat on that curbside, she rambled endlessly about her personal ideologies and opinions, painfully pretty, passionate and giggly
That was one of the first things Ellie picked up within their conversations. Y/n was surprisingly intelligent and beautifully put together, made up of thoughts and theories that constantly molded her mind, making her practically impossible to figure out. She was complicated and beautiful and Ellie couldn’t help but feel a sense of adoration paint her chest.
The next years to come, Ellie and y/n were attached at the hip. They went to parties together, left together, ate together, studied together. All of it. And through all of it all Ellie could feel was warmth wrapping around her and a lightheaded buzz of euphoria. But even then, Ellie was convinced all y/n experienced was oblivion.
It wasn’t like Ellie hadn’t thrown hints or made it obvious that she yearned of her, but y/n had a tendency to not realize the things that were right in front of her. So, Ellie decided it’d be for the best if she just waits for her feelings to subside and not let anything change.
Ellie felt the buzz of her phone on her lap and flipped it over to see a message from Dina.
ELLIEEEEE ik ur with y/n ask her if u two r coming to jesses tonite
first of all how do you KNOW im with y/n 🤨🤨 and second.. she said yes
you two are practically a married couple ofc ur with her
Ellie chuckled at Dinas statement, making her cheeks redden in the slightest (not that shed ever admit it).
be at jesses at 7 or you will face ur doom mwahahahhahaha
Ellie lifts up her phone and faces the screen towards y/n. “I think she lost it.” Ellie laughed.
Y/n laughed at the message and Ellies comment. “Noo, she lost it a good four years ago.”
Y/n suddenly slammed her textbook shut and threw her pencil onto the table. “Im DONE.”
“Jesus, finally.” Ellie said. “Im gonna get ready i can drive you to your place so you can get ready and we can go kill time till 7 then off to Jesses.”
“Alrighty ill pack my shit up.”
“Look its my favorites!” Dina yelled out as she practically launched from Jesses couch and ran over to the two, pulling them both into a hug. The scent of alcohol and weed radiated from her, exciting y/n for the night.
Getting drunk and high with her best friends was one of y/n’s favorite things to do, all of them losing any sense of dignity or embarrassment and just letting loose with one another.
Y/n spotted a few unfamiliar faces littering Jesses apartment, red cups at hand and smoke clouding the home.
“Lets go get you started off. Im feeling quite lonely at my level.” Dina laughed, grabbing y/ns hand. Y/n looked back at Ellie and stretched out her purse to her which she responded to with a nod, grabbing the purse and beginning to back away towards Jesse.
“Cant believe you didnt wait for me.” Y/n said in a dramatically offended manner. Dina rolled her eyes, pulling y/n forward.
“I love you y/n, but its not my fault if you took forty thousand years to get here.”
When they reached the kitchen, a counter had a display of multiple bottles and differently tinted alcohol bottles and chasers.
Dina grabbed a bottle of tequila and two cups, pouring a double shot in each and handing one to y/n.
“God this shit can kill a grown man.” Y/n groaned at the intense scent of the alcohol wafting from the cup.
“C’mon.” Dina said, tapping her cup at the table and bringing it up to her lips, y/n following suit. The two gulped down the shots, both immediately reaching for the bottle of sprite as a chaser.
“Oh jesus.” Y/n coughed, her face sourly contorted. She shook her head quickly to shake it off and recover.
She grabbed two cups and poured some hawaiian punch that was on the counter, pouring some of the tequila on top. She made sure to pour one of them heavy handedly with the alcohol. “Im gonna go take Ellie a drink.” She told Dina.
“Ill be waiting for you on the dance floor.” She excitedly yelled before rushing off to the area next to the kitchen where the majority of swaying bodies danced to the loud music.
“Youre actually an idiot Williams. Like not in a joking haha funny way but you are genuinely dumb.” Jesse laughed, Ellie rolling her eyes and slumping back on the couch, her legs spread widely and arms defensively folded in front of her chest.
“Shut up Jesse. The only reason you and Dina got together was cause you don’t know how to take a hint and started talking about her to me on facetime and you didn’t know she was next to me. Not because of your unwieldy intelligence.” Ellie retorted, Jesse playfully punching her shoulder.
“You’re just mad dude. I think you’d loosen up if you juts fucking told her how you felt. You’re getting quite tense.” He finalized with a whisper as they watched a cheerful y/n making her way over with two cups in hand.
“Hello there.” Y/n said, stretching out the O as she plopped down on Ellies lap, handing her the drink that had more alcohol.
“Greetings.” Ellie said slickly, grabbing the drink from y/ns hand and smirking at her pinkened cheeks and already loose demeanor. She found her hand instinctively flattening on the lower part of y/ns back and bringing the drink to her lips, eyes squinting at the burning flavor masked by the slightest bit of fruit.
Jesse eyed the two and laughed to himself, shaking his head. Ellie looked at him and gave him a indicative look that read shut the fuck up.
“Where’d Dina go?” He asked y/n, taking in Ellies look.
“She went to go dance. Im gonna join her in a sec.” She responded, taking a swing out her cup.
Ellie reached into the pocket of her loose black denim button up and pulled out a tin. Y/n immediately recognized it as the tin Ellie kept her joints in. According to her it was the perfect place to keep them cause they stayed fresh longer.
She brought the joint up and pinched it between her lips, then searching through her pockets but not seeming to find what she was looking for.
“Got a light?” She asked through lips.
Y/n nodded and reaching to her purse that was in between Ellies thigh and the corner of the couch. She pulled out the lighter and brought it to the tip of the joint at Ellies lips, Ellie silently taken aback when she expected her to have just handed it to her.
When the smoke bloomed from the lit end, Ellie took a lengthy drag that further lit the cherry.
She grabbed it from her lips and handed the joint to y/n, letting her take as much she wanted before getting up and going to Dina.
Ellie watched y/n under the dimly lit lamp next to them on the night table, being one of the few sources of light. She looked peaceful, looking ahead at the crowd of people quietly with a hidden grin and swaying to the music. Her lips delicately wrapping around the joint and the lip gloss she insisted on applying right as Ellie parked her car and making her wait glimmered against the light.
Suddenly, y/n turned her head and her eyes caught Ellies, catching her in her tracks. She separated the joint from her lips and smiled.
“What?” She laughed at Ellies stagnant gaze.
Ellie laughed lightly. “Nothing. You just look happy.” She dismissed.
“Of course i am. Fucking studying shits been kicking my ass, i was dying to get out.” She said, not reading further into the look on Ellies eye as she watched her.
“Alright, im goin’ in.” Y/n said, patting Ellies leg and handing her the joint as she stood up.
“Have fun.” Ellie said, leaning back again and fixing herself on the couch.
Jesse leaned back once again, his lousy conversation with a guy who stopped by them as Ellie and y/n spoke ending, but that didnt mean her didnt hear the entire conversation between her and y/n.
He looked at her and laughed. “Youre a fool Ellie. A fool.” He said, Ellie groaning and planting her hands on her face, trying to cover the slight laughter that escaped.
“Y/N!” Dina called, seeing y/n search for her closer to the edge of the crowd. At her name, y/n beamed and pushed towards her. “Thought you were never gonna make it!” She yelled in y/ns ear slightly louder than necessary.
“Ellie sparked up.” Y/n said back.
“So you weren’t dancing with me cause your were blue balling Ellie?” Dina laughed and said in a sarcastically offended manner.
“Shut the fuck up.” Y/n said firmly, but playfulness playing at her tone.
“Oh how you torture that poor girl.” Dina laughed.
“Stop i do not.” Y/n huffed. “We’re best friends Dina. She doesn’t see me like that.”
Dina sighed and twirled around to the music. “You’re so oblivious.”
“She would never.” Y/n stated in a stonier tone.
“But would you.” Dina asked sharply, raising her eyebrows knowingly and crossing her arms.
Y/n rolled her eyes but remained silent.
“Whatever dummy. Forget about that.” Dina said, grabbing y/ns hands and urging her to start dancing with her which she slowly caved into, losing herself in the beat of the music.
The two jumped and swayed, only stopping to gulp down a portion of the drinks in their hand and keep dancing.
Y/n felt a pair of hands wrap around her waist, the persons body pressing into her back and the scent of heavy liquor and pungent cologne invading her senses.
When Dine turned towards y/n and saw the man behind her, her face contorted as she made confused eye contact with y/n.
Y/n turned around and gently put her hands on the mans chest, softly pushing him away as she backed up.
“Sorry im not interested.” She yelled over the music.
“What were just dancing!” The man said back, still stepping towards her. “Pretty thing like you shouldn’t be dancing alone baby.”
Y/ns and Dinas faces both painted with disgust, y/ns push becoming slightly harder.
“Thank you, but no thank you.” She insisted, this time turning around the push out the crowd.
Behind her the man followed, keeping track of her through the people and still trailing behind her as she walked toward the kitchen.
“C’mon. Whats your deal.” He said as she stopped at the drink counter and started making another drink, not paying attention to the guy. “Don’t be a bitch.” He said, grabbing the back of her hips and pressing against her backside. She quickly grabbed his wrist and turned to aggressively push him off and in all probability, probably punch him square in the face, but before she could do that a hand gripped his shoulder and he was harshly pulled off of her, stumbling back.
“Shes obviously not into you dude. Fucks wrong with you.” Ellie said, getting frighteningly close to his face, chests touching. Ellie was practically the same height as him if not taller, by this time her jacket off, revealing her built arms from her black wife beater.
It seemed like a fight he did not want to pick, putting his hands up and backing away with a shit eating grin. “Alright, definitely mot worth it.” He said, walking away and out of the kitchen. The few people that lingered around there looked at y/n, one or two asking if she was ok.
When everyone cleared out and went about with their business Ellie looked at y/n, her hand brushing her forearm. “You sure you’re ok?”
“Yeah i am, just got me a little nervous.” Y/n wearily laughed as she spoke, turning back around and finishing pouring the alcohol in her drink with shaky hands.
“Careful there.” Ellie said, her hand pulling down the end of the bottle for y/n to stop pouring seeing how much she was putting in.
“Im good Ellie.” Y/n said in a firmer manner, looking back at her.
“I know.” She softly responded. “Cmon, lets go to the couch.”
“Im gonna use the bathroom really quickly then ill meet you there.”
“Need me to wait for you?”
“No its ok, go make sure no one takes your spot.”
Ellie nodded and walked back to the couch, Y/n finding the vacant bathroom and locking herself in it. She set down her cup on the counter and turned on the water, splashing some of it on her neck to combat the heat that seated to be radiating from her body. She looked in the mirror and took a breath, recomposing herself.
“Alright.” She said to herself, swinging open the door again and walking towards the sofa. When the made it into the living room, the first thing she spotted was Ellie in her spot at the couch, and next to her a pretty blonde girl with big round eyes looking up at her, a smile on her lips.
Y/n stopped in her place and watched as Ellie seemed to explain something to her, her hands moving and making signals and the girl eagerly nodding along.
Something shot up y/ns spine in that moment and she considered just walking up to them and taking a seat on her usual spot (that being Ellies lap) but her words to Dina rung.
She just sees me as a best friend. She sees her as someone to be with.
With that thought ringing through her head she turned towards the balcony door besides her, stepping out and being hit by the cool breeze.
A man ashed his cigarette and y/n asked if she could bum one off of him, to which he said yes and gave her one then exited, leaving her alone.
She lit the cigarette with a random lighter from the chair and drew from it.
Her drunkenness had taken a turn with the sighting, going from a jolly and joyful to sad and sulky. Its not like she felt like Ellie had any obligations to her or the other way around, but that didn’t stop y/n from feeling a sharp tiny stab to her gut.
There was a knock on the glass door of the balcony causing y/n to whip back around. A tall girl stood at the glass waving at y/n almost as a warning that she was coming out.
“Hey sorry to bother you. Mind if i smoke out here?” The girl asked.
“No not at all.” Y/n said turning back towards the view and taking another hit of the cigarette.
“I know you.” That girl said in a recognizing tone as she pulled out her own cigarette. “We have Microbiology iolgoy together. You sit next to, whats her name?”
Y/n laughed lightly. “Yeah, a friend of mine, Leah.”
“Yeaah.” The mystery girl responded.
“Whats your name?” Y/n asked but before the girl could answer, the glass sliding door of the balcony swung open.
“Y/n i was fucking worried about you.” Ellie said sharply, eyeing the girl that stood besides her hastily. “Sorry im gonna have to take her.” She said as she grabbed her arm and began pulling her, not a drop of genuine apology in her voice.
“Ellie what the hell. She was nice i was having a conversa-”
“You had me scared y/n. I mean what the fuck you said you would be there i a minute and almost twenty go by and no ones seen you. You don’t even know her and you were practically on her.” She said, not making eye contact. Y/n shook her arm out of Ellies grasp, making both of them stop in the empty hallway.
“And you didn’t know that girl but that didn’t stop you from go for her. You can have flirt with people and get with girls but i cant?”
“What girl y/n? What are you talking about?” Ellie questioned harshly.
“From the couch Ellie. You were going for her and i didnt want to barge in. You were obviously into her.”
Ellie scrunched her eyebrows in confusion. At the realization the tense muscles of her face softened, but were still written with gentle confusion. “The blonde on? I wasnt- why would i be into her?”
“Because shes pretty and obviously ready to suck you off right then and there so what else.” Y/n shrugged, annoyance building onto her tone.
A chill ran up her spine at the sight of how Ellies face shifted at her statement.
“You’re really are fucking obvious are you?” Ellie huffed.
“About what Ellie?” Y/n desperately asked, Ellies lips pressing together.
“Im not doing this here. Grab your shit, im dropping you off at your house.” She said demandingly, y/n cursing at herself when her legs didn’t even waiver a second before speeding towards her purse to collect her things.
The car rang with the low tones of the gentle rock music that played from Ellies playlist. Other from that and the sound of the road rolling against the tires there was no noise within the car.
Y/n sat looking out the window, occasionally looking over at Ellies tense figure besides her.
Question hung heavily in the air and unspoken words riddled y/ns tongue. In the past 10 minutes of the car ride, y/n had repeatedly gained the confidence to strike up conversation but allowing her anxiousness eat away at it and retaliate.
Ellie suddenly turned and parked in front of the entrance to the apartment building which y/n lived at. She put the car in park and turned towards y/n her hand placing itself onto the back of y/ns seat.
“You really dont see it y/n?” Ellie said, speaking her first words in the entire car ride.
“See what Ellie? You keep talking about this it like i know what thats supposed to be.”
“It is whats right in front of you y/n! Me! The way i feel about you and the way you make me feel. I’ve tried so many times y/n i mean so many times to show you or hint to you that i like you more than what we say we are to each other.”
Y/n couldnt help but let her jaw slack, her lips parting open in surprise at Ellies words. Ellie hissed and rubbed her hands against her face, groaning.
“God.” She hissed. “Look y/n. I dont want to lose you. I dont care how youre in my life but i need you in it. If you dont feel the same way we can go on and forget tonight happened.”
Ellies shoulder slumped at the sound of giggles escaping y/ns throats, her hand coming up to cover her mouth.
“I dont think laughing is what i was expecting.” Ellie said.
“No no no, im not laughing at you. Im laughing cause Dina was fucking right.”
That response didnt exactly ease Ellies nerves, almost taking offense to it. These feelings were quickly eased at the sight of y/n spring out of her seat and the feeling of her lips searing into hers.
A wave of euphoria rushed through Ellie at the feeling of y/n. On her. Her hands on Ellies neck and on her knees as she bent over the arm rest.
It was as if the kiss almost spoke hundreds of words of exchange that neither of them had said. Their lips moved against one another, clutching onto a string of reality.
The two separated to breath desperate breaths of air, their foreheads against one another and noses brushing against each other.
“I think i let how much i like you and how much i dont want to ruin us not let me see the obvious.” Y/n said barely above a whisper, Ellies lip curling into a smile.
“You’re so stubborn.” Ellie responded, leaning back and brushing her thumb across the apple of y/ns cheek. “Its almost three im the morning and you have class at nine, get yourself to bed.” She said even though those very words caused her so much dread.
Y/n groaned but couldnt contain the sheepish smile on her face. “Alright. Ill be at your place by 11. That ok?” Y/n asked almost nervously.
Ellie leaned forward and kissed y/ns lips once again. “Whats expecting anything different. Im not done with you.” She smirked, making y/n blush.
“Ill see you tomorrow.” Y/n said as she opened the car door.
“Text me when your upstairs.” Ellie said before y/n closed the door, her response being a thumbs up and happy wave before running into the lobby.
Ellie drove all the way back to her apartment with a cheesy smile on her face and her hands excitedly tapping the steering wheel to the drumming of the music she played lauder than before.
Just wait till Jesse hears this.
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a/n — heres a lil fic for you guys just to keep u fed <<3 love yall and i hope your having a wonderful pride month 😽😽
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