#and even though i’ll still be around and pick up shifts and drop in for drinks it will never ever be the same as it is right now | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

geminiwritten · 3 months ago

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karaoke friday ; bradley 'rooster' bradshaw

fandom: top gun

pairing: bradley x reader

summary: you're a bartender at the hard deck with a huge crush on rooster, and rooster (very cheesily) uses karaoke friday to confess his own feelings to you

notes: this goes in SO many different directions and i'm so sorry about that, but i still had so much fun writing it! i hope y'all enjoy even though it is super cheesy (but i tried really hard not to make it cringe) and kinda, super long... please let me know what you think! i really love feedback

warnings: swearing, very poor us navy knowledge (as usual), lots of drinking and drinking on the job, SUPER CHEESY, italics, switching povs (kinda), there's a little bit of 'mean-girl-ness', and it's pretty fucking horny in some places so 18+ PLEASE!!!

word count: 11336

“Do I need to add ‘putting your ass on my bar’ to the sign?” Penny emerges from the bar’s back of house door, her arms wrapped around a case of beer and her best disapproving mum glare painted on her face.

You smile sheepishly and push yourself off the bar, landing on tingly feet from how long your legs had been dangling as you chatted with Maverick. “Sorry Pen.”

“It’s my fault,” Maverick pipes up. “She was replacing a light bulb, and I distracted her.”

Penny heaves the case onto the bar with a huff before looking back at you. “What are you doing replacing my lights on your day off?”

“I noticed it was out the other night, and I knew I had a spare at home so I thought I might as well donate it.” You pick up the busted lightbulb by the bayonet and toss it into the bin behind the bar. “Also, it’s not my day off.”

Penny frowns, tipping her chin forward as she takes a moment to think. You wait patiently, because you’ve worked almost every Friday night for the past three years, and you know she’s probably just forgotten what day of the week it is.

“Well, anyway.” Mav slides off the stool on the other side of the bar. “I better get back to work.”

You turn to him with a frown. “Isn't everyone at their advanced first aid training today, or something?”

“Yeah, but I have a meeting.” He rolls his eyes as he says the last word, as if doing anything in his job description except for flying is just unimaginable. “A lieutenant from another squadron wants a chance to join my squad but won’t take no for an answer until I meet with her.”

Your frown slowly morphs into a scowl as you connect the dots. “Are you talking about-”

“Her callsign is Giggles.”

The next noise that leaves your lips is a mix between a groan and a gag.

Maverick raises a brow. “Not a fan?”

“She’s horrendous, Mav, and she only wants to join your squad to get closer to Rooster.”

“Wait a minute,” Penny pipes up. “Are we talking about that bottle blonde that comes in every Friday night and follows Rooster around like a lost puppy?”

You nod. “Yup.”

Mav chuckles as he slides his aviators up his nose. “Well, regardless of her ulterior motives, she’s not joining the squad. My hands are full as it is and I’m not sure she could cut it.”

You can’t help the small, satisfied smirk that lifts the corner of your lips as you turn toward Penny and her half-empty case of beer. You already know Giggles isn't good enough for Bradley, but hearing Mav say that she isn’t good enough for the squad is a small piece of validation that might help get you through tonight’s shift.

“Anyway,” Maverick says as he moves toward the door. “I’ll see you both later tonight.”

You look back over your shoulder at him. “Are you coming back for a drink?”

He nods, his lips tugging into a grin. “I would never miss watching my godson embarrass himself on karaoke night.”

Realisation hits you and you groan, dropping your head into both of your hands as you crouch down beside the case of beers. “Fucking karaoke Friday.”

Penny laughs softly. “That’s right, it’s the last Friday of the month. I completely forgot.”

It’s not that you hate karaoke, you just hate sober karaoke. If you were seven tequila shots deep and on the other side of the bar, you’d no doubt have the microphone and be attempting to sing some overplayed ABBA song with one of your friends. But no, you’re sober and behind the bar. Watching in horror as wasted patrons embarrass themselves in a hot and crowded room full of sweaty bodies.

Now that you think about it, maybe half your hatred for karaoke Fridays stems from the fact that it is almost always the busiest night of the month.

“Guess you’re not getting out early tonight,” you tell Penny as you slide the last of the beers into the fridge.

She sighs and shakes her head. “Not a chance.”

You often encourage Penny not to stay until close on weekends, because she deserves a little time to herself. Whenever possible, she’ll help you with the evening rush before ducking out for a late dinner or adult sleepover with Maverick. You don’t mind being left to close on your own, because you’re never really alone.

On the nights when you’re the last one behind the bar, Bradley is always the last one on the other side of it. Most of the time, the squad will stay until last call, but then Bradley will bid them goodbye and sit himself in the same stool at the end of the bar. Almost like he's guarding the swinging wooden doors that separate you from your patrons. He usually just asks for tea or water, and when you’re not serving, he talks to you about anything and everything. Then at the end of the night, he waits for you to lock the doors and make it safely to your car before he walks to his.

You’re not sure why he does it. You assume it’s because he has literally been trained to keep people safe, but sometimes you let yourself read more into it. You imagine that he might fancy you, not pity you, and he stays because he likes getting a little bit of alone time with you.

You can still remember the night you first met Bradley like it was yesterday, not nearly four years ago. He had just graduated the Top Gun programme and was celebrating with what felt like every naval officer based on North Island. He was very drunk and hardcore flirting, but only with you. There were throngs of women practically begging him to look at them, but his eyes stayed on you.

You stole his keys out of his pocket that night, not trusting him after the number of drinks you’d watched him sling back. He eventually passed out in a booth, and at the end of the night a couple of his friends stuffed him into a cab. You forgot all about his keys until the next morning when you returned to clean the bar. He was waiting by the door, looking very hungover and very sheepish.

He apologised for everything except the flirting, which he wanted to make abundantly clear. You blushed and waved him off before making him a greasy breakfast and telling him to sit at the bar while you started cleaning. After his nausea wore off, he started helping you despite your protests. You talked and flirted all morning until he announced that he had to go to the Top Gun graduation ceremony.

After that, he spent every night at The Hard Deck until he left North Island, and once he was gone, you had a hard time convincing yourself you hadn’t imagined the whole thing. You were so young at the time and Bradley was older, his career was just taking off. Why would he be interested in a bartender who has no idea where her life is going?

So, despite having exchanged numbers to stay in touch, you resisted the urge to text him. You saw a couple of updates on his social media that you followed, but they were very vague and mostly just signs of life every few months. You let yourself file Bradley away in your brain as something too good to be true, because there was no way someone that perfect really existed.

Years, boyfriends, heartbreaks, and a lot of shifts at The Hard Deck later, Bradley Bradshaw walked back into your bar. Your heart floundered as it tried to break free from your chest and deliver itself to the boy who claimed it all those years ago. He looked fucking good.

You picked up exactly where you’d left off, and so routine became ritual. Every Friday night, Bradley and his friends came to The Hard Deck, waited until last call, and then Bradley would guard you like a K9 Unit German Shepherd until you closed the bar. Eventually, you got to know his friends too, and finally found a group of people you could be yourself with.

After their mission, the squad were asked to stay on North Island as a special operations unit, training under Maverick for specialised assignments. You hang out with them when you can, but it isn’t easy with such conflicting schedules, which is why your late-night closes with Bradley are so precious. The only thing nagging at you these days is your future; what it holds and who will be in it. But you do your best not to think about it, to live in the moment and appreciate every second you get to spend staring at Bradley Bradshaw’s gorgeous face.

“Are you alright if I duck out for a bit?” Penny asks, her voice dragging you out of your thoughts.

You nod. “No worries. I’ll getting everything stocked up.”

“You’re the best.” She slings her purse over your shoulder. “I should be back in about two hours.”

Once she’s out the door, you find your own purse under the bar and grab your headphones. You slip them on, crank the volume on your phone, and start bopping along to the music while you haul cases of alcoholic beverages from the back of house to behind the bar.

- Bradley -

Twenty naval officers file out of the conference room, down the hall, and out into the Friday afternoon sun. Their postures relax the moment they’re out of sight from their superiors, and they all slowly separate into their squads, moving in different directions across the base.

“Well,” Jake sighs as he stretches his arms above his head. “That’s a day I’ll never get back.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Yes. Because learning vital skills that could save lives, including our own, is such a waste of time.”

Jake smirks. “My sentiments exactly.”

Bradley slides his sunglasses up his nose as he walks a little faster to get in between the two aviators glaring at each other. “So, are we going to-”

“The Hard Deck,” Reuben interrupts, a smirk stretched across his face.

“For beers,” Mickey adds with a dramatic wink.

“No other reason, of course,” Natasha joins in the teasing. “Right, Rooster?”

Bradley takes a deep breath of warm, ocean-scented air before sighing it out as his friends snicker around him. “When are you lot ever going to leave me alone?”

“When you grow a pair and ask the girl out,” Jake replies, and Bradley doesn’t have to look at him to know he’s smirking. “Before I do.”

There’s a chorus of oohs from the squad, but Bradley simply rolls his eyes behind his sunglasses. Jake might be a flirt, but he’s not a full-blown idiot, and he knows better than to hit on you.

“Maybe I will tonight,” Bradley says with a shrug, trying to seem nonchalant.

Natasha scoffs. “That’ll be the day.”

“Willing to bet on it?” Reuben asks, stepping up beside Bradley with a grin stretched from ear to ear. This boy loves a bet.

Bradley’s eyes narrow as he considers his friend’s outstretched hand, his heart thumping faster than usual within his chest. Maybe it is time he makes a real move on you. Afterall, you’re only getting more gorgeous with every passing day and if he doesn’t act soon... well, he doesn’t want to think about what might happen.

He grips Reuben’s hand in his own, shaking it once. “Deal.”

“Oh, shit,” Mickey giggles. “Tonight is going to be good.”

“And it’s karaoke night,” Bob points out.

Mickey shakes his fists excitedly. “I fucking love karaoke night.”

They all launch into an animated discussion about what songs they should perform tonight, and even Bob makes a few suggestions, but Bradley isn’t paying much attention. He can see his Bronco up ahead, and he is itching to get to the bar. To get to you.

“Rooster!”

A voice that he doesn’t recognise makes his head snap to the left, and there’s a collective groan amongst the dagger squad as a grinning blonde bounces toward them.

“Hey Giggles,” Bradley says, trying not to sound as unenthusiastic as he feels about her presence.

“Did you just finish your first aid refresher?”

He nods, offering her a half-assed smile as he realises that he doesn’t actually remember what her given name is. His brows furrow as he tries to picture the letters stamped on the side of her jet, but then he realises that he can’t remember the last time he saw her in a jet. Up close, at least. The dagger squad train almost exclusively on their own. They rarely interact with other squadrons.

“I did mine last week,” she says. “If I knew which day you were scheduled, I would have definitely tried to join today’s group.”

Bradley nods once, unsure what to say to that but still lost in his thoughts trying to figure out what her actual name is.

“Anyway.” She flips her hair off her shoulder. “I just had a meeting with Maverick.”

“Oh,” is all Bradley responds with.

“Yeah, I’ve been wanting to work with him for– like –ever. He’s just legendary, you know?”

Bradley’s lips tip up into a smirk. “I think notorious would be more accurate.”

She giggles, because that’s what she does. “Well, he said I could fly for him and try out for your squad.”

Bradley freezes, and the whole squad comes to a screeching halt.

“Try out?” Jake echoes, before snorting a laugh. “This isn’t a cheerleading squad. We were selected and trained as a specialised unit. This isn’t something you can try out for.”

“Hangman,” Natasha warns. “Don’t be rude.”

“I’m not being rude, she’s being delusional.”

“Excuse me?” Giggles props her hands on her hips.

Bradley turns to Natasha with a quizzical frown, but she just shrugs. He looks back at Giggles. “Look, I’m sure whatever you spoke with Mav about will be great for your career. So, good luck.”

He offers her one last clipped smile before continuing toward the parking lot. Jake winks at the angry blonde before Javy puts a hand on either of his shoulders and steers him away.

Natasha quickens her pace to match Bradley’s. “You don’t think Mav would really consider-”

“No.” Bradley shakes his head. “There’s no way.”

It’s not only that the squad are not particularly fond of Giggles, but it’s also the fact that none of them are keen on the idea of adding to the team. They’re all too close and too comfortable, and they work exceptionally well together. Changing that dynamic could seriously impact their functionality and in turn, damage any one of their careers that they’ve worked so hard to achieve. They’re all exactly where they want to be, and they don’t want their positions to be challenged by anyone.

Bradley pauses before breaking away from the group. “Six o’clock?”

They all nod and mumble their agreeance.

“Does anyone need a lift?”

“You’re driving?” Reuben asks. “I thought you were going to ask your girl out tonight.”

Bradley frowns. “I can’t do both?”

Reuben chuckles. “Well, you’ve had plenty of sober chances to ask her out, so I assumed you’d need a little liquid courage to actually do it.”

Mickey laughs so suddenly that he snorts.

Bradley rolls his eyes playfully and points a finger at Reuben. “You just lost your ride privileges.”

Reuben groans in protest and Mickey laughs even harder as Bradley turns on his heel and walks toward the Bronco. He pops the door and falls into the driver’s seat, jamming the key into the ignition. As he drives home, his left knee bounces nervously. He’s always thought about asking you out, but actually doing it? He has no idea how he’s supposed to muster that kind of courage.

- You -

The clock on the wall opposite the bar taunts you. Its hands move slowly, creeping around its face at a painfully slow pace. You know exactly what time Bradley and your friends usually get here on a Friday night, and it’s still forty-five whole minutes away.

“You know,” Penny says, “staring at it won’t make it go any faster.”

You drop your gaze down to the glass you’ve been drying for at least a couple of minutes now. “I know, but if I don’t try then I’ll never know if I’ve magically developed superpowers.”

She laughs softly and takes the glass from your hands. “Why don’t you see if you have super lime slicing powers, hm?”

You roll your eyes playfully and tuck the tea towel into the back pocket of your jeans – the ones you know make your butt look incredible – before turning toward the small cardboard box of limes on the bench. You take a chopping board out from under the bar and a pairing knife. You set up a little station where the box of limes is on the right of the chopping board, and a bowl for the slices is to your left.

“Why don’t you just ask Rooster out?” Penny asks right as you cut the first lime in half.

Your cutting hand slips but you’re quick enough to flinch away before the knife slices your fingers. “Jesus, Pen. Could you learn a thing or two about timing, please?”

She rushes toward you, her brows crease with worry. “Are you okay?”

You nod. “I’m fine.”

She relaxes once she sees that your fingers are unharmed, taking a step back and casually leaning her hip against the bar, waiting. Her gaze bores into the side of your face, but you stubbornly focus on the limes.

She waits until you drop the slices into the bowl to ask again. “So, why don’t you?”

You sigh. “If it was an easy thing to do, I would have done it a while ago.”

“What’s so difficult about it?”

You put the next lime on the chopping board and hesitate, frowning down at the little green fruit as if willing it to give you an answer that doesn’t sound as whiny as what you’re about to say. “Because he’s him, and I’m me.”

She quirks one brow, silently asking you to elaborate.

“He’s just”– you wave the knife in the air, at which her eyes widen slightly –“you know? He’s gorgeous and successful. He’s got every chance in the world and every damn woman on this island after him. Then there’s me, and I’m just” – you gesture down at the short black apron tied around your waist –“this.”

Penny’s brows pinch together, a mixture of confusion and curiosity painting her face. “What’s wrong with this?”

You sigh again. “I’m a bartender, Pen.”

“So am I.”

“No.” You drop the freshly sliced lime into the bowl. “You own a bar. There’s a difference.”

“Honey.” She pushes her hip off the bar and takes half a step toward you. “That boy doesn’t look at you like a bartender. He doesn’t see the girl who pours his beer. He looks at you like you hung the moon just for him.”

You feel the bridge of your nose pinch and your eyes sting, but you decide to blame it on the citrus instead of your own emotions.

She sighs and bends down to take a shot glass out from under the bar. “Here,” she says, pouring tequila into the small glass. “I know you’d rather be on the other side of the bar, but try to have a little fun tonight. On me.”

Your eyes widen as you look at the shot and then at Penny, who’s lips are pulled into a smirk. Without a second thought, you snatch the shot glass off the bar and tip it to your lips, grimacing as the liquid burns down your throat.

“You know what,” she says as she fills the glass up again, “I think I’d like to have a little fun too.”

You can’t help the laughter that bubbles from your lips as she tips the tequila into her mouth and winces. You don’t necessarily want to be a bartender forever, but you find it hard to think about the day you’ll have to hand your resignation in to Penny. She’s a pretty cool boss.

You continue cutting limes while Penny serves an influx of customers. Once the whole box of limes has been sliced, you cover the bowl in plastic wrap and place it at the bottom of one of the fridges. The bar is filling up slowly but surely, and you start pouring drinks while Penny handles the cash.

After you hand a beer to the last customer of a small rush, the light overhead – the one you replaced earlier – blinks and dies out. “Shit,” you mutter, staring up at it. “Maybe I didn’t screw it in properly? Mav kind of distracted me before, I didn’t double check it.”

Before Penny can protest, you kick the small, folding stool toward where you need it and step onto it. You brace your hands on the bar and bring one foot up, focusing all your balance and coordination on standing up straight and getting your other foot planted on the bar.

“Please be careful,” Penny says, her voice laced with worry.

“I’m fine, don’t stress.”

More voices join the chatter in the bar, and you can hear Penny greet the new patrons as you crane your neck to look up at the dead bulb. You reach up, silently praying to any god who might listen that you don’t get electrocuted. Your fingers gently grab the bulb and twist, it blinks back to life and delivers a small shock of electricity to your hand. It’s nothing more than a zap, but that’s enough to make you startle. You shift your feet without thinking and the heel of your boot comes off the edge of the bar. You quickly lose balance and fall.

You yelp, but you don’t hit the floor. A strong pair of arms catches you – one around your back and the other behind your knees. Your saviour makes a soft ooft noise as he takes all your weight and holds you against his chest. When you look up and see the stupid grin stretched across Bradley Bradshaw’s face, it feels like every inch of your skin has been lit on fire.

The bar erupts into cheers and claps as Bradley chuckles. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you breathe out.

You stare into his eyes for a moment, appreciating every fleck of brown and gold as he stares back. Then he clears his throat and gently lowers your legs, his other arm helping you stand upright.

“Thanks,” you say as you right your skewed apron.

“Anytime.” He chuckles again. “Like, seriously. Anytime you want to fall for me, I’m right-”

You roll your eyes and swat a hand at his broad chest. “Oh, shut up.”

You turn to the rest of your friends and greet each of them, taking every sarcastic comment that they throw at you. Once you’ve given them each a hug or a high five, you walk the rest of the way around the bar to get back through the swinging wooden doors.

Penny looks at you with her mum glare. The unimpressed one.

“Sorry?” you offer sheepishly.

“Next time, leave it.”

You roll your lips to hide your smile as you bring your fingers to your forehead in a salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

She shakes her head and turns toward the other side of the bar to serve someone that isn’t your friends, knowing you would prefer to serve them. You take a few short strides toward the beer taps, dust your hands on your denim-clad butt, and pick up a glass in each hand. You know their orders, you don’t have to ask.

“How was first aid?” you ask Natasha, because she’s the one right in front of you now.

Bradley is a step back from the bar, leaning toward Reuben and speaking too low for you to discern.

“It was fine,” Natasha replies. “Although, Hangman had some other thoughts.”

Jake drops a forearm on the bar and leans in. “I’m not saying it was totally useless, but a whole day to teach us what should already be common sense?”

“Something which you have very little of,” Natasha retorts.

You snort a laugh as you slide their drinks across the bar. “I’m not going to lie, Seresin. If you think first aid training is useless, then you’re my last pick to be stranded on a desert island with.”

Instead of acting offended, his smirk curls a little further and the mischievous glint in his eye twinkles. “Oh, come on. You know we’d have some fun.”

Bradley clears his throat and steps into Natasha’s place as she scoops her drink up and vacates with an amused grin on her lips.

“What kind of fun are we talking, Hangman?” Bradley asks, his brows raised in question.

Jake draws a long sip of foamy beer before turning his body toward Rooster. “Come on, Bradshaw. Use your imagination. There are a lot of things for two people to do when they’re alone.”

Your eyes bounce between the two men as they stare each other down. Jake’s lips are still pulled into a smirk, but Bradley’s are set in a firm line beneath his moustache, and the outline of his clenched jaw is more defined than usual.

“Well,” Jake sits his beer back on the bar, “we could-”

“Play Hangman!” you interrupt excitedly, deciding to cut the imaginary tether of tension that had been pulled taught between them.

Jake’s smirk breaks into a soft laugh. “That’s exactly what I was going to say.”

He winks at you, and you roll your eyes playfully before turning your attention down to the glass you just finished filling with beer. It’s a little too full, the foam on top threatening to overflow as you raise it up to place on the bar in front of Bradley. When the heavy bottom of the glass hits the hardwood bar top, the froth spills and drips down over your fingers.

“Oops, sorry,” you say, eyes flicking up to meet Bradley’s.

His usual soft brown gaze is so much darker than usual, and something about it is making the little hairs rise on the back of your neck.

“That’s alright,” he says, his voice low and a little raspy.

His fingers brush yours as he takes the glass, and when you pull your hand back, you suck your middle finger between your lips to clean the beer off. You’re not sure why you do it, and you don’t even realise what you’ve done until you drag your finger out of your mouth. All the while, keeping your eyes locked with Bradley’s.

“Really?” Jake’s voice slices through the tension. “You two are unbelievable.”

You blink a few times and the noise of the bar returns, as if getting lost in Bradley’s eyes had silenced the rest of the world. You can feel the apples of your cheeks burn, and you quickly dust your knuckles on your apron before picking up another glass.

Bradley clears his throat and opens his mouth to say something, but he stops. You hear Jake chuckle and Bradley sigh, but you don’t let yourself look up again. By the time you finish pouring two more beers, Mickey and Reuben are standing in front of you with ear-to-ear grins.

- Bradley -

Jake slides into the booth beside Natasha while Bradley slides in next to Bob, but his eyes are still trained on the bar. Or more specifically, the bartender.

“Oh, my God.” Jake smacks a hand against the table. “You two should have seen what I just had to witness.”

Bradley sighs and drops his head, staring at the swirls and knots in the wood tabletop.

“I have never experienced such blatant eye-fucking!” Jake exclaims, a little too loudly. “I mean, seriously. That felt more explicit than watching porn on a public bus.”

Natasha, despite the amusement on her face, nudges Jake in his ribs. “Keep your voice down, Bagman.”

Bob chuckles and turns to Bradley. “Did you ask her out?”

“No!” Jake replies before Bradley can.

“Well, you better do it quick.” Natasha says. “It looks like you’re not the only interested party here tonight.”

Bradley’s eyes snap back toward the bar, narrowing on the man standing in front of you at the beer taps. He’s tall and broad, with close cropped blond hair and a smug smile painted on his face. His thick forearms are resting on the top of the bar, and he’s leaning so far forward that if he turns too abruptly, he might smack his nose on one of the taps.

“Is that Romeo?” Bob asks.

Bradley doesn’t respond, but he can see Natasha nod from the corner of his eye. No, this guy’s parents didn’t hate him so much that they gave him some lame Shakespearean name. It’s his callsign, and it's not too hard to guess how he got it.

Bradley doesn’t like the way you’re smiling at the blond man. In fact, he hates it. He doesn’t like the way your cheeks turn pink when he leans in a little further in, or the way you shyly tuck an imaginary piece of hair behind your ear. He does, however, very much like the way your eyes flit toward him every couple of seconds, as if checking that he’s still there.

He realises after a minute that you’re not acting shy, you’re uncomfortable with this guy, and that makes him feel a little less explosive. The pink in your cheeks and the timid movements aren’t because you’re feeling bashful, but because you feel awkward. Bradley is your security, your guard dog, and all you’d have to do is nod for him to leap out of his seat.

“Down boy.” Reuben chuckles as he slides into the booth beside Bradley. “He’s trying to flirt but she’s shutting him down.”

Javy takes a seat in the booth beside Jake while Mickey steals a chair from another table and sits himself at the head of the group.

“You know,” Mickey says thoughtfully, “I’ve always thought that Romeo and Giggles would make a good couple.”

Natasha snorts a laugh. “Yeah, maybe they can produce one braincell between the two of them.”

Jake gasps dramatically. “Phoenix! Don’t be rude.”

She rolls her eyes. “It doesn’t count when they can’t hear.” She then turns her attention to Bradley, who is taking a very generous sip of his beer. “Speaking of Giggles, did you talk to Mav?”

Bradley sculls half his drink before plonking it back down on the table. “No. I was going to call him, but he texted me to say he’d drop by the bar tonight. Thought I’d just ask him then.”

“Good.” She nods. “I have enough shit to stress about. I don’t need to worry about that airhead joining the team and blowing up everything we’ve worked for.”

The group start a half-hushed discussion about what Maverick could have possibly told Giggles to make her think she’d have a chance at joining the squad. Bradley hardly listens though, aside from giving the occasional head nod or chuckle when he catches a word or two. He keeps his eyes trained on you. The way you move around the bar, performing your job effortlessly. Everything is muscle memory; from the way you pour a beer to the way you shake the cocktail shaker.

When the crowd at the bar dies down, you say something to Penny before turning around and walking through the swinging wooden doors. He can’t help but ogle your ass in those jeans; the way it moves as you walk and bend toward tables, collecting empty glasses. The jeans hug you in such a way that makes him jealous – yeah, he’s jealous of denim now. They pinch into the crease between your cheeks and your thighs before stretching down your legs – those legs that would look perfect thrown over his shoulders as he buries himself inside of you.

The cuffs of those mouth-watering jeans are tucked into boots. Big black boots with scuffed toes and frayed laces. Bradley has never seen you wear any other shoes at the bar. They’re your chosen uniform, and he’s thought way too much about fucking you in nothing but those boots.

An idea pops into Bradley’s head as he watches your booted foot shove an unoccupied chair out of your way. He nudges Reuben. “Move, I need to check something.”

Reuben frowns as he slides out of the booth, freeing Bradley.

“Get another round while you’re up, would you, darling?” Jake calls after him.

Bradley waves a hand in acknowledgement as he beelines toward the other side of the bar where the karaoke machine is. There’s a thick, tattered binder sitting atop the machine that lists every song available to be sung. He flips it open and starts searching.

It only takes about ten seconds to find the song he’s looking for, and his heart starts pumping a little faster. He’s going to need a lot more drinks to pull this off.

“Bit early to start that, isn’t it?”

Bradley flips the binder shut and turns to Maverick, who is standing beside him wearing that signature smirk. He drops the binder back atop the machine. “I need to talk to you.”

Maverick sighs. “What have I done now?”

Bradley leans an arm on the top of the karaoke machine as he explains the squad’s earlier interaction with Giggles. Maverick doesn’t look shocked or sheepish, he looks exasperated by the time Bradley finishes.

“This woman is relentless.” Mav presses two fingers against his temple.

“So, she’s not trying out for-”

“Of course not.” Maverick says. “That’s not even something she could do. This is an elite unit of specially selected and trained aviators. Giggles barely graduated TOPGUN. I’m not even sure how she qualified for the programme.”

Bradley tips his head curiously. “Then what did you tell her?”

“She wouldn’t let up unless I gave her something, so I said I’d fly with her. One weekend, we’d do a quick drill and I could give her some pointers. Maybe give her a reference if she impressed me.”

Bradley chuckles. “You really have an excellent way of communicating with women.”

Mav scowls at his godson, though it’s much less intimidating than he’d like given the height difference. “I thought I’d made myself perfectly clear.”

“Obviously not.”

Mav sighs again. “Obviously.”

At that moment, the devil herself walks into the bar. Her blonde locks bounce as she walks, her eyes scanning every face in the room as she searches for something. Or someone.

“Maybe you should talk to her now,” Bradley says quietly to Mav. “Better to set things straight before she tells every naval officer on North Island that the elite dagger squad is holding try outs.”

Maverick chuckles. “Good idea, Rooster. I think you should join me. Maybe you can clear something else up for her too.”

Bradley’s brows pinch into a frown, but before he can protest, Giggles has spotted the two of them and Mav is waving her over.

- You -

It’s almost like your body is connected to Bradley’s in some intrinsic way. You can’t not be aware of him, his presence and where he is. You’re the North to his South, like two magnets being held close enough to make each other move but not yet close enough to snap together. Though you’re not sure how much longer you can resist his pull.

“In the next lull, I’m going to grab some more vodka.” Penny’s hip bumps yours as she fills a glass of beer beside you.

You nod. “Grab an extra bottle for me, yeah?”

She laughs softly as she leans forward and places the beer on the bar. You dance around each other easily, having worked together for so long that you know exactly how the other is going to move. You feel at peace behind the bar, despite how busy the place is getting. Your movements are easy and familiar. You fill beer glasses, you pour shots, you fill short and tall glasses with ice and soda, and you take cash and swipe cards.

You’re so in tune with the bar that you almost feel the main door swing open, revealing a gorgeous blonde bombshell wearing a tiny pink sundress. Your stomach sinks and your feet freeze. You’d have to be an idiot not to think she’s attractive – albeit a little annoying – and you don’t blame anyone in the bar for craning their necks to stare at the Barbie doll that just entered.

“Here.” Penny slides a shot glass across the bench below the bar. “I’m going to get some more bottles. Are you good?”

You lift the shot to your lips, not caring who sees, and swallow the tequila without so much as wincing. You drop the little glass into the sink. “I’m good.”

You try hard not to watch Giggles approach Bradley and Mav, but it’s hard when you don’t have anyone to serve. The rush has died down, and most people are now seated with their friends, chatting and sipping happily. You wipe down the bar top and the bench, you fill the dishwasher and start a cycle, and you restock the napkins and straws, but your eyes still wander back over to Bradley. You need a distraction.

“Hey, beautiful,” Romeo – you have no clue what his real name is – says, leaning forward on the bar.

You take a deep breath. Not that distraction.

“Another one?”

He nods, sliding his empty glass toward you.

“Same?”

He nods again as you take the empty glass, put it in the sink, and grab a fresh one.

“Saw you sink that shot just now,” he says, lips pulled into a smirk. “Do you get off early tonight? Maybe we can have some fun.”

You shake your head, eyes glued to the golden liquid filling the glass. “No. Just trying to get through the night.”

“That’s a shame.” He leans forward even further, and you worry for a moment that he might actually climb over the bar. “What time do you get off?”

“Late.”

He remains undeterred by your clear disinterest. “How late? Maybe I could give you a lift home.”

You plonk the beer on the bar in front of him. “Too late.”

You hear a shrill giggle, and you can’t help it. Your eyes snap toward Bradley, and you see Giggles’ perfectly manicured hand wrapped around his bicep as she leans in way too close to him. Your stomach ties itself in another knot.

“I see.” Romeo pushes himself off the bar and grabs his beer. “You’ve got a thing for birds.”

You turn back to him, eyes narrowed and arms crossed. “What does that even mean?”

He rolls his eyes as if you exasperate him. “Just so you know, she’s joining his squad. They’re going to be together every day while you work your flat ass off for minimum wage every night. So, good luck competing with that.”

“Excuse me?” Penny snaps, appearing beside you with a box full of large liquor bottles. “You better apologise before I kick your ass out of here.”

Romeo scoffs, his mouth popping open to retort when two other patrons step up to the bar.

“Got a problem here, ladies?” Jake asks, a challenging smirk stretched across his lips as he turns to face the blond idiot whose face is getting redder by the second.

Penny raises her brows at Romeo. “Do we?”

He takes a deep breath, eyes bouncing between Penny, Jake, and Javy. “No, we don’t.” He looks at you and mumbles, “Sorry.”

The four of you watch as he turns and stalks toward his table of friends, not daring to look back.

Penny shakes her head. “I can’t believe that asshole said-”

“It’s okay, Pen,” you quickly interrupt. “He was just throwing a tantrum because I turned him down.”

Javy chuckles. “I don’t think Romeo ever has been turned down. Might have to give him a new callsign.”

You grab two clean glasses and start pouring your friends another drink each. “I think ‘assface’ sounds good, and it’s definitely more fitting.”

Jake nods. “His face does resemble an ass. A bad one.”

The corner of your lips tip up as you slide the two beers across the bar. When Jake tries to hand you his card, Penny pushes it away. “This one’s on the house.”

“Penny, my dear,” Jake says. “You are too kind.”

Javy tips his head in thanks as they both turn and head back toward the booth where the rest of your friends are.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Penny asks as you start unloading the box of liquor.

You nod once. “Yeah, fine.”

You know it isn’t convincing, but she doesn't have time to press you as another wave of thirsty patrons approaches. You let her serve and handle the payment while you make the drinks, silently sliding them across the bar until the small rush dies down. When you both have another moment to catch your breath, Penny turns to you, hand on hip and mouth poised to speak, but she stops. Her eyes move to something behind you.

You glance over your shoulder and your stomach flips up into your throat. How is it fair that Bradley can elicit such responses from your body simply by standing there?

You turn to face him. “Another drink?”

He nods. “Yes, please.”

Always so polite. You wonder for a second if he’s that polite in bed, or if he- Nope. Stop that.

You pick up a clean glass and start filling it, watching the golden liquid even though you can feel his eyes boring into you. When you look up, he’s wearing the same dark expression as before.

Your fingers brush his as you take his card, and your tongue darts across your bottom lip. You turn to the machine, ring up the drink, swipe the card, and turn back to him. You almost drop the card from the way you’re handing it to him, trying to avoid his touch.

Another shrill giggle makes you flinch, and you instinctively look over to where Mav is stuck in conversation with Giggles. He looks tired and like he needs saving.

You can’t help yourself when you turn back to Bradley. “I hear you’ve got a shiny new teammate.”

His brows pinch. “Where did you hear that?”

You shrug one shoulder, not really wanting to explain your earlier altercation with Romeo. “The grapevine.”

“Well, the grapevine is very wrong.”

You frown at him. “What?”

He takes a long sip of his beer, draining almost a third of it. “She got a little confused with what Mav said earlier today. To be honest, I’m not sure she’s even heard what he’s said to try and clear things up. She just keeps giggling.”

You laugh softly, rolling your lips to stop yourself from giggling. “Well, she certainly lives up to the name.”

He nods. “That’s for sure.”

You suck your bottom lip between your teeth and press both palms on the bench beneath the bar, leaning forward. “Do you live up to yours, Rooster?”

He tips his head curiously, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “How do you mean?”

You shrug again and relax your weight back onto your feet. “You tell me. How did you get the callsign?”

He hesitates, and you can hear the dishwasher beep to signal it’s finished cycle. You step toward it, not too far from Bradley, and pop the door open.

He still hasn’t replied, so you decide to prompt him. “Are you an early riser? Do you like to sing in the mornings?” You pull out a rack of glasses and carry it to the bench right in front of him. You place it down and lean forward again. “Are you particularly vain? Or do you just have a massive cock?”

“Excuse me.” An older woman standing to the side of the bar calls for your attention. “Where are the toilets?”

Bradley’s cheeks are flaming, his eyes like saucers, and you have to control your laughter as you turn to face the woman. “Just that way.” You point at the very obvious sign.

Two more patrons step up to the bar, and you turn to Bradley with a wink. “Saved by the bell.”

You leave the stunned man to serve the other customers, and when Penny returns with armfuls of empty glasses, another rush kicks in. It’s that time of the night when everyone starts to stock up on liquid courage, slinging back drinks and shots and getting themselves ready for the karaoke.

You’re not sure how much time passes as you pour drinks and make jokes with Penny. You’re feeling a lot lighter about being on this side of the bar with a bit of tequila in your system, and you honestly feel like it’s making you even better at your job. You’re more bubbly, more willing to talk nonsense with chatty patrons, and you’re actually looking forward to seeing your friends perform some embarrassing karaoke.

“Okay, gorgeous.” Jake thrums his hands against the bar. “We’re going to need a round of shots to get Fanboy up there kicking the night off.”

You smile at him and nod. “Go sit down, I’ll bring it over.”

Penny is already arranging a tray with a bunch of shot glasses on it. You count them. “Eight?”

She nods. “I’m turning a blind eye tonight.”

You wedge a bottle of tequila under one arm and take the tray with both hands. “You know what, Pen? I think you would have been an absolute blast in your twenties.”

She rolls her eyes playfully and places a hand on each of your shoulders. “Trust me, I was.”

You can’t help the giggles that bubble from your lips as she turns you around and steers you toward the swinging wooden doors. You carefully make your way weaving through the groups of people toward your friends, who all cheer when you drop the tray of shot glasses on their table.

Bradley is sitting on the end of the booth seat to your right, and your knee brushes against the outside of his thigh as you bend over to start pouring the tequila. You can feel his eyes on your profile, but you don’t dare look his way. You’re too close and he’s had too many drinks. You lost count about half an hour ago and made a mental note to swipe his keys as soon as you get the chance.

“Alright, boys and girls.” You slide the tray into the middle of the table. “No funny faces. I want you all to swallow like Seresin on a Saturday night.” You pick up your own shot, shoot a wink at Jake, and tip it to your lips. The liquor hits the back of your throat and burns all the way down before sizzling in your empty stomach. You should really try and eat something soon.

When you look back at the group, they’ve all got their heads tipped back and the little glasses pressed to their lips. Your eyes fall immediately to the man beside you, watching the column of his tan throat as he swallows. With the tequila swirling through your body, you’re starting to feel a little feral, like you could just sink your teeth into him right here. Right now.

“Okay, one more!” Mickey exclaims, slamming the shot glass back on the table. “Then I’m doing Dancing Queen.”

There’s a mixture of groans and laughter from the squad.

“Dancing Queen?” Jake echoes. “That’s so overdone.”

Mickey throws him a scowl. “I don’t care. I’m feeling young and sweet, only seventeen.”

You laugh through your nose as you concentrate on pouring another round, leaving yourself out this time. You have to lean a little further over the table, and thanks to the most recent nip of tequila rushing to your head, you almost lose balance. But before you can fall forward, a warm hand grabs the back of your thigh, just above your knee. It squeezes tight, almost too tight, and holds you steady.

All the air leaves your lungs in one quick whoosh. You know who’s hand it is, but you can’t bring yourself to look at him. He’s too delicious right now. A little drunk, hair mussed, sunglasses perched low on his nose, and that stupid, gorgeous grin tugging at his lips. Yeah. If you turn around, you might not be able to stop yourself from mounting him right here in front of everyone.

“Here you go.” You stand back up straight, but his hand doesn’t move. Not even as he reaches forward, picks up a shot, clinks it with the others, and tips it into his mouth.

The squad, now very well lubricated, launch back into discussion about whether or not Dancing Queen is a good enough debut song for Mickey tonight. You laugh along with them as you gather the glasses onto the tray, but when you go to wedge the tequila bottle under your arm again, Bradley stops you.

He grabs the bottle and stands up, forcing you back a step from the table. “I’ll give you a hand.”

You nod and turn on your heel. You’ll let him give you a hand, however he wants to lend a hand. Literally, any way he wants to give you a hand, you’re willing.

As you walk back toward the bar, you internally scold yourself for letting your thoughts run rampant. Part of you blames the tequila, and another part blames Bradley for how downright sinful he is looking tonight. But you know it’s mostly yourself who’s to blame. Your own stupid brain that too often fantasises about what it’d be like if Bradley felt the same way about you that you feel about him.

You stop at the back end of the bar, away from where Penny is serving, and put the tray of glasses down before turning to Bradley. “Thanks for that.”

He nods. “Anything for you.”

You take the bottle and put it on the bar. “Anything?”

He nods again, his eyes half hooded behind his sunglasses. You roll your lips and let your eyes trail down the front of him, appreciating the deep neckline of the singlet beneath his open Hawaiian shirt, and the smattering of hair that peaks out just below his clavicle.

You take half a step forward, eyes trailing back up. “Anything at all?”

His tongue darts out to wet his lips and his head drops to look at you. “Anything.”

“Well...” you sigh, your voice barely above a whisper. “What to pick.”

There’s less than two inches of space between your bodies, and you have to concentrate to stop your hand from trembling as your fingertips dance along his belt. His chest is starting to rise and fall a little faster, and you can’t help the smirk that stretches across your lips as you dip your hand into his pocket.

He draws a quick, sharp breath, and you pull your hand back out with his keys pinched between your fingers. “Looks like you’re catching a cab tonight, Bradshaw.”

He lets go of that breath and chuckles, his whole body relaxing. “You wanted my keys?"

You nod and take a step back, trying to ignore how hot your cheeks are.

“You could have just asked."

You shrug one shoulder as you turn to walk away. “I like getting you all flustered.”

You can feel his eyes on you as you retreat toward the doors that lead behind the bar, so you let your hips sway a little extra from side to side. You don’t know it yet, but you’re definitely going to pay for that little stunt later.

You step up beside Penny and immediately start serving, keeping your focus on the customers in front of you rather than thinking about the way Bradley had just practically melted under your touch. It’s only because he’s drunk, right?

After a minute or so, you see Mickey stand up and walk across the bar. The squad are all cheering and gathering their drinks to follow him. He doesn’t look apprehensive or worried, he looks excited. You watch him turn on the karaoke machine and don’t bother going to help, because he’s done this over a dozen times before. Jake walks past his friend toward the jukebox and unplugs it. The music cuts out and every head in the room turns to Mickey. He grins, clears his throat into the microphone, and then the iconic opening to ABBA’s Dancing Queen blasts through the speakers.

It barely takes ten words for the rest of the bar to start chanting along, and you realise that this might have been his plan all along. He’s not stupid, he knows the drunks can’t resist ABBA, and what better way to break the ice than to get the whole room singing along.

The song eventually ends with Jake and Reuben up beside him, all shouting into the microphone without an ounce of talent. You make a mental note to tease Jake about this later. Overdone, my ass.

You lose yourself to pouring beer once again as people demand more drinks so they can get up and embarrass themselves too. The squad practically man the karaoke machine, and more often than not end up alongside the singer toward the end of the songs. They’re all so drunk and so happy, you can’t help but laugh.

Mickey and Natasha sing Bonnie Tyler’s Holding Out for a Hero, and then Jake and Javy sing Natasha Bedingfield’s Unwritten. There’s a lot of ABBA and Queen from patrons you don’t recognise, and then the squad cause a huge scene trying to get Maverick up for a song. He refuses until they drag him up to the bar for another round of shots, and then they all perform Def Leppard’s Pour Some Sugar on Me.

After that, Mickey, Natasha, and an adorably drunk Bob sing Cherry Bomb by The Runaways. You’re not sure you’ve seen Bob drunk more than once before, but it’s possibly the cutest thing in the world to see him red-faced and stumbling over words while bopping his head to the beat of the song.

You’re cleaning a glass and giggling when Bradley and Reuben step up to the bar. “Beer or tequila?”

Reuben chuckles, his grin looking strangely conspiratorial. “Both.”

You tip your lips into a downward smile and nod your head. “Trying not to lose momentum?”

“Rooster has a big number coming up.” Reuben elbows a very sheepish looking Bradley. “He needs his liquid courage.”

You nod, a soft laugh leaving your lips. “I was wondering when I was going to see you up there. You’re usually one of the first.”

He chuckles, but you can sense that he’s nervous. About what, you have no idea. Bradley is one of the only ones with a modicum of talent. He’s that charming guy with a decent voice who everyone regrets inviting to karaoke night because he actually sounds decent.

“Well,” you say, sliding two shots across the bar, “good luck.”

They both sink the shots and scoop up their beers. Reuben pays, winks at you, and clasps Bradley on the shoulder as they walk back over to the group. You want to wonder more about why Bradley could possibly be so anxious, but you don’t have any time before Penny hands you a slip of paper for an order of cocktails.

Another two songs pass while you make the drinks and deliver them to the table where Giggles and her friends are waiting. She has a twisted smirk on her face as you place the glass in front of her, and a part of you wishes you’d known so you could have spit it one of the cocktails.

You give her your widest, cheesiest smile before turning around and walking back toward the bar. You’re about halfway there when you see Reuben shove the microphone into Bradley’s hand and push him toward the front of the crowd. He doesn’t look so nervous anymore – he still looks like sex on legs – and he’s laughing as the sound of tambourines fill the speakers.

You cheer along with the crowd, holding the empty drinks tray under one arm so you can clap. You’re only a few feet from the front of the bar, so you look at Penny with raised brows as if to ask if she needs you, but she shakes her head and waves a dismissive hand, silently telling you to watch the show. But the smirk on her lips makes you think she might know something you don’t.

When you look back at Bradley, he’s got Natasha up on one side and Mickey on the other. They’re dancing like loons as the drumbeat kicks in, and then they all start playing the air guitar as soon as the familiar riff blares through the speakers.

Bradley’s glasses are perched low on his nose, his grin so wide you can’t help but grin too, and as he brings the microphone up to his lips, you wonder if this man might have been a rockstar in another life. “So one, two, three, take my hand and come with me, because you look so fine, that I really wanna make you mine.”

Something between a giggle and a shriek leaves your lips when Jake and Reuben pop up beside you. Reuben grabs your wrist and drags you forward into the crowd, while Jake yanks the drinks tray from under arm. You go with them willingly, dancing and laughing with your friends who you’ve never seen so carefree. You could definitely get used to being on this side of the bar.

The rest of the squad are up beside Bradley now, playing the air guitar and banging their heads like maniacs. You stop right in front of him, staring up at him like he’s a god, and he turns to look right at you as he sings. “Now you don’t need the money, when you look like that, do ya, honey?”

Another shriek splits from your lips when he grabs your hand and yanks you toward him. You almost crash into him, but he’s too smooth to let that happen. He lets go of your hand and wraps an arm around your waist, catching you and holding you against him.

“Big black boots.” He tips his head and winks at you over his sunglasses. “Long brown hair.” He leans back as Javy leans over his shoulder, and they sing together. “She’s so sweet with her get-back stare.”

The others crowd around as the chorus kicks in, and you all shout the lyrics along with the rest of the bar. But Bradley doesn’t let you go. He keeps his arm around you, still allowing you to dance but not without rubbing a part of your body against his.

The chorus finishes and the room goes quiet except for the backing track. Bradley drops his head forward again, watching you over the frame of his sunglasses as he sings. “I said, are you gonna be my girl?”

Your heart lurches in your chest, and you know your cheeks are redder than a maraschino cherry. The room cheers and Bradley chuckles. Everyone starts dancing and playing the air guitar again, and Mickey and Reuben lean toward the microphone to sing the start of the next verse with Bradley.

There’s another quick guitar break where Bradley turns back to you, a light sheen of sweat covering his exposed skin. “I say you look so fine, that I really wanna make you mine.”

Your head spins. If it weren’t for his arm, you’re almost positive you’d be passed out on the floor.

Mickey and Reuben join back in for the next verse, but their voices are lost in the sea of singing from the whole bar. You don’t dare look out at the crowd though, you’re already nervous enough being held against a very sweaty and very delicious man.

When the verse ends, the whole squad turn to you, point at your feet, and shout-sing. “Big black boots!”

You roll your eyes and laugh before joining in on the chorus. But just like before, when the chorus finishes, everyone stops singing along as if they’ve been told to. Bradley squeezes you even closer, sounding a little out of breath as he sings, “I said, are you gonna be my girl?”

The guitar returns almost immediately, and Bradley finally lets you go to clap along with the song. The squad all clap too, and the whole bar claps and stomps their feet to the beat. You can feel the floor shaking.

Bradley holds the microphone up to Mickey and he shouts, “Oh, yeah!”

Bradley then moves it along the line to Reuben. “C’mon!”

The clapping and stomping doesn’t stop. The energy is so high, you’ve never experienced a karaoke Friday like this, and you know it’s not just the tequila to blame. Something about tonight is a little bit electric.

For the final chorus, everyone shouts as loud as they can. Bradley holds the microphone, but it's useless at this point. The only reason you can hear him is because he’s right next to you, an arm wrapped around your waist again.

“Be my girl,” the room shouts.

Bradley winks at you, and everyone echoes again, “Be my girl!”

He holds the microphone above his head as everyone screams the final line of the song. “Are you gonna be my girl, yeah!”

The backing track fades and everyone cheers, louder than you’ve ever heard. You can’t stop giggling, and you can’t look at anything except the gorgeous man grinning down at you. The noise from the rest of the bar fades away as you stare at him, tracing the lines on his face and licking your lips when you see a small droplet of sweat fall from his hairline.

Then the noise slowly returns. It’s different from before, louder somehow. Organised. It’s a chant. The whole bar is chanting. At you.

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

Your heart is beating so violently against your ribcage, it’s making your whole skeleton shake. Your eyes are wide and your cheeks are red. You’re paralysed. You want to reach up, but you can’t. You want to kiss him, but you can’t make yourself for the fear of rejection.

Bradley chuckles, his voice raspy from singing. “I like getting you all flustered too.”

Then his lips are on yours, hard and soft all at once. He urges against you and then eases back, letting you fall into him. He tastes like beer and sweat, and it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted in your whole life. His other arm wraps around your body to pull you impossibly close. There’s cheering, but you can barely hear it over the thrum of your pulse in your ears.

Your hands find their way up his body and into his hair, threading your fingers through his locks. He pushes forward again, forcing you to tip your head back so he can deepen the kiss. His tongue slips past your lips and you moan softly. But then he’s gone. He stands up straight and chuckles again, because you’re wearing the most indignant frown. To him, you look adorable.

“As much as I’d love to keep going,” he rasps, “maybe not in front of the whole bar.”

The reality of where you are comes crashing down, and you quickly pull yourself out of his arms. He catches your hand though, linking your fingers together as he follows you out of the spotlight. He stops you before you can slip through the bar’s wooden doors, tugging on your arm so you turn to face him.

“So,” he says, brows raised. “What’s your answer?”

You frown. “Answer to what?”

He nods back toward where you’d just been singing your hearts out, and your eyes go wide.

“Wait, you were-”

Before you can finish, he surges forward and captures your lips again. You stumble but he catches you, one large hand on either side of your hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. He kisses you like you’ve never been kissed before, stealing your breath and making your stomach do a whole gymnastics routine.

When he pulls back, your head spins. All you can do is blink at up with a confused frown. “You meant all that?”

He shrugs, his smile turning sheepish. “Why do you think I was so nervous?”

You tip your head back and stare at one of the model planes hanging from the ceiling. “So that’s why you drank so much tonight.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, sober Bradley couldn’t ask you out.”

You nod slowly, your lips tipping up into a smirk. “Is that so?"

He nods.

“Well then, which Bradley do I need to ask to fuck my brains out? Drunk Bradley? Or do I have to wait until-”

“Both,” he interrupts, his voice low and his eyes dark.

His expression is dead serious now, aside from the pink in his cheeks. He almost looks feral as he towers over you, pupils blown with lust and lips puffy.

“Good.” You pat a hand on his chest. “Then if you stick around, I’ll drive you home.”

You turn and step through the doors into the bar, feeling his eyes burning into your backside as you sway your hips. You work the rest of the night with a smirk on your lips and an ache between your legs. Your friends come and go with teasing comments, but you let them, because all you can think about is Bradley’s predatory stare. He doesn’t let you out of his sight all night, and he looks even deadlier when Romeo approaches for another round of drinks. But the rest of the night passes without incident, and when it finally comes time to close, you actually have to kick a few patrons out.

Bradley waits leaning against the passenger door of your car as Penny locks up. You promise her you’ll be there in the morning to help clean, but the knowing smirk on her lips when she sees Bradley at your car definitely means that she doesn’t believe you.

You give her a little wave as she heads off toward her car and you walk toward yours. When you walk past Bradley, he reaches out and grabs your wrist, tugging you toward him.

“Hey,” he says quickly, before kissing you again.

You push up onto your toes as you kiss him back.

“You know,” he murmurs against your mouth, “this isn’t just one night.”

Your heart kicks into overdrive again, trying to crack your sternum.

“I want you. All of you. I have for God knows how long, and I’ve been too chickenshit to do anything about it. But I need you to know that this isn’t a onetime thing and it’s not just because I’ve had a few drinks. This is it. You and me.”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, trying to convince yourself that you’re not dreaming. When you open your eyes and look up at him, your heart swells so much it feels like it might burst.

“I want you too. All of you.”

He grins and swoops down to kiss you again, only quickly. “Good. Now let’s go, I have to fuck your brains out, remember?”

You roll your eyes despite your burning cheeks. “Yeah, you do.”

As you walk around the front of your car on wobbly legs, he adds, “Oh, and you should probably tell Penny that you won’t be here in the morning. You’ll still be getting your brains fucked out.”

END.

#bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster #rooster x reader #miles teller #top gun #top gun: maverick #top gun maverick #fanfiction #fanfic #oneshot #one shot #jake seresin #hangman #maverick

1K notes · View notes

st4rpiece · 6 months ago

Text

needing space after an argument

SFW

characters: luffy, zoro, usopp, sanji x reader summary: an argument with the boys puts your relationship on hold CW: angst no comfort, breaking up (sanji), reader gets hurt, and over 600 words each

pt. 1 | pt. 2

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Monkey D. Luffy

The Sunny swayed gently on the open sea, the rhythm of the waves doing little to soothe the tension that crackled in the air. The ship’s usual harmony, filled with laughter and chatter, had been shattered by the argument unfolding on deck.

“You’re seriously impossible, Lu!” you snapped, your voice rising in frustration. Your chest heaved as you stared him down, fury blazing in your eyes.

“You keep charging into battle without thinking, and we’re always left picking up the pieces!”

Luffy stood a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest, his straw hat tilted forward. His usual grin—bright and carefree—was nowhere to be seen. Instead, his face was set in a rare, serious frown.

“So what?” he said, his tone almost dismissive. “It worked, didn’t it? We’re fine!”

“Fine?!” you repeated, incredulous, your voice rising an octave.

“Sanji’s limping, Zoro’s covered in bandages, the ship’s a mess, again, and you—” you jabbed a finger toward his chest—“you nearly got yourself killed over some stupid treasure we didn’t even need!”

Luffy threw his arms in the air, his voice growing defensive. “It was shiny! I wanted it!”

You groaned, rubbing your temples as you turned away for a moment, trying to reign in your growing frustration.

“Lu, it’s not about the treasure!” you finally yelled, spinning back toward him.

“It’s about how you never listen to anyone! One day, your recklessness is going to get someone killed!”

The deck fell silent, the rest of the crew lingering nearby, pretending not to eavesdrop as they exchanged wary glances.

Luffy’s jaw tightened at your words, his posture stiffening. His carefree demeanor, the one you had come to rely on, was replaced by something cold and uncharacteristically sharp.

“You’re the only one who seems to always have a problem with the way I do things,” he said, his voice low but cutting.

You froze, staring at him as his words began to sink in.

He took a step closer, his dark eyes burning into yours.

“If the way I run my ship bothers you so much…” He hesitated, as if daring himself to say what came next, but when he spoke again, his tone was firm, biting. “…then maybe you should leave.”

It felt like a slap across the face. The air around you stilled, and for a moment, you couldn’t even process what he had said.

“Luffy,” you said, your voice softer now, as though testing to see if you’d heard him right.

But he didn’t take it back. He just stood there, his face stony, his gaze unreadable.

The silence between you stretched, heavy and unbearable. The rest of the crew watched from their spots, wide-eyed and frozen. Even Zoro, who typically stayed out of these things, had shifted slightly, his hand resting on the hilt of his katana as though bracing for the worst.

You clenched your fists, forcing yourself to swallow past the lump rising in your throat. The sharp sting of his words echoed in your mind, cutting deeper with every passing second. When you finally spoke, your voice was low but steady, masking the turmoil inside you.

“Fine,” you said, the word dropping heavily between you.

Luffy’s eyes widened just enough to show a crack in his hardened expression, but he didn’t speak. He didn’t take it back.

Your voice quivered ever so slightly as you drew in a shaky breath, but you straightened your shoulders, determined not to let him see how deeply his words had cut. “I’ll be gone by tonight,” you said, firm and unwavering despite the ache in your chest.

His breath hitched, and for a split second, his resolve seemed to waver. “No wait—” he said, his voice breaking as he took a step forward, his hand lifting like he was reaching for you.

But you didn’t stop. You turned on your heel and strode toward the stairs, your head held high even as your vision blurred. By the time he worked up the courage to say more, you were already gone, leaving behind a silence even heavier than before.

Roronoa Zoro

The dim glow of the setting sun reflected off the water as you stood on the dock, arms crossed tightly over your chest. The once serene atmosphere was marred by the frustration bubbling inside you as you paced back and forth, stealing glances at the path Zoro should’ve come from an hour ago. The excitement you’d felt earlier now replaced with frustration and disappointment.

Finally, you heard the familiar shuffle of his footsteps, followed by his exasperated grumbling.

“Sorry I’m late,” Zoro muttered as he approached, scratching the back of his neck. His face was impassive, as if showing up an hour after your agreed time wasn’t a big deal.

You exhaled sharply, your patience already frayed. “Late? Zoro, you’re not just late—you’re ridiculously late. Again.”

“I got lost,” he said bluntly, like that was supposed to excuse everything.

“You always get lost,” you shot back, exasperated. “I’m not mad about that—I get it, directions aren’t your thing. But you didn’t think to ask someone for help this time? Or maybe even leave a little earlier?”

Zoro let out a short sigh, his arms crossing over his chest. “What do you want me to do? It’s not like I meant to get lost. I tried.”

“Then maybe next time we can just go together,” you suggested, your voice softening slightly despite your frustration. “That way, we can avoid all this and actually enjoy our dates.”

Your words were meant to be a compromise, a way to avoid another night like this, but Zoro’s face darkened at the suggestion. He scoffed, the sharp sound cutting through the cool evening air.

“Go together?” he repeated, his voice sharp. “What, you think I need you to hold my hand everywhere? I’m not a kid.”

“Zoro,” you blinked, taken aback by the sudden hostility in his tone. “That’s not what I—”

“No seriously,” he cut you off, his voice growing louder. “That need of yours to control everything—it’s annoying.”

You froze. For a moment, it felt like the world had stopped moving, his words hitting you harder than you thought possible.

“Controlling?” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper. “Annoying?”

Zoro faltered for a moment, his expression shifting as if he hadn’t meant for the word to come out. But instead of apologizing, he doubled down, his jaw tightening. “Yeah,” he muttered, though his voice had lost some of its bite.

Your lips parted as you stared at him, completely thrown. You had only wanted to help, to make things easier—for both of you. But now, he was looking at you like you were the problem.

“I… I didn’t think trying to help you was so annoying,” you said quietly, your voice trembling. “I just didn’t want us to keep missing time together because you—” You stopped yourself, shaking your head as the lump in your throat grew.“Forget it.”

“Wait,” Zoro said, stepping forward, but you instinctively took a step back.

“No, it’s fine,” you said, your voice tight as you forced a bitter smile. “If me trying to help makes me so controlling and annoying, then I won’t bother anymore.”

“Babe, that’s not—”

“Don’t,” you interrupted, your voice firmer now. “I get it, Zoro. You don’t need me, and you sure as hell don’t want my help. Message received.”

You turned away before he could say anything else, your heart twisting painfully as you walked back toward the ship.

Zoro remained motionless, his chest heavy as he watched you walk away. His hand started to lift, a silent urge to call out to you, to stop you—but it faltered, falling limply to his side. The realization settled in like a weight: in his frustration, he hadn’t just lashed out—he’d driven away the one person who always tried to understand him. And now, he could only watch as you disappeared.

God Usopp

The tension in the air was thick enough to cut through as you sat on the Sunny’s deck, fidgeting with your hands. Usopp had been distant for the past two days, barely sparing you a glance and keeping his responses short whenever you tried to talk to him. It wasn’t like him—not with you.

You stole a glance across the ship where he was working on one of his gadgets, his movements tense and hurried, the usual care he put into his work noticeably absent. You’d been patient, waiting for him to come to you, but whatever was bothering him wasn’t going away.

“Usopp,” you finally called, your voice gentle but firm as you stood and walked over to him.

He didn’t look up. “What?”

The coldness in his tone made you flinch, but you pressed on. “Can we talk? You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I’m not avoiding you,” he muttered, fiddling unnecessarily with the gadget in his hands.

“Yes, you are,” you said, standing your ground. “What’s going on? Did I do something wrong?”

At that, he froze, his fingers tightening around the tool in his hand. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said flatly, but his voice lacked conviction.

You crouched down beside him, your brows furrowed. “Then what is it? Why won’t you talk to me?”

He finally looked at you, his jaw tight and his eyes flickering with frustration. “Why’d you call Luffy?”

The question caught you off guard. “What?”

“Two days ago, when you were in trouble,” he said, his voice louder now. “You didn’t call for me. You called for Luffy.”

Realization dawned on you, but before you could respond, he continued.

“Was I just not good enough?” he asked, his tone bitter. “Did you think I couldn’t handle it? That I’d just screw it up and get hurt?”

“What? No, that’s not—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted, standing up abruptly and taking a step back. “Just don’t. I get it. I know I’m not as strong as Luffy or Zoro or Sanji. I know I’m not the first one people think of when they’re in danger. But I thought… I thought maybe you—” He stopped himself, shaking his head as he clenched his fists. “Forget it.”

You stood as well, your chest tightening at the hurt in his voice. “Baby, listen to me,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “You are strong and very capable. I called for Luffy simply because he was closer. That’s it.”

But he didn’t look at you, his eyes fixed on the deck. “It doesn’t matter,” he said quietly. “I just… I need some space, okay?”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Usopp, the one who always sought you out, who always seemed happiest when you were by his side, was asking you to leave him alone.

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the sting. “If that’s what you need,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll give you space. But I’m not giving up on this, Usopp. Or you.”

He didn’t respond, only nodding slightly before turning his back to you. You lingered for a moment, hoping he’d say something, anything, to stop you from walking away. But the silence stretched, and eventually, you had no choice but to leave him be.

As you walked away, your heart ached for him, for the insecurities he tried so hard to hide. You could only hope that when he was ready, he’d let you help him see the truth—that in your eyes, Usopp was more than enough.

Vinsmoke Sanji

The evening sun bathed the deck of the Sunny in golden light, but the sight before you felt anything but warm. Sanji stood at the railing, surrounded by a small group of women from the port town you’d just docked in, his eyes sparkling as he lavished them with compliments and dramatic promises of eternal devotion.

You stood at a distance, arms crossed over your chest, watching the scene unfold before you. It wasn’t the first time Sanji had acted like this, and you had always let it slide, convincing yourself that he would stop eventually. But now, the painful truth settled in, and it felt like a dagger twisting in your chest.

When the women finally left, giggling and waving, you stepped forward, your footsteps deliberate. “Sanji,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended.

He turned, his usual cheerful expression faltering when he saw the look on your face. “Oh, my love! Did you see those ladies? They were absolute angels—”

“Why do you keep doing this?” you interrupted, crossing your arms tighter.

“Doing what?” he asked, genuinely confused, tilting his head.

“This,” you said, gesturing toward where the women had just walked off. “Flirting with every woman who so much as glances your way.”

Sanji blinked, his confusion deepening as he processed your words.“My love, what a wrong? You never complained about this before?”

Your jaw clenched, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “That’s because I thought it would stop once we got together. I didn’t think that as your girlfriend I would still have to compete with every pretty women you see.”

His eyes widened, as if the thought had never occurred to him. “But, sweetheart, it’s not like that. You’re not competing with anyone I—”

"It is like that Sanji, and honestly, I can't keep doing this," you interrupted, your voice trembling. "It's clear we're not on the same page when it comes to what’s acceptable in a relationship."

The air between you shifted, thick with the weight of your words, each one hanging in the space between you like an unspoken truth.

Sanji’s mouth opened slightly, his brow furrowing as if he were about to protest, but no words came out. He stood there, frozen, as if the reality of the situation hadn’t fully hit him yet. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he managed to say, his voice a little rough, “Why does this feel like a breakup?”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you. Every word felt like it was trapped, lodged somewhere deep inside, fighting its way to the surface. But you couldn’t hold it back any longer. Your eyes never left Sanji’s face, watching the shock and confusion slowly morph into something you couldn’t bear to see.

“That’s because it is,” you said quietly, your voice barely audible, the weight of the words pressing down on you.

The finality of it echoed in your ears, louder than you ever expected. You wanted to say more, to explain, to somehow make him understand that this wasn’t easy for you, that it wasn’t what you wanted. But the truth was, you had already said everything you needed to. This was the point of no return.

“Wait,” he said, stepping closer, his voice desperate. “Don’t do this baby, please. I didn’t know it bothered you. If I had, I— I would’ve stopped. I’ll stop now. I swear.”

You looked away, willing yourself to stay firm despite the raw emotion in his voice. “It’s not just about stopping, Sanji. It’s about the fact that you didn’t even realize that your actions would hurt me. I can’t be with someone who doesn’t see a problem with flirting with others.”

“Please, my love,” he said, reaching for your hand, but you stepped back, shaking your head.

“I can’t, Sanji,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

Without another word, you turned and walked away, each step pulling you further from him.

Sanji stood there, his hand outstretched for a moment longer as if he could reach out and somehow make you stay. But the weight of your words hit him like a punch to the gut. He had lost you—not because he didn’t care, but because he hadn’t shown you he did in the way you needed.

────────��──────────₊˚.༄

one piece masterlist

question! how do you guys feel about a queer version of the smau’s with fem or gn reader (idrc) for nami, robin, vivi, perona, boa, and yamato?

it’s in my drafts and i’ll still post it when done just wanted to see if the gays see my vision 🤭

i have two more (one request) for angst but i'll have those up soon now that i’m free from the shackles of school.

anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed :).

not proofread and caps may look weird typed this on my phone and computer 😭

(had to re-upload this didn't realize it posted before I was done)

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slutzforbueckers · 1 month ago

Note

congrats on 1k i love ur writing sm!!

can i request the smut promts like

strap warming paige and the “you’re so messy” “can you be good for me” or literally anything with strap warming paige

pretty please with a big cherry on top 😭🙏

keep you warm

♡— pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

♡— warnings: smut

♡— synopsis: paige is taking too long to come to bed so, you take thing into your own hands.

♡— a/n: i’m so sorry guys idk what the fuck happened. i’m literally in a writing slump right now, even with all of these amazing requests yall are sending in.

❥•°❀°•༢

you sauntered into paige’s gaming room without knocking—not that she cared anyway—and stood quietly behind her, your hands gently messaging her shoulders. paige didn’t react, she was too deep in her game to pay attention to anything else. you knew what you’d went in there for, knew what your intentions were, and her being engrossed in her game wasn’t going to stop you from getting what you wanted.

paige had her headset on so she couldn’t hear you when you called her name but she felt it when your hands stopped moving on her muscles. you leaned down and moved her headset off of one ear and called her name again—she spun around in her chair. “what’s up?”

you didn’t say anything, net yet, and just lowered yourself onto her lap. she dropped the controller and grabbed your hips, immediately pulling me closer. your arms went around her shoulders, your fingers interlocking behind her head, and you leaned in a little bit closer.

“i want you,” you said softly, nudging your nose on hers for just a second. “right now.”

“i’m in the middle of the game.” her fingers pressed into your skin a little bit harder now and her tongue darted out to wet her lips. “can you wait for me just a little longer?”

you rolled my eyes and let out a soft breath of frustration. this had to be the fifth time youd came in here. it was getting late and all you wanted was to feel your girlfriend one time before you went to bed. the first few times you actually believed her when she would only be one last game but now you’re starting to think you’re going to have to take things into your own hands.

still though, you try one last time to get her to come to bed. “please? you said to give you one more game and i did.”

“i’ll just be like ten more minutes.”

your hands traveled up her shirt and you slightly rolled your hips. paige groaned low in her throat and squeezed your hips— you did it again and tilted your head to brush your lips over hers. “just let me sit, let me keep you warm.”

paige didn’t know what to say at first, she just started at you. you could see the way her jaw flexed, the slight shift in her body like she was torn between letting you have your way and picking up her controller. ultimately, she decided to let you have your way. “can you be good for me?”

you nodded your head quickly, hands already pushing her shorts down. the thick, black strap sprung free and you had been wanting it for so long you were sure you almost started drooling. paige leaned back slightly, watching as you quickly pulled your panties off and tossed them to the side.

your hands braced on her shoulders as you lifted your hips and lined yourself up. paige watched as you sank down on her cock in one slow, aching motion. the air left your lungs in a soft sigh as your body adjusted to the fullness—your walls fluttering helplessly around her, already throbbing and warm and so wet.

once you were sat down completely paige turned back to her game, her arms now wrapped around your back. she looked down at you and gave you a warning look. “don’t move. sit here and keep me warm, can you do that?”

“yes—i’ll be good, promise.” you nodded, your breath coming out uneven from how deep she was. it felt good—too good to just be sitting there. you were full, stretched around her strap and already soaking it. paige hummed and adjusted her headset back over her ear, she picked up her game controller and turned her attention back to her game.

you let out a shaky breath and wrapped your arms loosely around her shoulders, head tucked in the crook of her neck. you tried to focus on anything other then how she filled you up perfectly—tried to focus on the sound of her game, the click of her controller, the soft hum of her voice as she talked shit to her teammates through the mic.

it was getting harder to ignore though, your hips jerked without meaning to. paige didn’t look at you, didn’t say anything—she just tightened her arm around your waist and kept playing. “don’t fucking move.”

the heat between your legs was only getting worse, the way her strap curved perfectly inside you made it nearly impossible to sit still. your fingers dug into her shoulders, you were fighting everything in your body to not start riding her right there.

“fuck, baby, i can feel you dripping on my lap.” paige’s attention was starting to split—her fingers were starting slip on the buttons, her reaction time coming slower and slower. she shifted in her chair which caused the strap to shift inside your cunt. your moan came out muffled due to your face being hidden in her neck.

“paige— i need more.” you whined, trying to subtly gain some friction. paige dipped her head slightly, pressing her lips into your hair, but her eyes stayed in her game—trying to keep up as much as she could.

“you’re doing so good for me, just a little longer.” she mumbled into your hair, holding you a little bit tighter. waiting for a little bit longer wouldn’t have been so hard if she had started bouncing her leg. you thought that maybe it was just because it was the end of the game or maybe it was because she knew your patience was running thin—quick.

“paige.” you called her again, this time through gritted teeth. she hummed in acknowledgment as she started to bounce her leg harder and you knew it was intentional now. her strap moved with the bounce of her leg—just enough to have your cunt clenching around her. your nails dug into her skin through the fabric of her shirt. “please— please, make me cum.”

just as those words rushed out of your mouth, her game came to an end. paige dropped her controller immediately—not caring about the loud noise it made when it hit the desk. her hands gripped your hips and she leaned back. you were close enough to the desk that you could lean back against it.

her eyes were laser focused on where she was buried in you, on how your cum leaked down her cock. paige slowly started to lift her hips, slowly fucking up into you. your face contorted with pleasure—your lips parting with a sharo moan, eyes squeezing shut, brows pulling together. she ran her hands up your sheer nightgown and held your waist firmly. “you’re so messy—shit. all this from just sitting on me, hm?”

you nodded your head quickly, your nails digging into the palm of your own hand now. “yes—fuck—yes, paige, please—”

her hips snapped up into you a little harder, cutting off your words with a broken moan. the sound of you made her groan low in her chest, the kind that rumbled against your skin as she leaned forward and kissed the side of your jaw, her breath hot and heavy.

“you’re so needy, baby. couldn’t even wait ‘til i finished,” she mumbled, her voice thick with arousal and amusement. “had to come in here and sit your pretty pussy right on me like a fucking brat.”

you nodded again, fast, desperate, barely hanging on as her pace picked up. the slap of skin against skin echoed in the room now, mixed with the wet sounds of your slick and the soft squeak of the chair rocking with each thrust. she used her grip on your waist to grind you down into her, angling just right to hit that spot inside you over and over again.

“you wanted this, right?” she whispered, her lips brushing your ear now. “wanted me to ruin you like this?”

“yes—yes, paige, please—keep going—don’t stop,” you moaned, grinding down against her now. her hand slipped between your bodies, pushing your nightgown up to your waist, fingers rubbing quick, tight circles on your clit.

“you gonna cum for me?” she panted, eyes dark and focused on you. “you gonna be a good girl and make a mess all over my cock?”

your answer was a strangled moan, your head tipping back as your body tensed up. her name fell from your lips over and over like a prayer, broken and breathless. your thighs trembled around her, your whole body arching as pleasure took over. paige didn’t stop—her hips kept moving, slower now, working you through it, making sure you felt every last drop of it.

“that’s it,” she muttered, kissing your throat, licking the sweat from your skin. “god, you’re so perfect when you fall apart for me.”

you slumped against her, trembling, still fluttering around her strap as aftershocks rolled through you. her hands moved slowly now, one rubbing your back, the other resting gently on your ass. she kissed your temple and breathed, “you good?”

you nodded weakly, lips brushing her collarbone. “mhm. better than good.”

she chuckled, low and warm. “guess it’s time to log off.”

you smiled against her skin. “finally.”

#m speaks #paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers x fem!reader #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x fem!reader smut #sub!paige bueckers #dallas wings

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prettygirl-gabi · 15 days ago

Text

Correction, Baby

Pairing: Suagr mommy turned gf!Nika Mühl x sugar baby turned gf!Reader

Fandom: WNBA-Seattle Storm

Summary: maybe it’s all too much at once

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @cowboybueckers , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @elswhore , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin , @issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog , @sayurireidotcom , @let-zizi-yap , @latenighttalkinqwp , @fairyblossomsavg

There are few things more exhausting than a double shift with barely any tips and a throbbing lower back. But that’s what I signed up for when I picked up extra hours at the restaurant. School fees don’t pay themselves, and I sure as hell wasn’t gonna ask Nika.

Especially not after Croatia.

A dream of a vacation—five-star hotels, private boat tours, designer boutiques in every major city we hit, and a suitcase I could barely zip because Nika kept stuffing it with things she thought would look good on me.

I didn’t even ask for half the things she bought, and yet she dropped money like it was nothing.

Like I was nothing.

I heard the little jingle of the bell above the restaurant door and didn’t even need to turn around to know it was her.

My spine straightened on instinct.

She always had that effect—commanding without even trying.

Even when dressed in joggers and a tee, she looked like she stepped out of a fashion editorial.

“Hey, your hot mafia wife’s here,” my coworker Aisha whispered with a smirk.

I laughed under my breath, tired and sore, the weight of tuition hanging over my shoulders. “I’m not asking her for it,” I mumbled, wiping down the counter. “We just got back from vacation. It feels wrong.”

“Y/N, you’re literally her girlfriend. And for like… a year now? Ask her.”

“I don’t want her to think I’m still in sugar baby mode.”

“Girl, she lives to spoil you.”

I didn’t notice Nika standing just behind the pastry case. But she definitely heard that.

She didn’t say a word the entire car ride to her place.

Not a single word.

Her jaw was tight, hands on the wheel a little too firmly, and her silence was louder than anything she could’ve said.

I hated it.

I hated the guilt clawing at my stomach and the ache in my chest. I also hated that I knew I was partially wrong, and partially not.

Once we were inside her place—the condo she kept telling me was ours even though I still hadn’t moved in fully—she tossed her keys on the table and leaned against the kitchen island.

“You really weren’t gonna ask me?” she finally said, voice low, even.

“Nika…”

“No,” she interrupted, standing straight. “You weren’t going to ask me for help with your tuition because you think I do too much?”

My arms crossed defensively, even though I hated when I got like that with her. “We just got back from a vacation where you spent—what—like ten thousand dollars minimum on me? You bought me shoes I didn’t even say I liked, and then you saw me glancing at a bracelet and got it in two colors.”

“And?”

“And before we even left for Croatia, you bought me a new laptop, clothes for the trip, skincare, a carry-on—Nika, you spoiled the hell out of me. And it was… beautiful. But it was a lot. It started feeling like I was just a sugar baby again.”

Her jaw twitched, but she didn’t raise her voice. She just came closer, her hands gentle as they reached up to cradle my face. “Baby. Love. That’s kind of the point.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Whether you’re my sugar baby or my girlfriend—or both, like you are now—my job is to spend a shit ton of money on you. No matter how ridiculous or important it is. You need something for school? You ask me. You wanna set up a date? I’ll pay for it. I don’t care how much Croatia cost me. You’re not an expense. You’re an investment. My investment. My girl.”

It should’ve melted me.

And it did… until she really started getting petty.

The first time I paid for dinner, she didn’t even say a word.

Next morning? A blush-pink LV bag set on my bed. Wallet, phone case, cardholder, tote. Custom monogrammed. I wanted to scream.

Then I paid for her coffee on a random Tuesday. That weekend, she sent three crates of my favorite drinks to the apartment. THREE. C R A T E S. Of little canned lattes and obscure matcha blends that cost more than groceries.

I tried to outdo her once—set up this elaborate, romantic, expensive date night for her. I planned it down to the lighting and the playlist.

She stole my phone while I was in the bathroom, removed my cards, added hers, went into my shopping apps… and BOUGHT EVERYTHING in my cart.

Skincare.

Lingerie.

A random kitchen appliance I’d been debating for months.

Everything.

Packages started showing up like it was Prime Day for a week straight.

I confronted her. Furious, overwhelmed, borderline humiliated.

“Is this some kind of punishment?” I asked.

She laughed. Laughed. “Punishment? Babe, this is normal. You’re just not used to being treated right.”

But it wasn’t normal for me.

So I stopped.

Stopped going out. “Wanna go on a date?” she’d ask. I’d say no.

“Wanna grab coffee?” Nope.

Stopped replying to her ‘what do you need today?’ texts. Ignored the packages. Politely asked our doorman to return anything in Nika’s handwriting.

And for the first time in a year, she stopped sending gifts.

Our relationship shifted. Became… off.

She’d stare at me from across the room, confused and frustrated, like she was waiting for me to come back to her. And I was trying.

I was.

But she didn’t hear me.

Until she couldn’t take it anymore.

“Sit.”

I looked up from my laptop, sitting at her kitchen island with homework sprawled out. “What?”

“Sit your ass on the couch. We’re talking. Now.”

Her tone didn’t leave room for argument. So I went.

She sat next to me, close but not touching. “I know you’re mad at me.”

“I’m not mad, I just—”

“Let me finish.”

I shut my mouth.

“I thought I was being a good girlfriend. A good… whatever we are. You said you needed something, and I fix shit. That’s what I do. That’s what I did from the beginning. I don’t know how to stop. But when you pulled back, it felt like you were punishing me. And I didn’t understand why. Not until I realized… you were scared.”

My throat closed a little.

“You think I’m trying to make you dependent on me.”

I nodded slowly.

“I’m not.” Her voice broke a little. “I just want to love you the only way I know how. And yeah, maybe it’s through buying you dumb shit and sending you drinks I know you like. But I never want you to feel like you owe me. Or like you’re just a sugar baby again. I want to be your girlfriend first. And if you need space, I’ll give you that. But don’t shut me out.”

I didn’t even realize I was crying until her thumb brushed a tear from my cheek.

“I felt like I was losing myself,” I whispered. “Like I was slipping into someone who only existed because you funded her. I love you for how you love me, Nika. But I need to know that even if I couldn’t accept a dime from you… you’d still want me.”

She pulled me into her arms like she was afraid I’d disappear.

“I’d want you broke, rich, in debt, or even if you made me split a salad on date night.”

I laughed through the tears. “You’d never split a salad.”

“Damn right I wouldn’t,” she grinned. “But you get my point.”

I pulled back just enough to look at her. “You promise to let me pay for things sometimes?”

“Not even a little.”

“Nika.”

“Okay, fine,” she sighed. “Only if you let me add stupid shit to your cart after.”

I kissed her softly, then grinned. “Deal.”

But the next day, I paid for her lunch.

That night, I came home to find a car key on the counter.

“Nika!”

“You paid. I punished.”

“YOU SAID IT WASN’T PUNISHMENT!”

“It’s correction, baby.”

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!💚💙

-prettygirl-gabi✨️💗

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starkwlkr · 1 month ago

Text

we both know that’s not true | erik campbell

an: yeah i need erik in ways that are concerning to feminism. btw this will have no spoilers for final destination bloodlines!! i have already seen the movie and i don’t want to spoil ANYTHING for anyone. and if you comment spoilers, i will not hesitate to delete them!! might make more fics about the reader being julia’s best friend x erik hehehehehehe

“What are you wearing for the party? I’m thinking of wearing the red dress I bought last week, but I can’t find any matching heels. Wait, do you still have the heels you wore to graduation? Can I borrow them?” You heard Julia’s voice ask through your phone’s speaker.

“Uh . . . Yeah! I have to look for them though. I’ll drop them off asap,” You replied, but you were more concentrated on looking through your own closet filled with a plethora of clothes, old and new. “Fuck, I don’t have anything to wear! I hate everything. I might not even go.” You threw the dress you had in your hands on the floor and sat on the edge of your bed.

“Oh you’re going! You’ve skipped out on the past three parties! Come on, we can go shopping tomorrow. Plus I think Will is going to be there and if you go then he’ll see how fucking hot you look in that new dress and he’ll realize how a fucking idiot he is for cheating on you.” Julia went on.

“Well that’s more reason to not go. If I see his face, I will punch him.” You said as you grabbed a top and walked towards your mirror to see how it would look like.

“And I’ll support you!”

As the conversation went on, you didn’t notice your bedroom door open. Silent footsteps cross your bedroom floor. You’re mid-spin when two strong arms wrap around your waist and pull you back onto the bed. You let out a shriek, your phone tumbling onto the mattress.

Erik’s hand covers your mouth a second later. “Shhh,” he whispers, his lips brushing your ear, his body pressing into yours. Your heart slams in your chest as he nudges your legs apart with his knee. “Keep talking.” he murmurs.

You fumble for the phone, continuing the call with a trembling thumb. “S-sorry, dropped the phone,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, breath normal.

“Okay . . .”

Erik’s mouth is on your neck now, soft and slow, his hand slipping under your shirt, fingers warm against your skin. You bite your lip hard, stifling a gasp as your hips arch instinctively toward him.

You try to focus. “So, shopping tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’ll pick you up in the morning. Oh! And then we can go eat lunch at that new Italian place that opened last week! But I have been craving steak . . .” She rambled on.

Then Erik’s lips find the sensitive spot just below your ear. His hand slides up your stomach, fingers grazing bare skin. Your breath hitches before you can stop it.

You manage a strained, “That’s . . . interesting.”

“Bobby’s peanut allergy is interesting?” Julia questioned.

Erik kisses your collarbone, teeth lightly grazing your skin, and a soft whimper escapes before you can stop it.

“Are you alone right now?” Julia asks suddenly, suspicion creeping into her voice.

You freeze. “Yeah,” you lie, voice way too high. Erik smirked as he continued.

There’s a pause. Then Julia gasps. “Oh my God. You’re not! I knew it. I knew something was up. Jesus, who is he? Wait—no, don’t tell me. Actually, no, do. Wait—ugh, you know what? Whatever. Enjoy whoever it is you’re doing. I’m hanging up.”

You stare at the phone screen, heartbeat thudding in your ears. Erik shifts above you, clearly pleased with himself.

“Has anyone ever told her she talks too fucking much?” he says softly, brushing your hair aside as he leans back down. “But that was kind of hot, wasn’t it?”

“You’re disgusting.” You push him slightly creating a bit of space between the two of you.“This. . . needs to stop,” you whisper, voice firm even though your pulse is all over the place. “I don’t want to sneak around anymore.”

Erik tilts his head, his smirk slow and infuriating. “Yeah, you say that. . . ” he murmurs, brushing his thumb along your bottom lip, “but we both know that’s not true.”

Your brows lift, heat flashing in your cheeks. “Hey! I can stop whenever I want.”

“Oh, sure you can,” he says mockingly, his voice a low tease. “Totally believable. Look at you—already breathless, clinging to me like you forgot how to stand.”

Your mouth falls open in outrage, but the bastard's still grinning. Smug. Sure of himself.

“Well, I am stopping it,” you snap, shoving at him harder this time, even though your legs are still tangled with his. “Right now. This is me. Stopping.”

“Right,” he mutters.

You barely have time to glare before he kisses you—rough this time. Unapologetic. His hands are in your hair, his lips hungry like he’s trying to prove a point. And damn it, it’s working. You’re cursing yourself in your head when you kiss him back, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt instead of pushing him away.

He pulls back just enough to smirk again. “Thought you were stopping?”

You pant against his lips, cheeks flushed. “Maybe. . . after this.”

“Sure,” he whispers, dragging his mouth down your jaw, voice dark and satisfied. “That’s what you said last time. Liar.”

You don’t answer. You just pull him closer.

Because the worst part is—you hate that he’s right.

And the best part is. . . you don’t care.

#final destination bloodlines #erik campbell final destination #erik campbell x reader #erik campbell imagine #erik campbell fanfiction #final destination #final destination fanfic

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blueberrybirdsworld · 11 days ago

Note

Hi, I love your writing, anyway I have a request: could you maybe write something like reader is the passenger princess and like even though she has a drivers lincense (or not) he won’t let her drive or give up her seat as passenger princess, or just being overly overprotective, of course only if your comfortable and want to write this. You choose what driver. No pressure to write it it’s just a thought.

Thanks xoxo

-🐨

Passenger princess

Author note : thank you so much for your request, I twist the story a little bit because apparently I can't write a story without a little bit of drama... but hope you still like it :)

Summary : She has a license. She knows how to drive. But Lando has made it very clear: as long as he’s around, she’s not touching the wheel because he refuses to let the girl he loves be anything other than his passenger princess. He likes taking care of her, driving her everywhere, holding her hand at stoplights and making sure she never has to worry about a thing.

But when she asks for the keys one day, everything shifts.

Pairing : Lando Norris x reader

Genre : fluff, oneshot, request, slight angst

Main Masterlist

Lando had one single rule :You. Do. Not. Drive.

Not when he’s around.

You could have a Formula 1 Super Licence and it wouldn’t change anything. Lando Norris has made it his personal mission that his girl does not lift a finger, especially not to reach for a steering wheel.

You still remember when he declared it officially.

You were six weeks into dating, sitting in his car after a dinner date in Monaco. You pulled out your keys and offered to drive back because he’d had two glasses of wine. He just looked at you with the slowest blink of disbelief.

“Absolutely not, you’re not driving.”

“And you can?”

“Well I’m Lando Norris.”

“That doesn’t make you immortal.”

“Maybe but it makes me your designated driver. Forever. Passenger princess duties are now legally binding. Sorry.”

He meant every word.

From then on, he opened every car door for you, insisted on picking you up and dropping you off even if it was wildly inconvenient, and responded to your attempts to drive with various tactics, including distraction kisses, key theft, or physically lifting you out of the driver’s seat like a cheeky menace.

You eventually gave in.

Not because you couldn’t drive, you actually were a good driver but because there was something stupidly endearing about the way he’d reach for your hand across the center console, or check your seatbelt like a paranoid dad, or mutter under his breath about how “princesses don’t worry about traffic.”

But there comes a day. A very specific day where you needed his car.

“Can I take the McLaren to Nice?” The words leave your mouth casually.

Lando is in the kitchen, hair damp from a shower, dressed in a McLaren hoodie and shorts, spoon halfway to his mouth with a bowl of yogurt and granola. He freezes.

You can literally hear the information processing in his head.

“Sorry?” he says slowly, as if you’d just asked if you could drive his F1 car to the grocery store.

You tilt your head, resting against the doorframe. “I have that appointment in Nice this afternoon. It’s a beautiful drive. I don’t want to take a taxi.”

“So I’ll take you,” he says instantly, standing straight.

“You can’t,” you remind him, amused. “You have a team briefing remember.”

“I’ll skip it.”

“You won’t.”

He narrows his eyes. “You want to drive the McLaren? Wich one ?”

“I don't care I just want to drive a nice car,” you say, playful but firm. “But preferably the 720S. It’s got that nice citrus interior and the top-down roof feels very main character energy.”

“You are the main character,” he says without blinking. “But you can’t drive her.”

“Her?”

He winces. “The car.”

“Oh my god, you called your car 'her'?”

“No. I just… she’s delicate.”

You cross your arms, biting your lip. “Delicate? Are we still talking about the car or me?”

He sets his spoon down slowly. “Do you even know how to drive that car, you've never driven it before.”

“Because someone has control issues and God complex.”

Lando raises a hand, jaw clenching. “She has 710 horsepower. Twin-turbo V8. You so much as sneeze wrong, and she’ll take off the road.”

“Exactly,” you grin. “Sounds fun.”

He stares at you, horrified. “Baby.”

You step closer, dropping your voice into something sweet and slightly dangerous. “Lando. I love you. I respect you. But you know I'm actually capable of driving right ? Just trust me. ”

He opens his mouth. Closes it.

You know that look. It’s the same one he gets when he’s arguing with his engineer but knows he’s wrong. He tries to rally.

“You could take the Audi instead.”

“No.”

“The Fiat Jolly?”

“God no, it will make me look like an idiot.”

You soften, step closer, brushing your fingers through his curls.

“Please, baby? Just for today. One little drive. I’ll bring her back with not a scratch. I’ll even fill the tank.”

He groans like it physically pains him.

“I have to go,” he mumbles, already backing toward the hallway. “The meeting start in 10. I don’t have time to talk you out of this insanity.”

“So it’s a yes?” you say brightly.

He groans again, louder this time and disappears down the hall. But not before you hear him yell over his shoulder:

“If there’s a single scratch, we’re breaking up!”

Not so long after, you’re standing in the garage, keys in hand.

The car looks like something out of a dream, sleek, silver with blood-orange leather and enough power to make the air around it hum. You slide in, adjust the seat, and you’re smiling like a lunatic.

From the garage door, you hear a thud.

Lando is standing there with the most worry expression on his face.

“I have to admit, you actually look hot in that car,” he mumbles, pained.

You blow him a kiss. “See, driving look good on me too!”

He sighs, walking over slowly.

“I left you a route,” he says. “No tunnels. No mountain roads. No overtaking anyone. Please just go to the speed limit.”

He watches you like he’s not sure if he wants to cry, laugh, or beg you to switch seats.

“I love you,” you say softly.

He exhales. “Love you too. But please be carefull.”

“I won’t. I’ll drive her like she’s made of glass.”

“She’s made of carbon fiber, but thanks.”

You laugh and start the engine.

The car roars to life.

Lando flinches.

And then you’re gone.

The Côte d’Azur has always looked like a painting, seafoam catching light like glass, mountains folding into the horizon, the road ahead carving through it all like a silver ribbon. The sky is impossibly blue. The kind of day where it feels like nothing can go wrong.

You were almost in Nice.

The road had opened up, smooth and gently curving, an occasional coastal breeze slipping through the open cabin of the car. You had the roof down, sunglasses on, one hand lightly resting on the wheel.

You can't belive he trusted you. He gave you the keys.

And for a long stretch of road, you felt something close to joy. Real, effortless joy.

Until the corner.

A left-hander. Nothing dramatic. Just one of a thousand bends like it, except this one comes a fraction tighter, your line slightly too wide, your rear wheels clipping the gravel at the edge of the asphalt. The car responds with the fury of something alive.

You feel it.

That split-second shift, grip lost, control slipping. Then an impact.

You never even have time to scream.

The sound is what stays with you first. A tearing. A shattering sound.

The howl of carbon fiber being ripped apart, metal crumpling like paper, and glass exploding as your side window bursts inward. The car spins once, maybe twice and then crashes nose-first into the side of the mountain wall with a force that throws your body against the seatbelt so hard your lungs collapse on the first breath.

Then, silence.

Not true silence more like the absence of motion. The engine is dead. Smoke coils faintly from the front. Your ears ring. Blood is sliding down your forehead and into your left eyebrow, warm and disorienting.

You don't move. Can’t.

You blink slowly, registering only fragments: The bent steering column. The shattered passenger-side window. The trembling in your own fingers. The sky above, warped and off-center.

Then pain. Dull, but growing. A deep ache in your ribs. Scratches on your arm. A tightness in your chest you can’t immediately place.

You bring one shaking hand to your head and feel blood. It’s not gushing, but there’s enough to paint your fingertips. Your breath catches. Your vision swims.

But that’s not what breaks you.

What breaks you is the sudden, sickening realization: you crashed his car.

The McLaren. His McLaren.

You crashed it. Ruined it.

Your throat tightens. The pain behind your ribs isn’t just bruising anymore, it’s anxiety blooming like rot.

What is he going to say?

The car, his car, is wrecked. The front end is completely folded in, the hood smashed in on itself, like a fallen lung. The windshield is webbed with cracks, already splintering inward. Bits of the headlight are scattered across the asphalt like broken teeth.

You try to sit up straighter but your body disagrees. Your seatbelt is locked so tight you can barely breathe.

You don’t even know if you’re crying, everything is wet: your eyes, your face, your brow. You can taste blood on your lip, iron and salt, and it makes you feel nauseous.

You fumble for your phone.

Your hand shakes so badly you nearly drop it.

You consider not calling him. Maybe call an ambulance. Maybe disappear off the side of the earth before he finds out. Maybe vanish into the sea.

But then you see his name in your recent calls and your thumb moves on instinct.

It rings once. Twice.

He picks up on the third.

“Hey, everything good?” His voice is casual, smiling. Unaware. “You make it there already...”

“I crashed,” you whisper. Your voice sounds strange. Far away.

“What?”

You inhale, shakily. “I lost it. On a corner. I’m, I’m okay. I think. But the car, it’s...”

There’s rustling on his end. The sudden sharpness in his voice makes your stomach twist.

“Where are you?”

You give him your approximate location, your voice barely audible. He doesn't say anything else, just hangs up.

You sit there, barely moving.

Then omeone stops, a couple in a rental car, asking if you need help. You nod, numbly, and they call emergency services even though you told them it's not needed. They stay nearby, give you water, tell you not to move too much.

But nothing reaches you. Not really.

All you can think is: He’s going to hate me.

And that thought alone cuts deeper than anything else.

Lando’s POV

Her voice was small.

Too small.

It came through the phone distorted, thin and trembling, soaked in panic, but Lando had heard enough of her to know: this wasn’t nerves. This was fear. Real, shaking, breathless fear.

“I crashed.”

Two words. Quiet. Flat. But in the center of them was something that lit his entire nervous system on fire.

His engineer shouted something after him while he exit the meeeting. Zak called his name. Someone mentioned media waiting downstairs, some nonsense about schedule, structure, protocol but it didn’t register. Nothing did.

Lando ran.

Straight out of the building, down through the tunnel under the Monaco paddock, into the garage where his car was parked. He slammed the door behind him, yanked the gearshift like it had personally offended him, and peeled out onto the street with a screech that echoed between the buildings.

His hands shook.

Because he was scared.

Not for the car.

Not for the damage.

Not for insurance or press or the reputation of a McLaren driver’s girlfriend crashing a hypercar on the Riviera.

No, he was scared for her.

Because he knew her. Knew her well enough to understand that if she said “I think I’m okay,” it meant she was covering up how bad it really was. That her first instinct wasn’t to cry or scream, it was to call him to tell the car was ruined.

The coastal road stretched long and sharp before him, curves blurring past as he pushed the car harder than it was ever meant to go. He barely registered the scenery.

His GPS pinged her location from her phone.

It took twenty-seven minutes to reach her.

Twenty-seven minutes of clenching the wheel so tight his knuckles ached, replaying the sound of her voice over and over in his head, trying not to imagine the worst.

He rounded a long bend near the mountain wall, and then he saw it.

The McLaren was facing the wrong direction, its nose crumpled violently into the rock face. The front end was mangled. Glass littered the pavement. The left wheel was completely detached, folded under like a snapped ankle.

And there she was.

Leaning against a rock barrier a few feet from the wreck. Blood smeared across her temple, hair matted, arms wrapped tight around herself like she was trying to physically hold her body together. There was a couple beside her, clearly the ones who’d stopped, standing nearby but giving her space.

She wasn’t looking at the car. Or the view. Or anything, really.

She was staring down at her hands.

And she was crying.

Lando didn’t remember getting out of the car.

One minute he was behind the wheel. The next, he was running.

“Hey, hey!” he called, breath already catching in his throat.

Her head snapped up. And when she saw him, something in her face cracked wide open: relief, shame, fear, all of it tangled together.

He didn’t stop to process it. He just dropped to his knees in front of her and grabbed her face gently, cupping it like it was something fragile.

“Where does it hurt?” he asked instantly. His voice was already hoarse. “Talk to me. Right now.”

“I’m okay,” she whispered, barely audible.

“No, don’t do that. Don’t say that. Are you dizzy? Can you breathe? Did you hit your head?”

She flinched slightly when his hand brushed her temple. That’s when he saw the cut, shallow, but bleeding more than it should, streaking down into her brow.

His stomach clenched.

He turned to the couple who’d stayed with her.

“Did anyone call emergency?”

“Yes,” the woman nodded. “They’re on their way. She didn’t want to move much.”

“Good. Thank you. Seriously.”

Then he turned back to her.

“You’re gonna be alright, okay?” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair away from her face, ignoring the blood on his hands. “They’re coming. You’ll be looked at properly. It’s just a few cuts. You’re here. That’s what matters.”

But she was still shaking. Her lip trembled. Her eyes weren’t on him.

They were fixed on the car behind him.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and it shattered him.

“What?” he frowned.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, more desperately this time. “I didn’t mean to, I just, the corner came too fast, I didn’t expect the back wheels to kick and...God, I didn’t mean to...I tried to correct, I swear...”

“Stop, hey!” He moved closer, hands gripping her shoulders now, gentle but firm. “Stop. Look at me.”

Her eyes met his, swimming in guilt.

“Are you apologizing for crashing the car?” he asked slowly.

She blinked once.

Then nodded.

Lando let out a breath, long, pained, and almost disbelieving.

“Sweetheart,” he said, his voice so quiet it nearly broke, “I couldn’t give less of a fuck about the car.”

She froze.

“I love that car, yeah,” he went on, cupping her cheek again. “But it's just carbon and wires and leather. And you’re you. My girl. My everything.”

Her bottom lip trembled.

“I’d burn ten of those cars if it meant keeping you out of pain for five more seconds,” he said. “There is nothing that matters to me more than you walking away.”

Her tears spilled freely now, silent but relentless. He didn’t stop them.

“Baby, you’re safe,” he whispered. “You’re here. That’s all I care about.”

She leaned forward without warning, pressing her forehead to his chest. And Lando held her instantly, wrapping his arms around her as if trying to shield her from the world itself.

“I thought you’d hate me,” she choked out. “I thought you’d be furious.”

“Never.”

“I ruined it.”

“You didn’t ruin anything.”

He pressed a kiss into her hair.

“You scared me,” he admitted quietly. “But not because of the car. Because the idea of losing you… I can’t even...”

His voice cracked. He stopped. Swallowed hard.

“I was so fucking scared,” he said into her shoulder.

They sat like that until the medical team arrived, Lando never once letting go.

Not even when they tried to clean the blood from her face.

Not when they insisted on taking her vitals.

He stayed close, his hand gripping hers the whole time, his eyes locked on her like she might disappear if he blinked.

And even after the car was hauled off the mountain road, even after the sirens faded and the adrenaline left his system in a crash of its own, Lando couldn’t forget the image of her, sitting alone, bleeding and crying, staring down at her hands like she’d just destroyed everything that mattered.

And how wrong she was.

Because the only thing that mattered to him in that entire moment… was her heartbeat still ticking beneath his fingers.

The hospital released her just past sunset.

A mild concussion, a bruised rib from the seatbelt, a handful of superficial cuts and a bottle of prescription-strength painkillers she wasn’t thrilled about. They’d patched her up, poked and prodded, asked the same questions a dozen different ways but eventually, they’d deemed her fit to leave. Stable. Out of danger.

Still, Lando hadn’t stopped hovering for a second.

Not in the exam room.

Not while the doctor spoke.

Not in the hallway while she signed discharge papers.

He walked two steps behind her with a hand lightly resting on her lower back like he thought she might shatter if he let go. And she didn’t complain, not once, because his touch anchored her. Grounded her. Reminded her that even if her body was still sore, her heart was in one piece.

Outside, Monaco was quieter than usual, the sea dark and reflective beyond the hills. His car waited just outside the private entrance, doors already unlocked. Lando opened the passenger side without a word and crouched down like he had a hundred times before.

But this time, when he looked at her, it wasn’t teasing.

“Can you sit okay?” he asked softly.

She nodded. “Yeah. Just a little stiff.”

He didn’t move. Just watched her, as if trying to read something she hadn’t said yet.

“You sure?”

She smiled faintly. “You ask me that again and I’m going to start charging you per reassurance.”

That earned her the smallest, quietest curve of his lips, the first real smile of the night.

He helped her in, buckled her seatbelt for her even though she could do it herself, then pressed a light kiss to her shoulder before closing the door gently.

He circled the hood, climbed in on the other side, and started the engine.

Silence stretched for a few moments. Not heavy, not awkward, just full of thoughts neither of them quite knew how to unpack yet. The radio was off. The windows fogged slightly at the edges.

Finally, she looked over at him.

“You haven’t said anything smug about being right.”

He blinked. “What?”

“About me driving. About how I shouldn’t have.”

A beat passed.

Then he shook his head, eyes still on the road. “That’s not what I’m thinking.”

“No?”

He let out a breath. Slow. Careful.

“I’m thinking how grateful I am that you’re sitting next to me right now. That’s it.”

Her throat tightened.

Lando glanced over briefly, then back at the road again.

“You know,” he said, softer now, “I’ve been thinking about it. Why I never let you drive.”

She smiled weakly. “Because you have control issues?”

He huffed. “Fair. But no. Not really.”

She watched him, his grip on the wheel, the gentle twitch in his jaw, the way he blinked more than usual like he was thinking too hard.

“It’s not that I don’t think you can drive,” he said. “You’re smart. You’re capable. You’ve always been independent. That’s part of why I fell in love with you.”

She stared at him, warmth stirring in her chest even now, even after the worst day.

“It’s just…” He hesitated. Then laughed once, softly. “When I drive, and you’re next to me, I know you’re okay. I know where you are. I know you’re not out there in the world where something can go wrong.”

“Like crashing a car into a mountain wall?”

“Exactly like that.”

He smiled, but there was something behind it, vulnerability. The raw kind he only ever let her see when the world had quieted down enough to make space for it.

“It’s not about control,” he said. “It’s about care. I like driving you. I like knowing you’re safe. I like you beside me, legs tucked up, stealing my hoodie, humming to the music while I make sure you get where you’re going.”

She swallowed.

“I like you as my passenger princess,” he finished, glancing at her again. “Not because you can’t drive but because it’s the one time I get to take care of you without you arguing.”

She let out a breath that caught somewhere in her chest.

And then, slowly, she reached over and laced her fingers through his.

He took her hand easily, like it was second nature, thumb brushing over her knuckles like he always did.

“I thought you’d be mad about the car,” she admitted, voice soft.

“I will never be mad” he said. “I don't care. Not one bit. It’s just a car. I can buy another one.”

He looked over again, eyes steady and full of the kind of love that didn’t waver in the face of fear.

“But I can’t replace you.”

The rest of the drive was quiet.

Comfortable. Peaceful.

Lando took the turns slowly, one hand still in hers, his focus sharper than ever. When they pulled up to the house, he killed the engine and didn’t move for a moment , just sat there, the engine ticking as it cooled.

Then he turned toward her fully.

“You’re home,” he said gently. “Safe.”

She smiled, tired but warm. “Thanks to you.”

He leaned over and kissed her, softly, not rushed, not panicked, not full of adrenaline like earlier, just slow, and sure, and safe.

She sighed against his lips. Let herself be held.

And in that moment, she understood.

It had never been about the car. Or control. Or rules.

It was always about love.

taglist : @bunnisplayground, @vampgege, @chocolatemooncoffee, @sashisuslover, @gold66loveblog, @carlando4, @il0vereadingstuff, @lilith-123321, @ispywlittleeye-blog, @h-rtsnana, @anonomano, @guacala, @charlotteking27, @ninass-world, @scarletwidow3000, @taetae-armyyyyy, @mynameisangeloflife, @tsuniio, @sophxxkiss, @teti-menchon0604, @angelluv16, @httpsxnox, @anunstablefangirl, @chocolatemagazinecupcake, @mayax2o07, @freyathehuntress, @verogonewild, @lilyofthevalley-09, @esw1012, @its-me-frankie, @linneaguriii, @ezzi-ln4, @rlbmutynnek, @actuallyazriel, @sofs16, @thulior, @sltwins, @henna006, @stylesmoonlight12, @lilaissa, @sideboobrry11, @l3thal-l0lita, @lorena-mv33, @ispywlittleeye-blog, @lesliiieeeee, @sageskiesf1, @adynorris, @curlylando, @rebelliousneferut, @justcharlotte, @secret-agents-stole-my-bunnies, @emneedshelp, @lando-505, @yukimaniac, @sashisuslover, @f1norris04, @dustie-faerie, @madicecream123

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casssmalefantasy · 2 months ago

Text

MEET ME UNDER THE MISTLETOE

PAIGE BUECKERS X READER!

| synopsis: your flight home for christmas gets canceled, leaving you stuck in connecticut over the holidays. paige bueckers isn’t about to let that happen.

| warnings: tons of dialogue, soft emotional moments, flirty paige, suggestive tension, kissing, holiday fluff

| word count: 4.3k

you’re halfway done packing your duffel when azzi starts telling a story about her brother throwing a snowball at their grandma once and blaming it on a neighbor kid. you’re only half-listening, distracted by the sound of your phone vibrating on the desk.

at first, you ignore it. probably just your airline confirming the itinerary.

but when you check the notification, your stomach drops.

flight canceled. rebooked for december 25th. earliest available.

“no, no, no…” you mutter, already refreshing the app.

azzi stops mid-sentence, voice soft with concern. “what’s wrong?”

you turn slowly, lips parted but struggling to form the words. “my flight… it’s canceled. they rebooked me for christmas day. i was supposed to fly out tomorrow.”

her face immediately shifts into a sympathetic frown. “wait, seriously? that’s so messed up. did they say why?”

“weather,” you say, trying to keep your voice even, though the lump in your throat is growing. “and everything’s booked. earliest they can get me out is the twenty-fifth.”

azzi moves to sit beside you on the bed, putting a gentle hand on your shoulder. “i’m so sorry… that sucks.”

you nod, swallowing. “it’s fine. i’ll call my parents.”

“if i wasn’t going to my grandparents’ house, i’d tell you to come with me. you know that, right?”

“i know,” you murmur. “thanks, az.”

you turn away slightly, clicking into your contacts and pressing mom. azzi stands, giving your arm a squeeze before quietly leaving the room.

your mom picks up on the second ring. “hey, sweetie! flight excitement?”

“uh… not exactly.” you explain, voice cracking halfway through. your mom immediately offers to look at other options, even talks about flying out to get you, but you shut it down.

“don’t spend the money,” you say softly. “it’s not worth it. i’ll be okay. it’s just… disappointing.”

you don’t know paige is standing outside the door until there’s a knock—gentle, hesitant.

you quickly wipe your face. “just a sec!”

you open it to find paige in sweats and socks, leaning against the frame like she hadn’t just accidentally overheard everything.

“i wasn’t trying to eavesdrop,” she says quickly. “but… are you really stuck here for christmas?”

you nod.

she hesitates for a second, then says, “come to minnesota with me.”

you blink. “what?”

“i’m serious,” she says, brushing a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “drew and my dad would love to see you again. you know they’re obsessed with you. it’s just a drive. we’ll leave in the morning.”

“paige…” you trail off. “i can’t just crash your family christmas.”

“it wouldn’t be crashing,” she insists. “i’m inviting you. actually, scratch that—we’ve been hoping you’d come. i just didn’t want to be annoying.”

you exhale slowly. “can i… think about it?”

her expression softens. “of course. let me know in the morning.”

—

you didn’t sleep much.

your suitcase stays half-packed. you scroll your camera roll at 2 a.m., stopping on an old photo of your parents in the stands at your first home game.

it hurts. but not in the way you expected. it hurts more to imagine spending christmas alone.

so when you hear paige moving around the hallway at 9 a.m., keys in hand and hair still wet from her shower, you grab your bag and meet her at the door.

“you still need a ride partner?” you ask.

she grins, taking your bag. “thought you’d never ask.”

—

the car is warm and smells like her cologne and vanilla air freshener. she’s playing something soft—sza, maybe—and when she pulls out of the parking lot, she does that thing where she puts one hand behind your seat to look over her shoulder.

your stomach flips.

“i could’ve driven half,” you offer.

“you could’ve” she smirks, glancing at you. “but i got this.”

you roll your eyes. “so humble.”

“only when i’m behind the wheel.”

hours pass with soft banter, shared snacks, and stolen glances. she catches you watching her once, her profile lit up by winter sunlight and she smirks.

at a gas station in illinois, you both get out to stretch and grab snacks. you try to pay.

she swipes her card before you even pull yours out. “too slow.”

“paige.”

“nah,” she says, holding the door for you. “consider it a christmas pre-game.”

—

minnesota is cold. colder than you remembered.

but when you pull into the bueckers’ driveway and see her dad on the porch with a huge smile and drew waving frantically from the window, your chest warms instantly.

“you made it!” her dad says, pulling you into a bear hug.

“barely,” you joke.

“we saved you a room—well, technically, you’re sharing paige’s. hope that’s okay.”

your heart skips. “totally fine. we’ve shared worse. like… bus seats.”

paige chokes on her spit beside you. you both laugh.

—

dinner is loud and warm and full of love. you sit beside paige, who keeps sneaking bits of her mashed potatoes onto your plate.

“you weren’t eating,” she whispers.

“you weren’t giving me a chance.”

—

that night, teeth brushed and flannel pajamas on, you both crawl into bed. the room is dimly lit by a lamp, and you’re lying shoulder to shoulder.

neither of you speaks at first.

then out of nowhere.

“you believe in soulmates?” paige asks.

you glance over. “damn. starting heavy, huh?”

she shrugs. “we’re having a moment.”

you think. “i think some people just… find each other. and they stick. maybe not soulmates, but something close.”

she hums. “i like that.”

you roll to face her. “you ever been in love?”

her brow arches. “asking the real questions now.”

you smile. “we’re having a moment, remember?”

she pauses. “i don’t think so. i’ve liked people. really liked them. but… it’s hard. with everything. sometimes i feel like people want the version of me they see online. or in games.”

your chest aches a little.

“you deserve someone who wants you,” you say.

she looks at you. really looks at you.

“what if i already know who i want?” she says, voice low.

you open your mouth—but nothing comes out.

so you lie there, heartbeat in your ears, and wonder if she can hear it too.

—

two days later, it’s christmas.

the bueckers’ house smells like cinnamon and pine. kids’ laughter echoes from the living room, where drew is showing off his new video games.

you’re curled up on the couch when paige appears with a small box and a larger gift bag.

“for you,” she says.

you blink. “what?”

“merry christmas.”

you open the box first. inside: a pair of jordan 4s in frozen moments gray.

your jaw drops.

“paige. how—?”

“you’ve been talking about them for weeks,” she says casually. “figured you deserved to stunt a little.”

“they’re sold out everywhere.”

she shrugs. “i got connections.”

you’re speechless.

and then you open the bag.

“no way.” you gasp.

an ipad.

“for facetime,” she says. “and also so we can be ipad kids together. mine’s already got a matching case.”

you bury your face in your hands. “i didn’t get you anything.”

she laughs softly. “you being here is the gift.”

you peek at her. “you’re unreal.”

“i know.”

—

after dinner, you’re both in the kitchen washing dishes.

her hands brush yours.

“you know,” she says casually, “i heard there’s mistletoe under that door.”

you glance up, then snort. “you’re so cliché.”

“maybe,” she grins, drying her hands. “but what if we were under it?”

“paige.”

“what?” she asks innocently, stepping closer.

you laugh, but it dies in your throat when you realize she’s moved right in front of you. her hands slide to your waist, slow and sure.

“do you?” she whispers.

you blink. “do i…?”

“want to be under the mistletoe. with me.”

your throat goes dry. your hands find her forearms without thinking.

you glance up.

mistletoe.

you look down.

she’s already looking at you.

and then she kisses you—soft and slow and sweet and everything you didn’t know you were waiting for. you melt into her, fingers curling in the hem of her sweatshirt. she deepens it, just a little, and it’s perfect.

when you finally break apart, breathless, you rest your forehead against hers.

“merry christmas,” she murmurs.

you smile. “best christmas ever.”

#paige bueckers #uconn wbb #uconn huskies #ncaa women’s basketball #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers x black!reader #azzi fudd

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vladtoly · 6 months ago

Text

Close Call

Dae-Ho x Female!Reader

Requested: Yes

Proofread: No

Word Count: 690

A/N: I need to preface this by saying I really loved Thanos' character and I simply portrayed him this way for the blurb. No hate for him, I swear! Also I did struggle a bit making Dae-ho the jealous type, so he may come off more protective than anything. Hope it's still good, thank you for requesting!

As the second game came to a close, you sat anxiously on your bunk, watching the entrance doors. Your boyfriend had been on a different team, though not by his own choice. Originally, you had been with his group, but when player 222 had come to them, revealing she was pregnant? You immediately gave up your spot. Dae-ho looked like he wanted to object and offer to leave instead, but you silence him with a simple side eye. Whatever group you were in, you’d assumed you would be fine, or at least hoped. And you were.

Now you were just worried about him.

“Senorita, excuse me. Mind if I join?”

You sighed as a weight landed on your mattress, the voice not waiting for your answer. Just a glance at your side revealed it to be Thanos. You hadn’t even been in his group, just sitting in the one behind his- but that didn’t stop him from turning around and dropping pick up lines constantly. It had almost been a relief when it was your group’s turn.

Shifting away, you kept your eyes on the entrance. “I do, actually, thanks.”

The man ignored your answer and made himself comfortable, man spreading and propping his arms behind him on the mattress. He seemed to know how to make any space crowded, all on his own.

“Don’t know why you’re looking at the door. All you need is right here,” he purred out, leaning his head closer to you.

“I’m waiting on my boyfriend. You can leave.” Your reply was short and sharp, hoping maybe obvious disinterest would make him leave. But you also doubted it.

The weight moved closer, and as soon as you felt a hand on your arm, your head finally snapped to look at him. “Do you know what ‘leave’ means?”

His face split into a goofy grin, obviously high off one of the pills you saw him pop earlier. “Well, I finally got you to look at me, didn’t I?”

Before you could respond, a hand grabbed Thanos’ hoodie and dragged him off the bed. When the owner of the hand came into view, you were more relieved to see Dae-ho. He was alive. Thank God.

“Why were you touching her?” he nearly yelled, his attention directed at Thanos.

Oh, right. You almost forgot about him.

Thanos just laughed, shoving himself out of your boyfriend’s grip. He brushed himself off as you quickly went to Dae-ho’s side.

“She looked lonely. I was just trying to help, you know?” Thanos leaned closer. “When you finally drop dead, then I’ll really help her.”

“You fucking bas-“Your words were cut off as Dae-ho lands a hard blow to his cheek.

Hobbling back, Thanos tried to lunge forward only to have the rest of your group step in front of him, making a wall. Your eyes were trained on him until a gentle hand touched your cheek, directing you to look away. As you turned, your eyes met with soft brown ones, wide with worry. “Hey, are you okay? What happened, what did he do?”

The sound of your boyfriend’s voice grounded you. You shook your head, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Nothing, he didn’t get the chance.”

His shoulders finally relaxed, resting his forehead on yours. “God, remind me to never leave you alone again.”

“Dae-ho, he was more of an annoyance than anything. He’s been doing shit like that all day.” You sighed out.

He groaned, tilting his head to look at the ceiling. “Trust me, I noticed.”

The words sank in. A small smirk began to form on your face. “Were you watching us earlier?”

“Kind of impossible not to. I wanted to check on you, and he also happens to be the loudest guy here. Makes it hard not to notice.” His eyes remained on the ceiling as he spoke.

Chuckling softly, you gently moved him back to look at you. “I’m okay. I’m right here and okay. Thank you for looking out for me.”

A deep sigh left him as he placed a firm kiss to your forehead, mumbling against the skin, “Someone has to.”

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

Squid Game headcannon/blurb requests are OPEN!

#squid game x reader #squid game #kang dae ho x reader #player 388 x reader

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raekensluver · 12 days ago

Note

so yk how george always does his live streams late at night? yeah so, basically, can u write a fic where the reader is a pretty deep sleeper so during the streams she’s asleep in the background sometimes while he’s doing god knows what, but while he’s doing one he accidentally wakes her up while he’s doing something and feels bad????

masterlist | main masterlist

contains: established relationship, sleepy!reader

george clarke x fem!reader

george always streamed late-way later than you could ever manage to stay awake. you'd try, at first. sit next to him with your cheek on his shoulder, fingers grazing the fabric of his hoodie, half-listening to him talk to chat. but by the time the second hour rolled around, your eyelids would get too heavy, and you'd curl up somewhere behind him, soft snores and slow breathing becoming the gentle background noise of his stream.

tonight was no different.

he was mid-rant about something—probably nonsense—and leaning way too far back in his chair when his elbow caught the edge of a glass on his desk. it tipped, wobbled, and crashed to the floor with a sharp, echoing smack of sound against wood.

“shit-”

his mic picked it up instantly. he scrambled to mute it and spun around, eyes already wide.

you stirred on the bed behind him, shifting under the blanket, brows drawn together.

“georgie...?”

“oh, love.” his voice dropped, quiet and full of guilt. “i’m so sorry. i didn’t mean to wake you.”

you blinked blearily, trying to sit up but failing. you were still half-lost in sleep, hair all mussed, his hoodie swallowing your frame.

“was dreamin’... thought you dropped a tree.”

george laughed under his breath, already crossing the room to crouch beside you.

“nah, just a cup. go back to sleep, sweetheart. i’ve got it.”

your fingers found his wrist, warm and loose. “you okay?”

his heart clenched. you were the one who just got startled awake, and you were asking him if he was okay.

“yeah, angel. i’m fine. just feel bad. you looked so peaceful.”

you hummed and curled closer to his pillow. “still am. come sleep soon?”

he brushed your hair back from your face, fingertips grazing the edge of your pink bow that had slipped a little. carefully, like it was something sacred, he retied it, smoothing it back into place with his thumb.

“course. just lemme end this. i’ll be right there.”

you nodded, eyes already fluttering closed again, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead before slipping back to his chair. when he unmuted, his voice was low, warm, full of something fond.

“sorry ‘bout that. woke the misses . we’re alright. she’s... back to dreamin’. probably about cupcakes and horses or whatever her brain gets up to.”

and even though he was back to streaming, his gaze drifted behind him every few minutes-just to check. just to make sure you were still there. still safe. still his.

#george clarkey #george clarke fics #george clarke fluff #george clarke #george clarke imagine #george clarke fanfiction #george clarke one shot #george clarke x reader #george clarke imagines #george clarkey x reader #george clarkey fluff #george clarkey fics #george clarkey imagines #uk youtubers #mara's inbox *ੈ✩‧₊˚#mara's anons *ੈ✩‧₊˚

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rafecameronssl4t · 6 months ago

Text

Trust who? || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader love island au

A/n: during this I was thinking of that one kordell and Serena edit with this song and the beat drop is literally when reader sees the clip of Rafe and the casa amor girl during movie night!!!!!!!! ALSO im so sorry for this to take so long to be posted :/ PART ONE IS HERE

Warnings: just angst

Word count: 2,937

MASTERLIST (love island au masterlist)

The night was heavy with unspoken tension. Movie night, usually a time for lighthearted fun or harmless drama, was anticipated by everyone in the villa. You sat stiffly on one of the large outdoor sofas, flanked by a couple of the girls who were clearly trying to be there for you. The two Casa Amor girls were off to the side, Nakia sitting beside the other girl, her eyes flickering to Rafe every so often, like a lioness watching her prey.

Across on the other lounge were where the boys were sitting. Rafe's face was unreadable—stoic, like a statue—but he hadn't glanced your way yet. The screen flickered to life, and the names of the clips appeared in bold text, each one more unsettling than the last: Temptations and Betrayals, Crying Angel, and The Dark Nakia Rises were only some of them.

“Oh, this is going to be amazing,” you said, your voice heavy with sarcasm, though a hint of venom lingered beneath the surface. The girls around you laughed nervously, their giggles thin and hollow against the weight of the moment. No amount of levity could mask the tension that thickened the air. Nakia shifted in her seat, throwing you a smirk before turning her attention to the screen.

“I’ll pick Crying Angel,” she said, her tone deliberate, as if the title alone wasn’t designed to cut you open. The video played, and there you were, seated in the glam room, your face buried in your hands. The sound of your muffled sobs filled the air, and your voice, shaky and broken, cut through the villa like a blade. “I don’t want to be here anymore,” you admitted through your tears.

“I thought he cared about me. I really did.” One of the girls wrapped an arm around you in the clip, murmuring softly, “You’re stronger than this. Don’t let him break you.” But you shook your head, your anguish palpable. “I stayed loyal to him. I could’ve coupled up. But no, I waited for him because I thought we had something real. And then he walks in with her like I never even mattered. I’m done! I’m so done.”

As the screen went dark, the silence that followed was deafening. The air felt too thick to breathe. A few gasps rippled through the group, and some of the boys shifted uncomfortably in their seats, casting sideways glances at each other before stealing sympathetic looks your way. You sat still, your face a perfect mask of indifference.

Not a single muscle twitched as you kept your gaze fixed ahead, refusing to let them see how deeply those moments of vulnerability still stung. Across the firepit, Rafe was motionless, his jaw clenched so tightly that you could see the tension rippling through his neck. His blue eyes were glued to the now-black screen, his face unreadable but undeniably stricken.

When Sofia’s turn came, a flicker of mischief danced in her eyes. She leaned forward, her lips curving into a smirk, and you caught her gaze, exchanging a conspiratorial glance. You straightened slightly, the faintest hint of a smirk playing at your own lips as you braced yourself for what was coming next. “I’ll pick The Dark Nakia Rises,” Sofia said, her voice light with faux innocence.

The group erupted into a mix of cheers and nervous laughter, all eyes shifting to Nakia, whose face had drained of colour. You broke the tension with an almost unnervingly calm tone, delivering your jab with a straight face. “Oh, Nakia. I bet you’re absolutely shitting yourself, babe.” Nakia forced a laugh, her discomfort palpable. “I’m not,” she said weakly, glancing toward Rafe for reassurance.

But he didn’t meet her gaze. His eyes were locked on the firepit, his face a storm of emotions he was trying—and failing—to suppress. The clip began. The sound of the kitchen in Casa Amor filled the room, and Nakia was standing with a few of the other girls. Their voices could be heard in the background as they gossiped, oblivious to the camera that had captured their every word.

"So what do you think of him?" One of them questions Nakia as she smiles, looking over her shoulder to where Rafe was working out. “I mean, I’ve heard about his dad,” she said with a casual shrug, her tone dripping with entitlement. “And I know they’ve got money. Like, serious money.” She leaned back, twirling a strand of hair around her finger, clearly basking in the attention.

“He’s not exactly ugly either, is he? Could be a good setup if I play my cards right.” The other girls laughed, egging her on. “Yeah, but do you even like him?” one of them asked, her tone teasing. “Like him?” she repeated, laughing. “I mean, he’s alright. But come on, this isn’t about feelings. This is about strategy. And if he’s dumb enough to fall for it, that’s on him.” The clip ended, leaving the villa in stunned silence.

The clip ended, and the silence that followed was deafening. No one spoke at first. Your heart sank as you glanced from Rafe, his face pale, his jaw clenched in fury, to Nakia, whose confident smirk had vanished completely. Her face was a mask of panic, eyes darting around as the weight of her words settled over everyone.

You could barely breathe as you stared at her. “Holy fucking shit, dude,” one of the boys muttered, breaking the silence as he turned to Rafe, who hadn’t moved an inch. He was staring at the ground, seething, his fists clenched at his sides. “Nakia, what the actual fuck?” another girl asked, her voice filled with disgust as she turned to face her. The room was heavy with the collective judgment.

Everyone was watching her now, and Nakia could do nothing but stammer, her voice high-pitched and defensive. Your words hit harder than you expected, and Nakia shrank back, her face flushing with embarrassment. “That is so fucked up,” one of the guys added, his tone harsh as he shook his head in disbelief.

Nakia opened her mouth to respond, but her words faltered. She looked on the verge of tears, her confidence completely shattered. The air was thick with tension, and everyone could feel it—Rafe’s rage, your frustration, Nakia’s panic. “You’re really going to sit there like that?” you finally said, your voice steady, but there was a bitter edge to it. “Like you didn’t hear her?”

Rafe’s head snapped up, his expression unreadable. But you could see the storm brewing in his eyes. “Don’t start with me, Y/n,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. You raised an eyebrow, unfazed by his warning. “Oh, I’m sorry. Am I not allowed to call out the fact that this whole thing is a fucking joke to you?” Your voice was sharp, cutting through the stunned silence of the villa.

You gestured towards Nakia without sparing her a glance. “That I’ve been here crying my eyes out, while you’re over there being a pawn in her game?” Nakia stiffened, her face pale. “That was taken out of context!” she stammered, her voice high-pitched and defensive. “I was just joking—” “Oh, you were joking?” you snapped, cutting her off, your voice rising with every word.

“You thought it was funny to admit you’re using him? That his feelings don’t matter to you as long as you get what you want?” You shook your head, your voice dripping with disdain. “That’s not just a joke, Nakia. That’s manipulation. Plain and simple." “That is so fucked up,” one of the guys muttered, breaking the tense silence.

Nakia’s gaze darted around the group, her eyes glassy as though she was on the verge of tears. You let out a dry, bitter laugh and leaned back on the couch, Sofia's hand finding yours. “I just can’t believe I was crying my heart out over this shit,” you muttered, your voice shaky. You leaned back against the cushions, exhaling deeply to steady yourself.

“Alright, my turn. Let’s go with Betrayals and Temptations,” One of the boys announced, his tone a mix of excitement and dread. “Of-fucking-course,” you muttered under your breath, rolling your eyes. You already knew what this clip would show. The title was self-explanatory, and the dread in your stomach only grew as the screen lit up.

The scene began with Rafe and Nakia in the Casa Amor pool. Nakia sat perched on the edge, her legs skimming the surface, her posture relaxed and confident. Rafe stood in the water, gazing up at her like she was the only person in the world. “So, would you say you’re closed off, or…?” Nakia asked, her voice playful as she tilted her head, her eyes sparkling with mischief

Rafe shook his head, a chuckle escaping his lips. “No—no. That would be stupid of me to do that to myself,” he replied casually, his eyes locked on her. “Really? So, am I your type?” she questioned, a coy smile playing on her lips. “Hundred percent, babe. Hundred percent,” Rafe said with a laugh, his hands resting on her knees as he grinned up at her.

The tension between them was palpable as they stared at each other, the moment thick with anticipation. Nakia leaned forward, closing the gap between them, and kissed him. “I can’t get out,” Rafe whispered against her lips, his tone teasing but laced with something deeper.

“Why?” Nakia breathed, her brows knitting together in faux confusion. Rafe chuckled, glancing downward, murmuring something too low for the clip to catch. Nakia’s eyes widened before she burst into laughter, her head falling back. “No fucking way,” she giggled, clearly pleased with herself, as Rafe pulled her closer.

The screen went dark, the villa erupted in hushed murmurs and gasps, but the damage was already done. Your vision blurred as tears welled up, spilling over despite your desperate attempt to keep them in check. Your head spun, the voices around you muffled and distant. “Fuck this,” you muttered, your voice thick with emotion as you shot to your feet and stormed off, your sobs breaking the suffocating silence.

Sofia hurried after you, her heels clicking against the wooden planks as she tried to keep pace. Meanwhile, Rafe sat frozen, his face buried in his hands as he let out a loud, frustrated exhale. “Mate, what the hell were you thinking?” one of the boys hissed at Rafe, his tone laced with disappointment. Rafe didn’t answer immediately.

He sat motionless, his face buried in his hands, his breaths uneven. Finally, he stood abruptly, his chair tipping slightly behind him. “Fuck, I need to talk to her. Right now,” he muttered, his voice thick with frustration and guilt. As he made his way upstairs, the sound of your muffled sobs grew louder, each one hitting him like a blow to the chest.

He hesitated outside the glam room, his hand hovering over the door. Finally, he knocked, his voice tentative. “Y/n, can we talk?” There was a pause, and then the door creaked open to reveal Sofia. Her expression was a mix of anger and disdain as she stepped into the doorway, her voice icy. “She doesn’t need to hear your excuses right now.” She brushed past him, leaving the hallway in silence.

Rafe swallowed hard and stepped inside. You stood near the vanity, your back to him, shoulders trembling. When you finally turned, your tear-streaked face was a mix of heartbreak and fury, your mascara smeared like dark shadows under your reddened eyes. “What can you possibly say to me to make this better?” you demanded, your voice bitter and raw.

You glared at him, your anger barely concealing the hurt threatening to consume you. Rafe faltered, his mouth opening as if to speak, but no words came out. He raked a hand through his hair, his usual confidence replaced with visible unease. “I—” “You what?” you snapped, cutting him off. “You didn’t mean it? You were caught up in the moment? Save it, Rafe. I’ve heard enough lies for one night.”

“I wasn’t thinking,” he finally said, his voice quiet but filled with desperation. “It didn’t mean anything, Y/n. None of it did.” You let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking your head. “It didn’t mean anything? You kissed her, Rafe. You flirted with her. You made me look like a fucking idiot in front of everyone.” “I fucked up,” he admitted, his tone softening as he took a step closer.

“I know I did. But I never stopped thinking about you. You’re the one I—” “Don’t,” you interrupted, your voice cracking. “Don’t you dare try to spin this like you cared. If you cared, you wouldn’t have done this. If you cared, you wouldn’t have disrespected me while you had your fun.” The room fell silent except for the sound of your laboured breathing.

Rafe looked at you, his expression filled with regret, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. “I think you should leave,” you whispered, turning away from him. Your shoulders sagged, the weight of everything crushing you. Rafe hesitated, his hand twitching as if he wanted to reach out to you, but he didn’t.

Finally, he stepped back toward the door, his voice barely audible. “I’m sorry.” The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone with the shattered pieces of what once was.

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slattlicker · 18 days ago

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╭﹐✦˚₊· 𖤐 * L E T M E H A N D L E I T ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ╮ a jschlatt x female!reader one-shot ↳ 3.9k words · sfw w/ dom tension · domestic care + soft brat dynamic ╰﹒♡₊˚๑ *✧﹒✦ ࣪ ˖ ┊

✦ written with a female!reader in mind ✦ (but all are welcome to be cared for ♡)

you don’t have to fall apart to be cared for. some days, being held is the only thing you need. lucky for you, he knows how to hold you—quietly, firmly, completely.

✧ ⊹ · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ⊹ ✧

╭˚₊‧͙⁺˚₊‧͙✧　❛ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ❜　✧‧͙˚₊��‧͙˚₊╮ ✧ soft dom!schlatt vibes ✧ subtle ddlg undertones? (non-ageplay - i don’t do that typa stuff) ✧ praise, light bratting, clinginess ✧ reader is a tired corporate baddie™ ╰˚₊‧͙⁺˚₊‧͙✧　❛ 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄 ❜　✧‧͙˚₊⁺‧͙˚₊╯

✧ ⊹ · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ⊹ ✧

✧✧✧

the front door clicks open at 6:47 p.m., right on schedule.

schlatt doesn’t even glance at the time—he just grins to himself, flips the stove off, and wipes his hands on the towel draped over his shoulder.

“well, look who's home!” he calls, easy.

there’s a pause as you step in, heels clacking lightly against the floor. then: a tired sigh. “i’m so mad at keely from marketing.”

he chuckles. “that bad?”

“she called me ‘hun.’ twice. in a board meeting.”

that makes him huff a laugh, even though he knows you’re not joking.

he turns the stove to low and steps out of the kitchen, catching you halfway through the living room.

your hair’s coming loose. your blazer’s hanging off one shoulder. you’re pulling off your heels while walking, and you drop them somewhere near the couch without looking back.

“hey, sweetheart,” he says, just loud enough to meet you halfway.

you make it to him before answering. a half-step, then a full-body lean into his chest—like gravity suddenly shifted directions. like he’s the only steady thing in the room.

he catches you without flinching, arms already up, one hand cradling the back of your head.

“i hate everyone,” you mumble into his sweatshirt.

“you smell like printer toner and attitude.”

you groan, but your fingers curl in the fabric at his waist. “i’m so tired.”

“i know.”

he stands there with you for a moment. just holding. not swaying. not petting your hair. just solid. warm. here.

when you finally pull back, it’s just far enough to see his face. you don’t let go.

“you cook?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

"figured you’d be hungry and pissed.” he nods, moving to kiss your cheek. “pasta and roasted garlic bread. you sit, i’ll grab your plate.”

you open your mouth to protest. he raises an eyebrow.

you sit.

✧✧✧

the chair’s still warm from where he was sitting earlier. you sink into it slowly, resting your arms on the table, fingers lacing together, and let your eyes drift shut for a second. not long enough to fall asleep—just long enough to stop holding yourself upright.

you hear the clink of a plate being pulled down from the cupboard. the soft rustle of the bread bag opening. cabinet. drawer. silverware.

his movements are efficient. easy. like he’s done this exact routine a hundred times.

you don’t lift your head until the plate is set down in front of you. pasta, still steaming. a slice of homemade bread cut thick and placed just slightly off-center. your fork’s already beside it, tines turned the way you like. a folded napkin. water glass. one of the cloth ones he knows feels nicer on your hands.

you blink at it. then up at him.

“thanks.”

“mmhm.”

he moves around to the other side of the table, pulling out the chair across from yours. he doesn’t sit, not right away—just stands there a second, watching you adjust in your seat. he taps the back of the chair once with his fingers, then finally lowers himself into it with a quiet sigh.

you pick up your fork. the pasta’s warm and buttery. nothing fancy—just noodles, cheese, seasoning, sweet tomatoes. but it’s good. better than anything you could’ve managed after today. and the bread’s just the right amount of crisp.

you don’t realize you’re making a sound until he glances up from his own plate.

“what?”

you shake your head, chewing. “it’s good.”

he grins a little. “you always sound surprised.”

“i am,” you say, then immediately regret it. “wait—i didn’t mean—”

“no, no, i get it,” he laughs, holding his hands up in surrender. “i see how it is. you go to your little job, make big girl decisions all day, and then come home shocked that your house husband learned how to use salt.”

“schlatt.”

“i should get a sticker chart. gold stars for every meal.”

you snort, nearly choke on a bite of pasta, and he reaches across the table to nudge your water glass toward you like it’s not even a question.

“drink.”

you obey.

there’s a lull after that. a comfortable one. you both eat, the kitchen filled with the occasional scrape of fork on plate, the sound of the radio playing low from his phone on the counter—something jazzy and slow.

at one point, your foot nudges his under the table. you leave it there.

he doesn’t move.

✧✧✧

by the time your plate’s empty, your head feels clearer. you’re still tired—bone-deep, the kind that makes your limbs feel heavy—but the knot in your shoulders has loosened. you feel full. settled. like the day is finally done.

schlatt’s still finishing the last of his bread when he glances over at your side of the table. sees the way your fork’s resting on your plate, how your hands have gone still in your lap.

“done?”

you nod.

he doesn’t ask if you want help with the dishes. doesn’t offer you more water. just stands up, starts gathering both plates into a neat stack with one hand, and flicks a crumb off the table with the other.

“alright,” he says, without looking over. “up.”

it’s not a question. it’s not harsh either. just steady. like he’s done this a hundred times and knows you’re already going to listen.

you stand.

he tilts his head as you step back from the table, his eyes flicking down your body. a once-over.

“you need a hot shower,” he says quietly, wiping his thumb against a faint smear on your sleeve before brushing past you. “fifteen minutes. no stalling.”

there’s a smile tugging at your lips, but you don’t let it take over.

“you timing me now, sir?”

“if i don’t, you’ll fall asleep against the tile.”

you roll your eyes, but you’re already walking toward the hallway. his voice follows you—not louder, but lower.

“leave the door cracked. i’ll lay your stuff out.”

✧✧✧

the water runs hot.

you tilt your head back into the spray and let it rush down your face, your neck, your chest. eyes closed, hands resting flat against the tile. you don’t scrub right away. don’t shampoo or shave or rush.

you just stand there and let yourself unwind.

you don’t think about work. you don’t think about keely from marketing. you don’t think about the three unanswered emails still sitting in your inbox.

you think about the way he told you “up,” and how you moved without a second thought.

you think about how easy that was.

about how good it felt to just, listen. do. for your own good.

✧✧✧

the bedroom’s quiet.

the fan hums low. the lights are soft. the clothes he left for you are folded with corners tucked in and a faint warmth still clinging to the fabric, like they’ve been sitting on the dryer a few minutes too long. you slip into them slowly. shirt first, then the underwear, then a layer of lotion over your legs and arms.

you expect to find him in bed when you’re done.

but the bed is still empty. you almost pout at the made up bed.

the tv is still on, faint voices drifting in from the hallway downstairs.

you pad barefoot back through the house, rubbing the towel through the ends of your damp hair. the hallway’s dim, but there’s light spilling into it from the living room. soft yellow. fireplace glow. a candle maybe.

then you see him.

he’s on the couch, long legs stretched out, hoodie sleeves pushed up, remote set aside. knees spread, posture loose. there’s a large floor pillow placed right between his legs, angled toward him.

"i said fifteen minutes, tops, sweetheart."

your steps slow.

you hold the towel in both hands now, twisting the fabric once, then again. something about the way he’s sitting—like he’s been waiting exactly like this the whole time. not impatient. not irritated. just…ready.

you chew your lip.

“i didn’t think you were serious.”

he raises an eyebrow. his mouth twitches, like he’s trying not to smile. “did i sound like i was joking?”

you glance down at the pillow. then back up at him.

he doesn’t say anything. just lets the silence stretch, one brow still raised.

you drop the towel onto the armrest and step forward, slow. your skin prickles as you lower yourself onto the pillow—cross-legged, careful not to brush his knees as you settle in. the floor’s cool. the shirt you're wearing rides a little high on your thighs, but you don’t move to fix it.

he looks down at you for a second. then reaches over the side of the couch and pulls something from behind a cushion.

the brush.

wide paddle. black handle. yours.

you blink. “you brought that out here?”

“i figured you’d take longer than you were supposed to.”

your mouth opens. closes again.

he sets the brush gently on the couch cushion beside him, then runs a hand through your damp hair, fingers separating the strands.

“you comfortable?”

you nod.

“mm.” his fingers pause at the base of your skull. “i asked a question.”

“…yes,” you say.

his hand moves again, slower now. “that’s better.”

the first pass of the brush is careful. he starts at the ends, works up little by little, never tugging. he doesn’t speak for a while—just brushes. settles into a rhythm.

then, as the brush glides through again:

“you kept me waiting.”

you exhale. “i didn’t mean to.”

“i know.”

another pass.

“you’re going to say something nice about yourself for every brush.”

you tense.

“schlatt—”

“wasn’t a request.”

his voice is soft. calm. not teasing. but final.

you chew the inside of your cheek.

he waits. then brushes again.

“…i’m good at my job,” you say quietly.

“there you go.”

the brush moves again.

“i—i have good taste. in clothes. in people.”

he hums, approving. his thumb strokes the back of your neck before the next pass.

“i’m strong,” you try.

“you are.”

he brushes slower now.

you close your eyes.

“…i look good in your shirts.”

that earns a quiet laugh, low in his chest.

“damn right you do.”

he leans in slightly, breath warm at your temple.

“you’ve got ten more in you?”

your face burns. “that’s too many.”

his hand stills.

“then sit here until you think of them.”

✧✧✧

the last stroke glides through easy.

“i’m a good friend.”

your hair’s mostly dry now. softer. no knots left.

you let out a breath as the brush is set aside, shoulders lowering with it.

his hands come back—sliding through from crown to nape, separating sections without needing to ask. he starts braiding slow. tight enough to hold. loose enough to fall pretty over your shoulder.

“you did good,” he murmurs. “even if you dragged your feet a little.”

you rest your hands in your lap, breathing steady. “you didn’t warn me it was gonna be a whole assignment.”

“you kept me waiting. don’t do that, and maybe next time it’s just brushing.”

“maybe next time you take the shower.”

he huffs. one of his fingers tugs the braid just enough to remind you who’s in charge.

you go quiet again.

he finishes the braid with a soft tie from his wrist—one of those black hair elastics you leave everywhere. once it’s in, he runs his fingers over the length of it, then leans forward.

“you know,” he says near your ear, “i don’t make you say those things because i like hearing them.”

you nod slowly.

“i make you say them so you can hear them.”

you tilt your head back a little, enough to look up at him.

there’s that look again. the one that makes your stomach flip. not because it’s intense—but because it isn’t. he looks calm. gentle. like he knows exactly what he’s doing with you.

“i'll always be here for you after the hard days, baby. to remind you, and make you remind yourself, just how amazing you are."

you tilt your head back a little further. the angle’s awkward, your neck bent, chin tilted up, the top of your head pressing lightly to his sternum.

he leans down to meet you without hesitation.

it’s clumsy at first—your noses brush, and you both exhale a little laugh—but then his mouth finds yours.

soft. upside-down. warm.

it’s not greedy. not rushed. just his lips against yours in a way that says i’ve got you. and i’m not letting go.

his hand cups your cheek from above, thumb brushing near your temple. the braid hangs over your shoulder, heavy and neat.

when he pulls back, it’s only by an inch.

“cute,” he murmurs, voice low.

you huff, cheeks warm. “i am not.”

he leans in again, presses a quick kiss just beside your mouth—then another on your cheek, slower. then your temple. each one deliberate.

“you just described a hundred different ways in which you are,” he says softly. “so. i don’t wanna hear it, honey.”

you roll your eyes, but it’s weak. you’re melting and he knows it.

he shifts, stands, and reaches a hand down for yours. you take it without hesitation, letting him pull you up with that steady strength like it costs him nothing.

“come on,” he murmurs, eyes still on you. “time for bed.”

✧✧✧

the lights in the bedroom are lower now. warmer. a single lamp casts everything in gold.

you crawl onto the bed first, expecting him to climb in behind you, but instead he stays standing at the edge. watching.

“what?” you ask, a little unsure.

he smiles. just a little. then steps forward and pulls the blanket back again—full, smooth, the kind of fold you’d never take time to make yourself. you start to shift under it, but he stops you gently with a hand to your hip.

“wait.”

he disappears into the closet for a moment. you hear him open the little drawer you always forget is there. when he returns, he’s holding the tiny lavender balm.

your eyes sting for no reason.

he kneels on the bed, lifts your foot carefully into his lap.

“schlatt,” you start, voice small.

“hush.”

his thumbs work the balm into your skin—arches, heels, even between your toes like he’s done this a thousand times. his touch is slow, almost meditative, like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. he does both feet without rushing, then wipes his hands on a towel at the bedside, and finally tucks you in himself—blanket up to your chest, arms gently under the covers.

you blink up at him, and he leans down one last time. hand on your cheek again. forehead to forehead.

“good girl,” he whispers. “did everything right today. you hear me?”

you nod, eyes half-lidded.

his fingers brush behind your ear, smoothing stray hairs down.

“i’m proud of you.”

your chest aches in the best way.

he slides in behind you then, big arms curling around your waist, pulling you in slow. one hand finds yours under the blankets, and you link your fingers through his like muscle memory.

he presses a kiss to the side of your neck, lingering there, breath warm.

“you’re my whole world, you know that?”

you nod again. this time slower. sleepier.

“i know.”

he hums against your skin.

“good.”

and you fall asleep like that—braid draped over your shoulder, hand in his, and the steady weight of him wrapped around you like home.

✧✧✧

the sun’s not even fully up yet when your eyes blink open.

you’re warm. still wrapped in the weight of him—his arm across your waist, hand loose against your stomach, legs tangled through yours. he’s breathing slow. even. still asleep.

you don’t move. not really.

but something in your chest is already tight.

it’s not panic. not dread. just that ache. that quiet, too-full feeling like your body’s gone soft overnight. like the effort of standing upright, of speaking at volume, of pretending you’re okay is suddenly too much to carry again.

you try not to wake him when you shift, just enough to press your back further into his chest.

he stirs anyway.

his voice comes low, thick with sleep, lips brushing your shoulder.

“…baby?”

you nod. not that he can see it.

his grip tightens. his arm curls a little firmer around your middle, tucking you closer like instinct.

“still early,” he murmurs. “you okay?”

you don’t answer right away.

your throat feels thick. your body’s too warm and too cold at the same time. you nod again, then shake your head. you don’t know what you’re saying. you just want—

“don’t want to go today,” you whisper. “please don’t make me.”

that gets his attention.

he shifts behind you, lifting onto one elbow so he can look down at your face.

your eyes are half-lidded but glassy. your jaw clenched like you’re trying not to fall apart over something that doesn’t even have a name yet.

he brushes your hair back from your forehead. “you feel sick?”

“no. i just…”

you swallow.

“i think i just need to take a mental health day. which is fine. that’s a valid reason. i can word it professionally.”

“mhm.”

“i’ll send it to jenn. she’s my direct today. or maybe cc karen so i don’t catch heat for going around the chain—actually no, that’s overkill. i can just say something like ‘taking today to reset after a demanding week, will respond to any urgent items first thing tomorrow’—or does that sound like i’m guilty about it?”

he doesn’t say anything.

you roll onto your back, blinking at the ceiling now.

“i just need a second to get my laptop and draft it.”

“you don’t.”

you blink.

he’s already reaching over you for his phone.

“schlatt—no, you don’t even know who to call—”

“i don’t need to. your calendar’s still open from last night.”

you sit up halfway, panicked. “you’re not seriously—”

he’s already scrolling. already tapping. already dialing.

“hi, yeah,” he says smoothly. “this is y/n’s husband. she won’t be logging on today—she’s taking a personal day. everything’s fine, just decompressing after a heavy week. she’ll circle back with the team tomorrow. appreciate your understanding.”

you gape at him.

he pauses, then adds: “yep. thanks, you too.”

he ends the call and tosses the phone onto the mattress.

“done.”

“are you—you can’t just— i had a whole message drafted in my head!”

“i know.” he lies back down, pulling you with him until your head rests against his chest. “i could practically hear you running it through your little corporate filter.”

you groan. “you made it sound like i’m incapable.”

“no,” he says, “i made it sound like you deserve rest. and i didn’t wait for you to talk yourself out of it.”

you bury your face in the pillow. “you’re impossible.”

he pulls you in with one arm, kissing your shoulder.

“you’re not going to work,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss to the back of your neck. “you’re staying right here. and you’re gonna let yourself be taken care of.”

you groan again, muffled by the pillow.

he chuckles. “what was that?”

you lift your head just enough to glare at him over your shoulder. it’s weak at best.

“i had it under control,” you mutter.

he shifts behind you, dragging a hand down your back under the covers. slow. soothing.

“mm. sure you did.”

“i was being responsible.”

“and now you’re being horizontal,” he says, curling around you again, voice smug but warm. “like you should be.”

you scowl into the sheets. “don’t act like you’re doing me a favor.”

“baby,” he says, low and amused, “you literally begged to stay home.”

your face burns instantly. “i did not beg—”

“you said ‘please don’t make me,’ like i was about to send you off to war.”

you bury your face again. “shut up.”

his thumb brushes your knuckles. then: “wanna help me with breakfast?”

you blink. “help?”

“you can sit on the counter and look pretty while i cook,” he offers. “maybe dip the bread if you’re feeling ambitious.”

you hesitate.

then nod, slow. small smile creeping in.

“i want the syrup with the cinnamon in it,” you mumble.

“already out on the counter,” he says, pressing another kiss to your shoulder. “c’mon, princess. let’s get you fed.”

✧✧✧

you make it to the kitchen still wrapped in the blanket.

he’d tried to pull it off on your way out of the bedroom—you swatted his hand like a cat.

now you’re perched on the counter, oversized hoodie sleeves covering your hands, blanket bunched around your hips. you swing your legs absently while he moves around the stove, flipping french toast like it’s second nature.

“you good there?” he asks without turning.

“mhm.”

“comfy?”

“very.”

“still clingy?”

you kick his hip lightly with your heel. “watch it.”

he grins, doesn’t even flinch.

the smell of butter and cinnamon fills the air. the sizzle of the pan crackles just under the quiet playlist coming from the speaker near the window. it’s cozy. heavy-lidded. the kind of morning you never let yourself have—until him.

schlatt sets another slice in the pan and gestures to the bowl of egg mixture.

“go ahead. get one going.”

you reach for the bread with both hands, blanket sleeves dragging a little over the counter. he watches you dip the slice carefully, making sure it’s evenly soaked, then place it gently on the waiting plate.

“that…was passable,” he says.

“i am contributing.”

“you’re adorable.”

you pretend not to hear that part.

but when he walks past you to grab the spatula, his hand brushes your knee—then lingers, thumb rubbing softly just above where the blanket ends. it’s a casual touch. but it stays.

you look down at it.

then at him.

he meets your eyes, and something warm flickers there. less smug.

“you doing okay now?” he asks.

you nod, quiet. “still tired. but better.”

“good.” he leans in, pecks your forehead. “keep sitting pretty, princess.”

you open your mouth to respond, but he’s already cutting you off—holding up a piece of french toast still steaming from the pan.

“taste test.”

you lean forward and take a bite, eyes fluttering shut.

it’s buttery and hot and a little too sweet.

“perfect,” you say through a mouthful.

he taps your cheek with the spatula. “don’t talk with your mouth full.”