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mrs-illyrian-baby · 3 months

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5 Times There Was Only One Bed (and the one time there were two beds) | Bucky x Reader | One Shot - 4.7k

Whether it's on a mission, a work event or a holiday, your sleeping arrangements never seem to work out as planned. It doesn't really bother you until...it does. Confronted with a night sleeping apart, you and Bucky finally talk.

Warnings: 18+ for language, suggestive situations and sexism (but not from our Bucky he would never). Also rated F for fluffy and S for snuggling.

Written for the @bucks-and-noble Valentrope event - "there was only on bed" the reigning champion of tropes!

Divider by @firefly-graphics & @reveriesources

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Fics

Your first mission with Bucky Barnes went really well, until it didn’t.

After successfully destroying an underground Hydra base you’d returned to your transport in a less than desirable state.

“Fuck, four flats.” You huffed, poking the tyre with the toe of your tactical boot.

“Fuel line’s been cut.” Bucky muttered from the front, “lucky they didn’t torch it.”

Bucky quietly rubbed a gloved hand over his face, before looking up at the admittedly stunning night sky, he seemed to study it for a moment before making a quarter turn to his left and climbing up a ridge of sandy rock. As if dazed you followed him. You could see for miles thanks to the glow of a full moon, the stars dense and glittering above you both. It was almost romantic, if you didn’t have blood on your cheek and an empty gun on your hip.

Bucky still looked like he could sweep you off your feet though, with his structured tactical vest making his broad shoulders look even wider, his wind swept hair giving him the look of a romantic hero on the front of a paperback, especially with one foot perched on the outcrop of rock above you.

“Let’s go.” He pointed towards a glow rising from beyond the horizon and you’d started walking, doing your best to keep up with his long strides. You could see the motel, how far could it really be.

As soon as you climbed down the motel vanished and the reality of your trek set in.

Around hour two Bucky slowed his pace to allow you to catch up. He didn’t speak much, just what was necessary, and sometimes a hello when he saw you around the compound. But he struck you as shy, rather than cruel or rude. He had checked on you after the mission brief two days ago to make sure you were happy with the plans and, when you were left at the drop off zone, had given you a few of his spare rounds.

You were starting to flag, your steps faltering in the dust and your fingers frozen. Without the sun the desert was so cold the tips of your ears felt like they’d fallen off. Bucky slowed too, cracking a heat pack and handing it over, swapping it for your pack.

“Thank you,” you whispered, teeth chattering.

He didn’t say anything, just gave you a tight smile and turned back towards the motel, growing closer with each step.

Three hours after you’d discovered the flat tyre, you fell through the door of the dingy motel room, exhausted, cold and starving, only to be met with the sight of one queen size bed and a single chair by the window.

“I’m gonna sleep,” you slurred, unable to manage more than zipping off your tactical vest. You fell onto your back and tried to toe off your boots but they were too tight. Your eyes slid shut and you felt the sensation of Bucky sitting on the other side of the thin mattress, making you roll towards him slightly. His weight shifted and settled, the warmth of his body behind yours comforting after everything you’d seen that evening.

He smelt nice too, despite the blood and sweat and gunpowder, he smelt like sandalwood and the desert air. It was all you could think of as you drifted into a deep sleep, how much you wanted to press your face into his back and breathe him in.

The next morning you woke to find Bucky already showered and dressed, pushing his damp hair back from his face and brushing his teeth while he called Torres for new exit plans.

Your boots and socks were off, arranged neatly by the door, a coffee steaming on the bedside table.

Despite all the changes a new team had brought, Bucky liked working with you. You were quiet too and didn’t mind when he was silent for almost a whole mission. You were efficient and skilled, but empathetic, always stopping during the fall out to ensure the team were together and protecting civilians whenever you could.

So it was no surprise to him when you offered to share the bed at the hotel. Sam and Joaquín had long since retired to their room, but you’d both stayed at the hotel bar, silently emptying a bottle of red wine while Bucky continued his 100 Books to Read Before You Die list and you scrolled through your phone, catching up on everything you’d missed during the five day - “phone’s off, and yes, I mean you Agent” - mission.

As soon as you retired to the room you knew there’d been a mistake.

“Ah, shit.” You’d dropped your bag to the floor by the door and Bucky had almost walked into your back, peering over your shoulder at the very neatly made double bed. The only bed.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take the couch.” Bucky had sighed, resigned to a night of lumpy, uncomfortable sleep.

“There isn’t one.” You pushed your bag further into the room with your foot and Bucky brushed past to survey the space.

“The floor then.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re not sleeping on the floor, the bed’s big enough for two, we can share.”

You’d said it with such easy grace that he’d felt almost insulted that his chivalrous offer was so easily deflected. Then you’d returned from the bathroom smelling like mint and almond oil, your loose pyjamas hanging off one shoulder and just like that, he gave in.

By the time he’d change and brushed his teeth you were already asleep, holding a pillow close to your chest with your leg well over onto his side of the bed. Carefully he moved you back to your side and slid under the cool sheet next to you.

He woke first the next morning to find you still attempting to occupy the majority of the bed, your face relaxed and mouth slightly open. Bucky indulged in a moment of quiet comfort before getting up. You wouldn’t want him staring at you, you’d be embarrassed that you were trying to cuddle him and it’d ruin the fragile bond you were forming with each mission.

By 9am you were both making fun of Joaquín’s terrible hotel bookings over pancakes and coffee.

“Why can’t we just ask for directions?”

“Are you seriously asking me that?”

“Yes?”

“Because we just crossed a border illegally, we have no papers, no passports, we’re lying low.”

“They’re hardly going to ask to see our passports, Bucky.” You sighed, hitching your bag higher on your back.

You’d been walking since 5am that morning, crossing through a forest trail to avoid borders and rendezvous with Torres in a village that should have been a few miles away so that you could evac together.

5am seemed a long time ago now that the sun was setting. You’d stopped briefly to heat up a can of beans, a “late lunch, early dinner” Bucky had called it, smiling at you over the steaming mess tin you were sharing.

The scalding heat had dissipated now though and you were tired. The memory of his hand touching yours as you ate still lingering.

“We’re not going to find him tonight, we should stop.” Bucky suggested, “I’ll find a good place to camp.”

Suddenly you were grateful that Mr Overprepared had packed a tent.

“Good idea.” You agreed, rubbing your hands together.

“Well, I will be, you didn’t bring a tent, did you?” He said, walking deeper into the woods, running his foot over the ground, looking for somewhere flat.

Your heart sank, he was right, you’d laughed at him when he’d attached it to his already full pack and he’d said you’d regret it, a teasing look in his eye. Well. You were regretting it. It had started raining a few minutes before, gentle rain drops that got heavy in each gap between the canopy. You had no doubt it’d be heavier soon though, and with the sun setting you didn’t relish the idea of being wet and cold out in the dark.

Bucky stopped and turned, lowering his pack to the floor between two large trunked trees and those twinkling eyes made butterflies take flight in the pit of your stomach. A boyish grin crossed his face as he got to work.

Ten minutes later and the tent was up, strung between the trees and extra protected with some fallen foliage.

Bucky unlaced his boots and placed them between the inner and outer tent before climbing in, when you didn’t follow he poked his head back around the flap of the tent, patting the unrolled sleeping bag next to him.

“C’mon, you really think I’d make you sleep out there?” He was almost laughing, and the sound was so welcome, so stupidly content despite your situation, you could barely stand it.

You squeezed in, using the inner fleece layer from your coat as a blanket. Bucky lifted the side of his sleeping bag.

“C’mon,” he mumbled, eyes already closed, when you hesitated he tugged you closer until you were tucked against his chest. He rearranged your coats on top of you both until you could feel your fingers again. “Warmer?”

“Yeah, thanks, Bucky.”

He didn’t respond, his breathing heavy and even, beneath his sweater you could hear the steady thump of his heart as it lulled you to sleep in his arms.

Bucky hated these stupid events, he’d only been persuaded to come because you’d done those big round puppy dog eyes and said it’d be no fun without him. Joaquín had asked too and, although Sam had joked that it’d be more fun without ‘Mr Grumpy’, Bucky knew he’d only been teasing.

But it was you that had convinced him. It was those eyes, the way your voice had gone up a little and you’d pouted in that silly way you did when Joaquín took the last doughnut at mission briefings. He couldn’t resist. And he had no idea what to do about it.

Behind him he could hear another team talking about you, how they didn't understand why you were always working with ‘that asshole Barnes’ so much.

In the anonymous dark they joked about you, about him, as if you were a reward for a guard dog. A babysitter for his more violent tendencies. Worse, disgusting, accusations about how you'd come by your place in the team. He suddenly missed his mother, she'd have washed their mouths out with soap.

He felt sick.

Bucky took a long swig from his beer and chased it with a shot of whisky, anything to stop his teeth from grinding.

They were wrong on so many counts. You were skilled and fearless, soft and fierce at all the right moments. But you didn't care about him, or Sam or Joaquín for that matter. Not in the vile, disrespectful way those men imagined. You didn’t men like them - him - messy, unpredictable, unstable. You didn’t really need anyone.

But Bucky - he took another swig, trying to stop the swirling feeling in his chest - he cared for you. He couldn't stop thinking about you. And as angry as he was at what he heard, he was equally ashamed for wishing that you did want him.

He’d been watching you dance with Joaquín and one of your other agent friends for more than an hour now. Your body swaying and rippling in time to the music, your dress ghosting over your hips in a way that made his mouth dry. It was one thing to work with you in army fatigues or go to meetings with you in your casual jeans - the stealth suit had been really pushing his patience recently so he didn't want to think about it - but he could at least keep himself under control while your skin was covered. Then you arrived wearing this dress. The neckline alone made him want to sink to his knees in front of you.

Joaquín danced away with your friend, you winked at the lieutenant and smacked his ass as he passed - you were definitely drunk.

Alone you swayed to the music, still in your own world.

“She’s so fucking drunk -”

“Absolute embarrassment -”

“Can’t believe they let her in -”

Bucky slammed his drink down on the bar top and grabbed his leather jacket, stalking across the dancefloor like a shadow, the lights skimming over him.

You were facing away from him and he couldn’t resist, his hands finding your waist so naturally, his body melting into yours, matching the slow roll of your hips so he could lean into your ear.

“I think it’s time to go,” he whisper-shouted above the pounding music.

“Bucky!” You exclaimed, completely ignoring his suggestion, “dance with me!”

You span in his hands, leaning up and into him, your hands around his neck, twisting into his hair. The little tug you gave sent pleasure shooting down his spine. God he was weak, his body moved without his say so, slipping a leg between yours and - fuck - you were grinding against him. He was lost.

The song ended, fading into the next as the lights flickered and he regained enough of his faculties to remember you were drunk, very drunk.

“C’mon, doll, let’s go, I’ll get you some water-”

“You still here, sweetheart? Don’t you think you’ve embarrassed yourself enough.”

Was he still here? Fucking asshole.

Bucky rounded on him, keeping you close with a hand around your waist.

“You boys having a good night?” You grinned, unable to hear their cruel words over the music.

You were just so - good, so kind, even when these pricks were trying to tear you down, your first instinct was to be friendly - he couldn’t stand it.

“I said -” the agent grinned, dipping down, placing his hands on his knees and levelling his face with yours, that patronising glint in his eyes, “are you still fucking here you stupid bitch?”

Bucky saw red, tucking you under his left arm, pushing you behind his back as he had so many times during missions, and smashing his right straight into the agent’s nose.

“Didn’t your Ma teach you to speak to ladies with respect?”

Blood dripped onto the dark dance floor, a circle forming as the other party goers backed away.

Bucky gave the man one last disapproving look and then his attention was solely focussed on you, leading you out past the crowd until you were outside in the freezing air. He draped his jacket around your shoulders and watched as you snuggled inside. Was he dreaming or did you inhale deeply when he did it?

“M’sorry, Buck.” You hiccupped, leaning into him, eyes half shut.

He took your weight gladly, “s’okay, you didn’t do anything wrong, it was those idiots in there.” With staggering steps you made it to the next street over and Bucky said nothing as he unlocked the door.

“Where are we?” You slurred, your ankles twisting in your heels with each step.

“My place, I thought you could sober up here while I call you a cab to get you back to your hotel.”

He settled you on the couch and tried to walk away, but there was a hand hooked in his belt loop.

“F’got you live in Neewww York,” you closed your eyes, resting your head against his hip as you continued to mumble about ‘the big apple’, he willed himself to breath deeply, he was struggling to keep his body under control.

“Yeah - what’s your hotel called?”

“You called me ‘doll’,” you giggled, your fingers closing around his belt.

“I did, sorry, it just slipped out. Your hotel?”

“Dun worry, I liked it - can I stay here? I sleep here.” You let go, only to curl up on the sofa, your dress sliding up your thighs.

“Sure.” He sighed.

Bucky scooped you up again and nudged the door to his bedroom open with his hip, the duvet was still rumpled from the night before. Another night of no sleep, at least it was because of you and not another nightmare. And now you were here, nose pressed into his chest, ready to sleep in his bed.

“Okay, I’ll be out here if you need me, g’night.”

“Stay.”

“I’ll be right outside if you need-”

“Stay.”

And it was those puppy dog eyes again, the pout, the voice, the hand on his belt.

Even though he knew you’d sleep like a log, hogging his duvet and encroaching on his space, even though he knew you’d be embarrassed in the morning, probably hungover as hell. Even though, come the morning, he was right. He still had the best nights sleep he’d ever had since he bought the place.

You hadn’t been this relaxed in a long time, you were sure if you stood up you’d simply melt into a puddle. Sun warm skin, the buzz of a few too many afternoon beers in your system and the sound of laughter as Sam, Joaquín and Bucky continued to try and catch a single fish had lulled you into a half sleep, dozing on the deck of the Paul & Darlene

“Hey, you want another beer, doll?”

Bucky’s voice drifted over to you and you cracked one eye open. He’d unbuttoned his shirt half way down his chest, the white cotton sticking to his sweaty, sunkissed skin. He hadn’t been able to drop the nickname since he'd had to rescue you at the gala. Although you'd done your best to keep yourself away. The way his eyes burned into you when he turned your way, the memory of his body imprinted into yours, his leg pressing against you, the shadow of a hardness that made your mouth water.

He'd been the perfect gentleman, of course. Had made sure you were safe and comfortable, even escorted you back to your hotel in the morning after a huge home cooked breakfast.

He was a gent. And you were an embarrassment. It ate away at you until you couldn't even look at him.

“Hmm?”

“Beer?” He asked again, holding out the bottle, the cap already popped off.

“Uh, yeah, thanks.”

He flopped down beside you on the deck, the last of the day fading beyond the horizon and leaving you bobbing in the inky abyss where the sky met the water.

“You feeling okay?” He took a swig and you watched the condensation on the bottle trickle over his fingers.

“Oh, yeah, fine.”

“You look dazed, that's all, don't want you getting sunstroke on us.”

Bucky looked genuinely concerned and you figured, from the sudden sick feeling inside, that maybe your heart had skipped a few beats or flipped over or something.

“Uh -” Fuck, did he have to leave his shirt open like that? He asked a question, what was it?

“Are you okay?” He used the back of his right hand and placed it against your forehead, “you feel really hot. Maybe you do have sun stroke.”

“I’m fine, honestly.” You shrugged him off, but went looking for a bottle of water anyway.

As the boat made its way back to the dock you watched the lights of Sarah’s house flicker on in the distance. Sam had invited the three of you to stay, taking up all of Sarah’s space and the room on the boat, while her and the boys went into the city for the night. It was a generous offer, one that you couldn’t say no to after months of hard work without a break.

In the pitch dark you all stumbled back up the driveway, only to find Sarah on the porch.

“Sarah -” Sam jogged to reach her first, concern written on his brow.

“I’m alright, Sam, don’t fuss. It’s just Cass, ate too many beignets and threw up so I thought we should come home. He’s upstairs with AJ. Sorry we messed up your plans.”

Bucky took the suitcase from her hands, “it’s your home Sarah, you haven’t messed up anything.”

She threw an arm around his shoulders and hugged him sideways, a familiar gesture you’d seen her make before, but for some reason your tummy twisted, jealousy stirring.

“Means we’ll need some rooms back though, I know I said you could all stay but-”

A chorus of voices filled the air, refusing to let Sarah apologise, before you started to get organised.

“Well Cass needs his own bed, that’s a given.” You said, worried that the young boy might be ill as well as over excited about his food.

“Of course,” Joaquín agreed. “Sarah, you’re obviously taking your room too. We wouldn’t ask you to give that up. I’ll go on the couch in the sitting room.” He smiled.

You looked between your other two colleagues, but Bucky spoke first.

“Well if Torres’ taking the couch I’m not going to argue, I’d rather be in a bed even if it is on a boat.” He ruffled Joaquín’s hair affectionately and the younger man shoved at him.

Sam looked at you, “you can take my bed, if you want, I can change the sheets -”

“I’ll sleep on other sofa -”

“You’ll share with me, right doll?”

The three of you spoke at once, and Sarah raised her eyebrows then her hands before opening the front door, “I’ll be in bed, you kids figure this out yourself.”

“Bucky -” Sam started.

“Sam - we’ve shared before,” there was a glimmer of hope that glowed inside of you when Bucky stepped closer, his shirt fluttering open again in the breeze, revealing his toned chest and that dusting of dark hair, creeping under the buckle of his jeans. “Besides, wouldn’t be the first time you’ve made us share, would it?” Bucky joked, nudging Sam as they went to collect more blankets and bedding, “what about that hotel-”

His voice faded until all you could hear were the crickets in the distance, you’d forgotten about Joaquín until he walked past, turning backwards at the last moment so he could see you again, “if you don’t want to share with Barnes…” he let the offer hang in the air and you were torn.

Really, you should protest and ask for your own space. But then you’d missed the sound of his steady breathing beside you, the weight and warmth of him when he turned over into your space. In fact you’d missed him completely, even if you’d been avoiding him on purpose.

Secretly you hoped the bedroom on the boat would be cooler now the sun had gone down, perhaps he’d hold you like he did while you were camping.

Sam let you back onto the boat, making sure you had enough blankets for two distinct sleeping arrangements if you wanted.

Bucky slid into the cool cotton sheets in only his boxers and, shyly, you followed. Expecting to sleep alone you’d packed shorts and a vest, revealing more than you really wanted to considering he clearly didn’t return your interest.

Bucky kept politely to his side of the bed, his arms awkwardly stiff at his side when he turned away from you. Unable to stop yourself you turned too, watching the strong line of his back relax as his breathing evened out.

The boat bobbed gently, lulling you to sleep. You were vaguely aware of a strong arm tugging you closer, the smell of Bucky’s shampoo and sun cream and the weight of a bed rising to meet you.

Everything went perfectly, again, until it didn’t.

Intelligence? Secured. Exit? Executed to perfection. Adrenaline fueled burger stop where Bucky wiped a drop of sauce from your lips exactly as you planned? Complete. Motel booking? Perfect?

You and Bucky stared at the two motel beds.

In the entire time you’d been working together you’d never really managed it. There were either no rooms, the room was wrong or there was no room at all, just whatever you could find. And now there were two beds and you felt sick and your head hurt and after everything you’d seen and done today the last thing you wanted to do was sleep alone.

“Doll?” Bucky placed a hand on the small of your back and reality came screeching to a halt around you.

“Sorry, Buck, I must be really tired, I’m going to shower and get in bed. Do you mind if I go first?” You were already half to the bathroom, the zip down on your tac suit, were you imagining Bucky’s eyes dropping down to where your skin was revealed?

“Of course, whatever you need, I’ll just be…here,”

After a perfunctory shower consisting of a dribble of hot water that quickly turned into a freezing cold torrent, you returned to the shared room.

Bucky hurried past, his body brushing against yours in the doorway, firm and muscular, yet you knew that being held by him was soft and warm. You tried not to feel too sad that there’d be no excuse for getting close to him again for the rest of your trip.

By the time he was finished you were tucked into bed, trying to read the paperback you’d found in the draw because the television signal was terrible.

He stood in the window, a shadow against the light filtering in through the thin material of the curtains, ruffling his wet hair with a towel, his sweatpants so at odds with the man who’d been by your side just a few hours before. This was a rare sight, one you were privileged to see.

Bucky tossed the towel onto the chair by the door and then sat on the end of the other bed, watching you read from the corner of his eye. You knew because the last three paragraphs had become a blur of words, your focus solely on Bucky.

“Maybe we should go to sleep, we’ve got a long drive tomorrow.”

“You’re right.”

You both slid down into bed, separately, and you’d never felt so alone.

In the darkness you could see the shape of him, facing the door with his hand tucked under his pillow, and somehow the darkness made you braver.

“Would it be weird if I said I missed you?” You whispered.

Bucky rolled over, but put his hand back under his pillow, no doubt he had something hidden under there, he usually did.

“I miss you too.”

You shuffled back, letting the sheets fall further down the bed, “I know you have your own space over there and you probably don’t want to be all cramped up with me, but if you wanted to share still -”

Bucky was out of his bed before you could finish, slipping under the sheets. He’d taken off his sweatpants before getting into bed, his legs bed warm against your own and you bit your lip, trying to focus on his face and not on his almost naked body just inches away.

“Hi.”

“Hi, doll.”

“You don’t have to keep calling me that.”

“What if I want to?”

He was so close, his breath minty when it ghosted over your lips, his nose touching yours, his long eyelashes making his crystal eyes look brighter.

“What if I missed you being in my bed? What if I always want to share with you?” He reached his hand out, cupping your cheek.

“You do?”

And then his lips were on yours, so soft, his tongue slipping past yours as you gasped. One cool metal hand and one callused, drawing you closer, a leg between your thighs, your bodies rolling together and - “oh, Bucky.” You sighed into his mouth, letting him tug you into him.

“I - I want that too -” you squeezed out between kisses, “I wanna always - always - be in your bed - I - I always hoped we had too.”

“You did?” He pulled back, stroking a thumb down your cheek and over your kiss bitten lips.

“Uh huh, I did,”

“You been sabotaging us this whole time, baby?” He laughed, his eyes sparkling.

“No,” you laughed too, turning your head to kiss the pad of his thumb, “maybe I should’ve though.”

“Maybe,” his hand left your face to cup the back of your neck, drawing you down for another languid kiss.

“How long?”

“How long, what?”

“How long have you wanted -” his question trailed off into another series of featherlight kisses.

“Since, ugh - Utah?” You offered shyly, embarrassed to admit that you’d been head over heels from the start.

With a groan he rolled you over, slipping his body between your open legs, his hips settling just right against your own. “Fuck,” he dropped his forehead to yours, “we could’ve been doing this the whole time.” He admitted, lifting his head to smile down at you.

“Well then I guess we have some making up to do,” you linked your hands behind his head, tangling your fingers in his hair.

“I guess we do, doll.”

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes/reader #Bucky Barnes x female!Reader #Bucky Barnes/female reader #bucky x female reader #Bucky fluff #bucky

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moonstruckme · 6 months

Note

hey! I really really really like your writing very much!

can you do one where the reader and spencer reid are both nerds but different kinds of nerds. so the reader's more of a literature/ language nerd and spencer's basically an expert in LITERALLY everything. so she has a major crush on him but always hesitates to make a move on him cuz she thinks that she doesn't stand a chance because she struggles with basic math and physics chemistry make her head hurt

and so when spencer asks her out she's all baffled like you don't think I'm dumb?!😭😭

Hi, thanks honey!

Spencer Reid x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

It’s one of those rare days where you can actually afford a lunch break, and you’ve decided to take it outside with your book. Every day lately feels like it could be the last nice one you get before the cold weather comes in, and you’re enjoying the crisp breeze and warm sunshine on your face as you get settled on the bench outside the cafe where you work.

The book you’ve been reading for the past week is good but not great, and you’re sort of pushing yourself to finish just so you can say it’s over with and tell the friend who lent it that you gave it your best. Still, you’re very nearly lost in it by the time a pair of black converse comes to a stop in front of you.

You follow them upward. “Spencer!” you say, probably with a touch too much alacrity. Too quickly, too. You might’ve at least pretended to have to think about the name of the sweet-faced doctor looking down at you. But it’s not your fault; you’ve gotten used to calling it out from the counter when he comes here to pick up his lunch at least three days out of the week.

“Hi,” he says, teetering on the edge of bashful. “I’m surprised to see you out here, you’re almost always working when I come by.”

It’s embarrassingly gratifying that he knows that. You’d never hold it against him if he didn’t, but you’ve come to enjoy the little bits of conversation you grab with him when he comes by, and it’s nice to know that he’s noticed you too.

“It’s a slow day,” you reply by way of explanation. “I figured I’d grab a break while I still could.”

Spencer smiles like he totally gets that. You imagine he does. “Good idea. Can I sit?”

“Of course!” Again, way too eager. You’ve got to work on controlling your tone around him. You move your discarded jacket into your lap.

“Thanks,” he says, sitting in the space you’ve made for him. His legs are so long he looks like he’s squatting on the bench, knees high enough for him to set his elbows on. Which he does, tilting his head to see you. “What’re you reading?”

“Oh, um, it’s nothing. I mean, I wouldn’t really recommend it,” you laugh. Christ, you don’t want him to know what you’re reading. Spencer probably reads astrophysics textbooks for fun. “It’s not very good.”

Spencer puts his hand over yours, far from forceful as he tips the page toward him until he can see the cover. Your brain is short-circuiting so badly it’s a wonder you don’t drop the paperback onto the pavement.

“I haven’t heard of it,” he says, which surprises you. Spencer seems so knowledgeable it’s difficult to believe there’s anything in existence that’s not stored somewhere in his hard drive. “Why are you reading it if you don’t think it’s good?”

He doesn’t ask it in any unkind or judgemental way, but something inside you tenses nonetheless. You know perhaps too much about Spencer Reid. It’s not like you’d gone out of your way to figure him out, but the facts had presented themselves to you almost serendipitously and you’d put the pieces together. You know that he’s in the FBI, not only because of the laminated identifier he sometimes leaves clipped to his shirtpocket when he comes in, but also because of the coworkers that occasionally come with him. From those coworkers, you also know that he’s a doctor, and you gather that he’s generally respected and admired as well as cared for by his team. He seems a bit awkward, but sure of himself where it matters, and he goes into every interaction with a kind curiosity. Most of all, you know that Spencer is smart. Like, expert in everything smart. You’d caught a few jokes from the people he’s brought in about an eidetic memory, his multiple PhDs, and the nickname “boy genius.” No matter how shy and sweet someone is, that’s intimidating.

And it’s unnerving to have someone with an IQ higher than you can probably fathom asking about your intellectual habits.

“Well, the plot doesn’t actually have much movement, so it’s pretty boring,” you say hesitantly. “I guess at this point I’m mostly in it for the prose. Plus my friend recommended it, so I have to finish it to keep her happy.”

Spencer laughs at your little joke, nodding. “Wow, the prose alone is enough to keep you going? It must be pretty fascinating.”

You want to backpedal immediately, but settle for a one-shouldered shrug. “It’s alright. I’m kind of a nerd for that stuff. Rhetorical devices and all.”

Spencer tilts his head, something igniting in his brown eyes. Interest. “Rhetorical devices. You mean like metaphor and personification?”

You nod. “Yeah, like those, but also anadiplosis and polysyndeton and anastrophe.” Spencer’s eyebrows move slowly upward as you speak, and you feel heat rising to your cheeks despite the slight chill. “I just like that there’s things that affect the emotion—or the pacing, or whatever—of writing that we as readers pick up on almost subconsciously, but were so intentional for the writer.”

Spencer’s nodding, eyes going somewhere just slightly distant. “Yeah, that’s a good point. I mean, I know writing is a very intentional process, but I never really think about the tiny, word-level decisions authors make to influence readers.”

“It’s so cool,” you agree. “Like, how long do you think it takes someone to land on the exact right word for what they’re trying to convey, or to structure their sentences in a way that builds momentum over the course of a paragraph? Like, so much goes into it.”

Spencer’s smiling at you, and you realize you’re gushing, geeky zeal bursting out of you like a soda bottle that’s been shaken and finally uncapped. “Sorry. Um, what’re you reading lately?”

“Don’t be sorry,” he says quickly, still smiling at you. “I actually just finished my last book, so I’m looking for something new. If this book has all that and isn’t up to your standards, I’d be interested to see what you really enjoy reading.”

Your cheeks are burning hot; you hope Spencer thinks the redness is from the cool breeze. “I’d be nervous to give you a recommendation,” you admit. “Too much pressure.”

Spencer waves you off. “I’ll read anything, don’t worry about it. Hey, have you ever been to that coffee shop on fifth? It’s in a bookstore.”

You blink. “No, I haven’t heard of it. That sounds cool, though.”

A bit of pink tinges Spencer’s cheeks; it’s probably from the cool breeze. “Yeah, well, you should let me take you there sometime. If you want, of course,” he adds hastily. “Don’t worry about it if not.”

It takes you a second to realize what’s happening. And then once you do, another second to make yourself believe it. “Like, as a date?” you ask, just to be sure.

Spencer’s smile is hopeful behind its timidity. “Yeah. Yeah, if you’re okay with that.”

“Yeah.” You can’t think of anything better to say, your brain filling with buzzing bees. “That sounds good. Thanks.”

He laughs, eyebrows coming together bemusedly. “Well, don’t thank me. I should be thanking you.”

It’s more a thanks for his taking action, you think. For making a move when you’d been too scared to, stagnant with months over your anxiety that he’d think you were too dumb or trivial to want to keep talking to you after he’d picked up his sandwich.

“Okay, great.” He stands. “Well, I have to get back, but I’ll, uh…I’ll see you? Friday, maybe? I can come by here after your shift.”

“You know when my shift ends?”

Now even his ears are turning red. “You…around four, right? I sometimes see you if I’m leaving work around then.”

You smile. “Yeah, four. See you then, Dr. Reid.”

“See you then!” he turns around, and you can see the exact moment he thinks to wonder how you know his last name. You don’t bother worrying about it.

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luveline · 2 years

Text

𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫? | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary steve finds out that falling in love can be really, really easy. you find out what it’s like when somebody wants to take care of you [10.5k]

warnings fem!reader, fluff, mutual pining, getting together, dustins next-door neighbour!reader, sick fic, hurt/comfort, reader is implied to weigh more than nancy, you’re upset one time and steve goes overboard, small s4 spoilers no major plot details, post s3 pre s4, feat. the lunch club, karaoke, rollerblading, sunbathing

𓆩❤︎𓆪

A vast green jungle, so damp the forest floor bathes your ankles in rainwater runoff. The air is thick with humidity and smells green. Earthy, the sweet scent of petrichor tickles your nose, and-

A shadow distends over the yellow pages of your paperback, dark, eating up the image of the amazon and replacing it with reality – a normal summer's day in Hawkins.

Steve Harrington stands in front of you, his body blocking the sun and its warm glow. The light throws a halo around his head and turns the ends of his brown hair golden.

"Watcha reading?" he asks in lieu of ‘hello’.

"Ever read Journey to the Center of the Earth?" you ask him, leaning towards him invitingly.

You love to mess with him like this, watch his cheeks slowly pink as you bend towards your knees with a demure smile playing on your lips.

"Yeah, I did. In middle school," he says, trying his best to play it cool, hands pushing deep into the pockets of his pants.

"Well, it's nothing like that."

The grin he gets when he realises you're messing with him is adorable. He chuckles warmly and pulls a hand through his hair, looking down at the ground and then up at you again with a bashful pinch to his thick eyebrows.

"You're looking for Dustin?" you ask. You haven't seen your young neighbour since this morning. "He ran off earlier with his huge radio thing."

Steve rolls his eyes. "Typical. I paid him fifteen dollars," he says, his frustration clear, "fifteen dollars, Y/N, to fix my Walkman like three weeks ago. Every time I come by he's out. Little shit probably hasn't even looked at it."

You like Steve. He's a great looking guy who's more than nice when he sees you even though you're always pushing his buttons, and his poorly hidden fondness for Dustin is something you find heart-squeezingly attractive. You don't think twice about your next move.

You stand up from your lounger and have to shield your eyes from the sun, tucking your book under your naked arm. "If you want… I have a cassette player I'm not using. I got a Walkman for my birthday." You don't give him an opportunity to say no as you start for the front door.

"Are you sure?" Steve asks. You hold the door open for him, standing at the threshold with a grin.

"Positive. It's collecting dust, at this point."

"I mean, sure, if that's cool. Just until Dustin gets his act together," he says, pushing past you. His hand brushes your hip.

"That's cool," you confirm, walking behind him through your open kitchen and living room. "It's on the left."

Steve pushes into your bedroom. The window's open, breezing around the smell of fresh linens and the hydrangeas in the planter on your sill, shifting the gauzy white curtains.

The suncatcher hanging from the window sprays rainbow kisses over your walls and posters, your laundry basket full of summer dresses and discarded night shirts. The carpet is freshly vacuumed and plush underfoot as you beeline for your desk. Steve hovers by the door before leaning his weight against your bookshelf, eyes taking it in curiously.

"Cyndi Lauper," Steve says, eyes on a big poster of said singer with her iconic orange hair and hat. You raise your eyebrows at him, pleased, and he shrugs. "She's famous."

"You like her?"

"Nah," he says. "But I'll listen to anything. Except Depeche Mode; sharing a player with Robin all summer has sailed that boat."

"Yeah?" you ask, kneeling down in front of your desk to dig through the cabinet underneath. You frown, up to your elbow in bric a brac and forgotten trinkets. "It's in here somewhere."

"Yeah. I mean, maybe not anything. I don't think I have the palate for some of those rock and roll bands. Dustin made me listen to Black Scabbard in the car last week and…"

"Black Sabbath," you correct lightly, pulling out of your cupboard with a relieved huff.

"Right," he says.

You look over your shoulder to find him perusing your bookshelf, his hand running lightly over the shiny glass paper weight you use as a book end. He teases the spine of a hardback book curiously but must feel your gaze, turning to you with a sheepish smile.

"Do you like to read?" you ask.

Steve wrings his hands held at his hip. "Sure, I don't mind it. Bigger fan of movies."

"Right, Family Video must get pretty distracting," you say, walking towards him on light footing to offer the dinged-up cassette player. "She's well loved but she works, I swear."

He takes it from you, fingers brushing the backs of yours. "Thank you."

You shift from one foot to the other — because oh my god there's a boy in my room — before smiling with teeth. You stop. "You're welcome. Want a drink?"

"Uh…"

"I've got pink lemonade."

"Oh, then definitely."

You lead him into the kitchen and install him at the kitchen table with two empty glasses. The carafe of lemonade is beautifully cold from the refrigerator with slices of lemon and strawberry bouncing around the top as you pour it. The condensation wets your fingers.

Steve looks handsome and maybe slightly silly behind your homely oak table, all clean cut and well dressed. You feel bare beside him in your tank top and flowy midi skirt, too much skin.

"Are you hungry? I make a mean BLT," you say, bringing your feet up onto the chair, knees digging into the table.

"I'm good, thanks," he says.

"Are you having a good time of it at FV? They denied my application, but that's 'cos Keith has a vendetta against me for wiping out his score on the Palace's Tempest."

"You're a Tempest girl?"

"Everybody plays Tempest," you say.

Steve gives you a look. "Nerds play Tempest."

"Fine, every nerd plays Tempest," you allow, rolling your eyes. "Lemme guess, you're a Centipede guy. No, worse! You play Pac-Man. I can tell."

His silence is enough to make you giggle in triumph, elated to have sussed him out so quickly.

"How did you know that?" he asks finally.

"You called Black Sabbath 'Black Scabbard'. You're not a nerd."

"I could be."

"But you're not."

You share a steady look over the table. His eyes are bright with mirth, a sleek brown like fresh brewed coffee. You love the shape of them, deepest with the round under eye blanketed in straight black lashes. A red polo stretches across his chest. You find your eyes drawn down the length of his arm to his hand where he's drawing circles around the rim of his glass. He takes it into his hand and you watch his wrist bend, his arm flex as he brings the cup to his lips and a drop of condensation drips onto the table mat.

"I don't look the type?" he asks after a rough swallow. He sounds almost incensed.

"No, of course you don't. King Steve," you croon.

He crosses his arms across his chest and leans back, looking you up and down showfully. "Neither do you."

He's all charming smiles as he raises his chin and shakes his head, lips stretched up in an open-mouthed smile.

"Tempest," he mutters in bemusement.

You burst into laughter, quick to defend yourself when there's a pounding knock at the door. You're still laughing as you stand, calling to Steve as you walk to the door, "Tempest isn't even that nerdy! It's the Dragon's Lair dorks you need to watch out for. Oh, hi baby. What's wrong?"

"You haven't seen Steve, have you? His cars outside," Dustin announces, standing under the porch with his wild curls stuffed under a hat, his pulley cart ditched halfway between your yard and his.

"He's in the kitchen. You want some lemonade? You look frazzled," you offer, brushing your hand over his sunburned shoulder lightly as he scoots right past you.

"Thanks, Y/N." Dustin strides into the kitchen with purpose, glaring at Steve pretty heavily as he takes your seat at the table. "Why are you here?"

"Fucking charming. I came to see you, Henderson, but you're never home. Too busy finding secluded knolls to radio your girlfriend and play karaoke."

"Dick," Dustin says, though he defrosts as you fill a glass for him.

"What do you want?" Steve asks him.

"Why do you assume I want something?"

"Don’t be coy, you're not Madonna. It's tacky."

"Dick," Dustin says again, glaring.

"Dustin, do you want something to eat? You shouldn't go out in the sun all day by yourself, you know? What if you get heat stroke?" you ask.

Steve gives you a strange look like he's puzzled with you. You smile back at him, hand coming down on the back of Dustin's chair easily.

"Steve, I need a ride to Mike's," Dustin says, completely ignoring you.

Steve kicks him under the table. "Manners."

"Can I please have a ride-"

"To her, dipshit. Jeez, what's wrong with you? She asked if you're hungry."

Dustin beams at you innocently, soft cheeks rounding. "No thank you Y/N you're a godsend and I appreciate you very much," he says all in a rush, turning back to Steve, the act entirely dropped. "Now can we go?"

"Christ, fine. I'm gonna get you one of those rewards cards for being a shithead. This incident would be a double stamp, by the way."

"Uh-huh," Dustin says.

The younger teen chugs his glass of lemonade and spins off, calling a thank you over his shoulder. Steve gets up to follow him, your old cassette player held carefully in his hands.

"I'm sorry about him."

"Don't be. I've known him his entire life. He's in a phase," you inform him with a small grin, shrugging as if to say, what you gonna do?

"Long phase. Thank you. For the player and the lemonade."

"You're welcome," you say warmly, walking him to the door.

Dustin's already in the passenger seat, having taken his pulley cart back inside. He makes a hurry up motion from behind his window and Steve mutters expletives to himself, giving you one last smile before he trudges off.

The two boys wave at you through the windshield. You wave back.

When Steve's car has winked from view you take your lemonade and paperback outside again to lie under what's left of the sun. You try your best to fall back into the jungle and conjure its sights and sounds, only you keep finding your thoughts wrapped up around a certain boy's laugh and the face he makes as he does, that startled grin, a fist half raised to his mouth.

"Y/N!" A familiar teen voice accompanied by battering knocking at your front door.

You pull it open, still in your pajamas, hair a mess. His knocking had woken you up. You'd had about ten seconds to check you hadn't drooled too violently in your sleep before he was calling your name, and so you hadn't bothered getting dressed.

You wish you had. Dustin stood at the door with Steve Harrington behind him, a happy smile on both their faces.

You try not to flinch as you throw an arm across your chest subconsciously. "Hi?" you ask. "Is everything okay?"

Dustin's dressed for the beautiful weather in shorts and a shirt with sleeves so short it may as well be a tank top, a hat perched familiarly over his cute curls. Steve is dressed in a tormenting pair of jeans paired with a denim jacket. Double denim. He looks hot, physically and figuratively.

"Do you wanna come skating?" Dustin asks urgently.

You blink at him, pulling the edges of your strappy vest down to cover your navel, plaid bottoms low on your hips – you're a mess.

"Skating? I don't have one."

"A skateboard?" Dustin asks, shrugging. "Bring your rollerblades."

You err at the door, leaning your weight against it as you think. "When?"

"Now!" he says.

"I don't want to hold you up," you say, aimed more towards Steve than Dustin.

Steve smiles, hooking cheeks pink with the heat, and is about to talk when Dustin says, "He made me come ask you, he's fine to wait."

You bite back a smirk at Steve's deer-in-the-headlights expression and nod happily. "Alright. Twenty minutes and I'll be ready. If that's okay?"

"Totally," Steve says.

You close the door most of the way and catch a look over his shoulder, finding his pretty friend Robin in one seat and a gaggle of Dustin's friends in the back.

You hear a sharp thwarping sound as you spin away followed by a "What the fuck, dude?" from Dustin and hope that he hasn't tripped over one of your flower pots. You get ready and spend at least ten minutes worrying after your appearance in the mirror before grabbing the skates and jetting into the kitchen. You gather as many impromptu snacks you can find and shove them into a grocery bag, struggling to lock the door behind you in want of a free hand.

Steve jumps out of the driver's side to open the side door for you. You smile gratefully and dump the snacks and your skates in the footwell before climbing in, an empty seat between you and Dustin’s redheaded friend.

You're saved from the awkwardness of seeing people you've met but don't quite know by their ongoing debate, something about which Bruce Springsteen song is best.

“It’s obviously Dancing in the Dark. I don’t really know why we’re still talking about this,” Robin says from the passenger seat.

“You’re just saying that because it’s his most popular,” the girl next to you says.

“Things are popular for a reason.” Robin shrugs.

“Yeah, Max. Plus, popular or not, it’s his best.”

Max scrunches up her entire face. “Better than I’m on Fire?”

There’s a long pause where each child deliberates. Dustin and Mike dissolve into fierce looks.

“Nobodies talking about Born in the USA,” Steve says into the quiet, eyes on the road but head tilted back.

“Shut up, Steve,” Mike says, looking as exhausted as he usually does when you’ve seen him coming in and out of Dustin’s. Though it's been a while, he hasn't changed. Perpetually done with people's shit.

“Disrespectful,” Steve murmurs. His eyes flash to the rear view, catching you red-handed as you stare at him. “What do you think?”

“About what?”

“About Springsteen."

You consider him, his smile, his gaggle of cruel children. “I like Born in the USA,” you say nonchalantly.

“That’s two points,” Steve says triumphantly.

The skatepark is pretty busy because of the good weather. You and Steve end up unpacking your snacks onto a blanket Robin lays out whilst the boys go look for their friend Lucas, who's supposedly already here.

Max doesn't seem pleased with this revelation, sitting down heavily by Steve's picnic basket. Steve offers her a PB&J from the basket and a cold caprisun and she perks up, but not a lot. You want to spend time with Steve, you're not disillusioned into thinking you're anything but a flower under his attention, blooming and wanting, but Max's sad eyes get the better of you.

Too late for introductions, you dive straight in. “What’s in the Walkman?” you ask, nodding at the player sticking out of her jacket pocket, the foam padded headphones around her neck.

“Wild Things Run Fast, Joni Mitchell.” It sounds like a question.

You’ve struck gold immediately. “I love Joni Mitchell! Have you heard her new stuff?”

Max seems alarmed and happy at once, red messy braids swaying as she lifts her chin. “I mean, only what they’ve played on the radio.”

“Her album came out this October, Dog Eat Dog? I have the cassette if you wanna borrow it. It’s amazing.”

“Really?” she asks. She’s peeling the crusts off of her sandwich, one side at a time, dropping them into the small pile of discarded Saran Wrap.

“For sure. You’ve heard Shiny Toys?” Max nods. “It’s all as good as that one. Seriously.”

“Awesome,” she says, taking a huge bite of her sandwhich.

You realise you might’ve come on a little strong and try to backtrack into cool territory again, hand brushing Steve’s ankles as you lean away from the poor girl, smiling sheepishly.

“My mom loves Joni Mitchell,” Robin says.

“Robin," Steve chides lightly.

“What?”

You and Steve share a look that’s so familiar it gives you pins and needles in your hands, something small between the two of you clicking into place. Or at least that’s how you feel.

Max has almost finished her sandwich by the time Mike returns. “Are you ready?” he asks her.

She clambers onto her feet and grabs her skateboard from behind Steve. The two walk away, a distance from Dustin and Lucas, who both seem to have acquired a pair of skates each. Dustin in knee pads and a helmet, Lucas without.

“Why would you say Max listens to mom music?” Steve asks incredulously once they’re out of hearing distance.

Robin shakes her head, similarly incensed. “I didn’t say that.”

“There were so many other things you could’ve said, Robs.” He sounds less mad and more pitying.

"I didn't say that! I said my mom listens to her. She does!"

"Don't take offense. Robin got dropped as a baby," Steve says to you offhandedly.

You know the best course of action here and you take it – in what world would you make an enemy of a boy you might like's best friend who is a girl? Not this one. Plus, Robin seems super nice.

"I'm not offended. My mom loves Joni too," you say cheerily, smiling at Robin, unabashed.

You're slightly disappointed when she looks away towards her lap, until she says, "Projections a bad look on you, Harrington. He has, like, a flat head," she tells you.

Steve starts yammering loudly. "Shut up! My head's perfect, you're being ridiculous. Perfectly round and ordinary, thank you."

"Yeah, I'd definitely say your head's perfectly round," you agree through giggles, reaching for your skates.

You have a funny feeling that a silent conversation is happening as you slide off your shoes and into the skates, lacing up tight, but when you look up Robin's sifting through the accumulated snack pile and Steve's looking the opposite way, towards the kids.

You clear your throat. "Are you guys gonna skate too?"

"Steve is."

"I didn't bring-"

"He's borrowing mine. It's too hot, I can't skate. And I don't have the coordination, anyway."

Steve looks at Robin, at you, Robin again. "I'm not good," he says. You take it for yes.

Steve gets on his skates and straps out of his denim jacket, exposing the distracting lengths of his arms. He's better than he gives himself credit for, steady on his feet. He knows how to stop and start, and you smile to yourself when the two of you skate off towards Dustin and Lucas, following their journey around the skate park, careful to stay clear of the bowls and rails.

"You're good! You said you weren't good!" you say to him.

"I'm not good."

"You're doing great!"

He smiles gratefully, the expression at home over his warm features. He's not really a very smiley guy, you've realised, his lips often pulled up into a grimace or a cruel approximation of a smile, sarcastic. It suits him. You go to say as much, eyes eating up every little detail of him.

"Hey Steve? You should-" and your foot pops over a rock.

You shriek and throw your arm out towards him. Steve catches you with impressive strength and speed as your leg buckles. You've quickly righted yourself and he brings you to a slow but not quite stop. Stopping on skates is easier said than done, especially old skates with the front guards already worn down.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

You've taken his hand without thinking, the two of you widening apart and then coming together like the eclipse of a blinking eye.

You pull your hand away apologetically, the warmth of his palm lingering.

"I'm sorry!" you say.

"Don’t be. Last thing I wanna do is have you crack your head open on my watch. I’m glad you didn’t wipe out."

"Thanks to you."

You slow and stop. Steve does the same, the two of you clumsy for different reasons. He watches as you calm your racing heart.

"Shit, I really thought I was gonna fall. You're a lifesaver." You stare straight into his eyes, their sunlight honey brown, smiling with complete genuineness. He's more than pretty. "Thank you."

Steve swallows and his smile is warmer, somehow, impossibly warmer. Maybe it's the beautiful weather, maybe it's the beautiful boy. You suddenly feel very, very hot.

"I think I might need to sit down."

"Oh, shit," he says, reaching for your arm. You're about to correct his touching – you're not dizzy, just a little nauseous. Only, his hand. His fingers clasped around your elbow, his face fiercely protective.

You let him guide you back to the picnic blanket. One hand around your elbow, the other behind your sun-warmed back, and somehow his hand is the hottest spot.

"Are you okay?" Robin asks, shielding her eyes from the sun. The book in her lap slips shut as she straightens.

"She's okay," Steve says. “Too hot. Budge up."

Robin moves over on the blanket and throws the basket open. Steve reaches in for a capri sun and passes it to you. It's lukewarm, though the day is so hot it's a relief to drink it.

"Steve's really good," you tell her after a noisy suck, the orange plastic straw stabbing your lip. You frown down at it.

"I saw you guys whizzing around. Public menaces, both of you," Robin says, though she smiles as she does. You know she's joking. You don't want to think it in case it's not true, but you feel like maybe she wants to be friends.

"We prefer speed demons," Steve says easily, still kneeling at your side.

"They should lock you up."

You snort and almost squirt juice from your nose, spluttering and coughing as you bend at the waist. Steve pats your back less than gently and then more so as you move your hand towards him.

"I'm okay," you cough, embarrassed at how you must look hacking your lungs out.

Steve's hand, again on your back, rubs a stern line. "Chill out, Y/N. You can't die before dinner."

"We're getting McDonald's," Robin supplies.

"Don't tell the kids," he says, smirking.

He's still rubbing your back. You suspect you might agree to anything while he's this close.

"You sound like such a dad when you say shit like that."

Steve scowls at Robin's words and pulls his hands away, crossing them over his chest. "Don't say that. Babysitter is more than enough, don't you think? Y/N?"

"An older brother?" you suggest to Robin's extreme delight.

She laughs. Steve scrubs at his face with both hands until his eyes are red.

Robin's sick and Steve's going crazy by himself, manning the desk at FV with almost no energy and even less enthusiasm. A week since he'd held your hand and he can't seem to stop thinking about it.

He catches himself staring at his own empty palm and clenches his fist, bringing his eyes back to the door in case someone walks in and he has to pull off the headphones of your borrowed cassette player.

Steve had discovered a forgotten cassette inside, listening to it out of curiosity the night you'd given him the player and then every night since then. He felt guilty about keeping it without saying anything but he was only borrowing it, he reasoned. He'd give it back when Dustin fixed his skipping Walkman.

The tape was Van Halen II. And Steve's not stupid, he knows who Van Halen are, but he's never sat and listened through any of their full albums. Now he can't stop, constantly rewinding back to the same song, over and over.

He does so now, fingers clumsy and too big over small buttons until the first line kicks in, powerful and high energy like a burst of fresh air.

Have you seen her?

So fine and pretty.

He grins as it plays, thinking of you instantly. Your smile and your legs, the wind whipping at your skirt and exposing stretches of skin he can't stop remembering. You on your rollerblades, the second time after an emergency PB&J, skating in front of him without looking behind you.

"Don't let me crash into someone, okay?" you'd asked, swaying from one side to the other as you shifted your weight.

"It'll be too late to stop you if I see someone! Turn around!" he'd demanded, though his fondness had peeked through.

You'd thrown your hands out. "You'll have to steer me!"

And so he'd grabbed your hands and you'd laughed like a fool as you skated together, squealing through close calls and bumpy ground.

He thinks of your hands in his, their weight and size, the magnetic pulse he'd felt between them, how happy you'd seemed to be with him.

He was harbouring a crush on you. Too old to deny what it feels like to want a pretty girl, Steve wonders if this is entirely a good idea – letting himself like you when the possibility of rejection feels high. You are, as Dustin had promised him, out of Steve's league. "Don't try your luck, dude."

Steve thought for a second that his thinking about you had summoned your image, your easy walk and the elegant way about your hands and how you held them, in a blue dress with matching strappy mary-jane's, white socks with the ruffle tops. He blinks. No way he could think up anything as pretty.

You push open the door and grin from across the room, a large tupperware of some type in your hands. His eyes move up from your fingers where they clutch plastic, your wrist, your arms. The puff sleeves of your dress are short and cuffed, similar to the matching ruched neckline that shows enough to make him swallow. A necklace lays in the valley of your chest, a silver chain with a blue flower at the end, small but thick. Five round petals, a cutout missing that shows a circle of your chest beneath.

"Steve," you say, like you'd been in mid conversation. "Please tell me you have a sweet tooth."

He pulls the headphones from his head and leaves them around his neck, fixing his hair as casually as he can when he says, "Sure, I like candy."

You set your container down on the counter and crack it open, the rich, buttery smells of its contents quickly filling the room.

"I made penuche for Dustin's mom's birthday, but I made so-" you drag the word out, lips a gloss-sticky 'o', "much of it. I can't eat it all. And she said I wasn't allowed to give it to Dustin 'cos he keeps using the f-word."

His laugh is startled but genuine. "Not the f-word."

The fudge is a light brown, almost pink in the neon tinted lighting. It smells divine, and he's saved from an internal debate about what's cool when you push the tub towards him. "Do you like fudge?" you ask him.

He takes one and you take one, and he tries not to look at you as you eat, or when you scratch gloss and a crumb from the corner of your mouth.

"You’re a modern Martha Stewart," Steve says happily.

"Only on special occasions. Where's Robin?" you ask, elbows braced on the counter and leaning in.

"Sick. Apparently."

"Apparently," you repeat, grinning. "What, she didn't look sick?"

"She talked to me on the phone. She sounded sick," he concedes. "Good things it's Thursday."

You look around the completely empty store. "This is what it usually looks like on a Thursday?"

"It's Hawkins. Half the people here get their VHS from the library, the others drive out to Blockbuster. We get about as much foot traffic as an ice cream stand in September."

"It's 'cos you take too long to get the new ones,'' you say. "No offense."

"The tone of someone personally victimised by a Family Video wait list."

"You got me. I've been trying to get the Breakfast Club for two months!" you complain, scratching your chest lazily.

Steve crosses his arms over his chest until his hands are hidden, rolling his eyes. "Oh, so this is bribery penuche."

You blink at him and then your lips part in horror, pretty eyes widening. "No!"

"It totally is. You're trying to butter me up," he says, suave tone disrupted by the need to giggle at his own pun. "Y/N, how could you? Here I thought we were starting to be friends and you're using me for my video store?"

His mock horror puts you eat ease when you realise he's joking. "I really wanna see that movie," you say dejectedly. You reach for another piece of fudge and bite it in half, your chewing morose. "It feels like everybody saw it at the movies but me."

"Of course they did. Why didn't you?"

You glare at him. "I was busy!"

"For the month it was in theatres?"

"Yes!" you defend yourself from his teasing. "I have things to do!"

"Like what?"

"Like school!"

"Everybody has school."

"You're picking on me after I brought you candy. This is so cruel." You don't sound like you've suffered any cruelty. Steve might say you're really enjoying yourself.

"Sorry, sweetheart."

You glare at his insincere pet name. "Whatever. Oh, hey, how's she treating you?" you ask, eyes on the cassette player. "Steve, you have my Van Halen tape! Thank god, I thought I lost it."

"Right. Sorry, I meant to give it back," he lies.

You shrug your shoulders. "Keep it however long you want to. It's good, right? Which one's your favourite?"

He pulls the headphones out and rewinds back before setting the player in front of you. You raise your eyebrows at him but click play, and the audio starts abruptly, loud and mid quality.

Yes, it's love in the third degree.

You grin, head bobbing, eyes flitting to his with approval written all over your face. You don't seem to hesitate before you sing along under your breath, high pitched but quiet.

"Ooh, baby baby. Won't-cha turn your head my way?"

He feels a little enchanted by you, that same magnetism he'd felt between his hands, can't believe how pretty you are and how sweetly you move. You laugh at yourself as you sing the next line, an intense, almost theatrical look upon your face. Like you're swooning.

"Ooh, baby baby. Ah come on! Take a chance, you're old enough to-" You flare your eyes at him and nod, mouth open encouragingly.

He won't join in, no matter how electric he finds you. You roll your eyes and your shoulders roll in a half-dance as you hum along to the chorus.

Dance the night away.

"You're no fun, Steve," you complain, giggling.

"You're enough for the two of us."

You peer over the counter, still moving with the music as you ask, "What were you doing? Before I came in?"

"Looking through the computer at what's late being returned. Riveting, extremely hard work."

"Do you get, like, secret intel on what new movies are coming in?"

"Sure we do. Wanna see?" he asks.

You creep around the counter and stand by his side. He scrolls through the system and translates acronyms for you. "This is the coming in," he says, drawing a line down a list of movie names. "These are what's being moved back to the headquarters."

"Headquarters," you repeat, leaning in to see the screen more clearly. You browse the new titles idly, slipping closer and closer to the computer.

"You'll burn your retinas."

"Invaders from Mars, Youngblood, Black Moon Rising," you list thoughtfully. You turn on your heel. "I don't know any of those. You got a chic-flicks section?"

You're really close. Steve looks at you, this close, this pretty, his hands itching to touch you. He leans in and your arms fall to your sides, the space between you growing ever smaller.

"We do," he says slowly, eye to eye, almost daring you to look at his mouth instead. He wants you to. He wants to look at yours.

You're steadfast, not impassive but certainly unreadable as you say, "Show me?"

Steve reaches for the mouse behind you like he was always intending to, hiding any smugness he feels when you exhale noticeably. You turn back around, his arm brushing over yours as he sorts through the tag system to show you "ROM-COM INCO".

"These are all the ones we have coming in. You know any of those?"

"Hannah and Her Sisters. I saw that one."

"Finally had some free time?" he asks wryly.

"Shut up, Steve."

"You know… I can keep the Breakfast Club for you. Next time it comes in."

The smile you give him is blinding. "Thanks, Steve."

"Yeah, no problem." He hopes the sudden increase in temperature is mutual.

Your backyard is a field of flowers. Maybe dramatic, but Steve's never seen so many, a heavy green spotted in chartreuse, vermillion, bright oranges and pink-white. You lay on a towel in the grass surrounded by them, the sun lighting you up, your skin glowing and perfect.

You're in black, spandex type shorts and a bikini top. Steve feels like a perv for looking, so he clears his throat. You don't budge.

He creeps closer. You're in headphones listening to your Walkman. He can hear the music from where he stands at your backdoor, so it must be loud. He stands over you and hopes his shadow will wake you up. When it still doesn't he gets concerned, kneeling down carefully with his knees digging into your towel.

"Y/N. Hey," he says.

Still nothing.

He pulls your headphones off gently, looking over your face in worry. You must be sleeping.

"Y/N, you shouldn't sleep out here. You'll get sun stroke," he says. He strokes your arm though he shouldn't. He can't help himself, his fingers pressing into the crook of your elbow.

You blink awake and then slam your eyes closed. Steve adjusts himself to block the sun from your face and you manage to pry your eyes open, confused.

"Hello."

"Hey," he says. He can't help the fondness that plays over his smile.

"Shit." Your eyes go wide and you cover your chest with your arm. "I'm naked."

"You're not naked," he says.

"I'm naked. Stop looking at me."

Steve turns away obligingly.

"Stop laughing at me, Harrington."

"Is there anything I'm allowed to do?" he asks, though he does stop laughing.

"I'm so embarrassed. I was sunbathing and I must've fallen asleep."

Steve lets his eyes stray to your naked thigh. He stares at your skin, follows a stretch mark upwards and then swiftly peels his gaze away. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be a total perv. I can go wait in my car."

"You're not a perv. I'm being a priss. Sorry. I know I'm not, like, a model and I wasn't expecting to have this much skin on show. I don't look like Nancy Wheeler."

You sound more nervous than Steve has ever heard you. Worse, you sound dejected, though you've tried for nonchalance. Steve stares at you until you raise your chin, your fingers pinching meanly at your thighs.

"You're messing with me," he says.

"What?" you ask, incredulous. "I'm not messing with you."

"You gotta know you're beautiful. That's, like, a stone cold fact. A hard truth. You're beautiful. Who cares if you don't look like Nance?"

You sigh, though it's not very believable when you're smiling so much. "She's really pretty."

"So are you."

"You know what I mean, Steve. She's… small."

"She's a small woman," he agrees. "That doesn't make her prettier than you."

"You're sure?" you ask quietly.

Steve means it a hundred percent when he says, "I'm sure."

The two of you sit there for a few seconds. He can hear your breathing and he's wondering if you can hear his.

"What are you doing here?" you ask.

Your hand is still held across your stomach but you're thankfully looking more relaxed. Steve meant what he said, you're beautiful, he couldn't care less that you're taller or that you weigh more than his ex. You're fucking pretty, and seeing you all laid out and sun kissed has made him kind of crazy.

"Steve?" you ask.

"Oh. I brought you The Breakfast Club. Just got it back in this morning," he rushes to say, grabbing the VHS tape from where he'd left it on the ground. The Family Video spine is glaringly ugly compared to you and your flowers.

"Woah, thank you!"

"You're welcome. It's under my name though, so don't keep it late. Can't disprespect the FV name. I'm going for employee of the month."

You giggle. "You are? Are you the top contender?"

"Nope."

You laugh some more, the sound delicate and sweet as spun sugar, in Steve's humble opinion.

"Not that my fellow employees try any harder, but Keith just picks himself every month for the free credits."

You rub your fingers across the front of the box. "I won't be late. I mean, I'll watch it today, I've been so excited to see it."

Steve stands up. "Sorry to disturb your idyllic sunbathing."

"Idyllic," you murmur, smiling. "You're good, Steve. Thank you for the movie."

"You're welcome. I'll see you later?" he asks, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, slowly backing away.

"No," you say. He raises his eyebrows and you look sheepish but not shy when you continue, "Do you wanna stay? Watch the movie with me? I have stovetop popcorn and soda and everything."

"What about the great weather? You don't wanna waste it."

You force your hands between your thighs and hunch forward slightly. "I do wanna waste it. I mean, I've had enough for today, don't you think? I'm a half hour from heat stroke."

"You're looking pretty warm," he says. Anything to take you up on your offer without sounding too interested.

You're trying not to give Steve the side eye. Trying, but he's very attractive and very close, and he keeps making funny jokes. It's annoying how hot he is.

Steve has slouched back and his jeans have slowly edged down, exposing the flesh of his hip. Not that you've noticed, or anything.

You cram a big handful of popcorn into your mouth and flick your eyes back to the screen. You'd really wanted to see this movie but Steve keeps capturing your attention, again and again, over and over. You can't believe you'd asked him to stay and he had, can't believe he brought the VHS for you in the first place.

That's a dedicated employee right there.

You shuffle closer to him under the guise of sharing your popcorn. Your shoulders touch.

"Thanks," he says. His thigh hits your thigh as he takes a handful.

"Steve," you say softly.

"What?"

"I don't feel well. I think the sun killed me."

He throws his arm around the back of the couch and twists, careful not to upend the popcorn bowl as he looks over you searchingly. You've seen Steve play caretaker before, but being under his watch is different. He's almost a different person as he checks you over.

"You feel sick?" he asks. He holds his hand out between you, his knuckles at your eye level. "Can I?"

You tilt your head back and close your eyes. Steve presses the back of his hand to your forehead and pets down softly, feeling for your temperature.

"You're still really warm. Let's get you cooled down."

Steve springs up and knocks the bowl. You blink, slightly disoriented as he disappears into the kitchen, picking up spilled popcorn off of the couch and eating it with slow chews. Now you think of it, your arms hurt, too.

Steve returns and sits on the edge of the sofa, a bag of peas in his hand. "I raided your freezer. Lean your head back."

"I'm fine," you say, but tilt your head back anyways, gasping when the cold hits you.

"You might actually get heatstroke. Do you know how dangerous heat stroke is? You need to cool down. Where's the A/C?"

"It's on."

Steve feels along your cheek gingerly. "I can't believe you fell asleep outside. What's that about?" He pauses. "Are you sleeping okay?"

"I'm sleeping fine."

"Are you sure?"

His wrist turns and you feel the pad of his fingers rather than the back, the palm of his hand as he cups your face.

You peek through your lashes at him. His eyebrows are pinched and his bottom lip juts out in a concerned pout.

"You can tell me."

The way he says it – well, you imagine you could tell him anything. He sounds warm and worried. This close you can smell his cologne, something heavy with sage, a little bit of lilac hidden under unmistakable bergamot. It's all so comforting and the sun has loosened your tongue.

"Maybe not so much. It's… it's hot. You know? And…"

"What?" he murmurs. Your heart skips as his thumb rubs over your cheek.

You close your eyes like your confession might take form. "I'm kind of lonely, lately," it sounds like a question, "and it's- it keeps me up sometimes. I don't know, it sounds stupid when I say it out loud."

"It doesn't sound stupid."

"No?"

"No, I get it." He pulls away but doesn't move too far, his hand still holding the freezing peas to your forehead, the other brushing against your arm as he drops it in his lap. "These days Dustin doesn't leave me alone. I don't want him to, either. The same with Robs."

You let your head loll to the side. Steve doesn't look shy or scared to tell you, talking almost matter of fact. "But my parents were never home when I was in high school. They still aren't. I felt it more back then."

"Yeah. I don't know. I never see anybody. Besides Dustin," you say. "We have him in common."

"You see me."

"When I'm annoying you at work."

"You don't annoy me." He's stern though he abruptly turns into a conspirator whispering secrets. "Robin's fuse gets shorter with me everyday."

"How come?" you ask, co-conspirator.

"I can't stop watching the door."

You lift your head. Steve takes back his bag of peas and feels along your forehead, now cold enough to ache.

"Here, hold these to your chest. I'd do it for you, but…"

You take the peas and hide a terrible smile, heart racing between your ears. Your nausea has flipped completely into butterflies and they're rabid, knocking at your abdomen insistently.

You're trying to think of a way to make him say nice things again when there's a knock at the door.

"Dustin," you both say.

"Jinx, buy me a soda," Steve says.

You glare at him and he laughs all the way to the door.

"Why are you always here? Where's Y/N?"

"She's got heat stroke."

"I don't!" you call hoarsely.

"You sound like you do," Dustin says. "Can one of you give me a ride?"

"She has heat stroke."

You climb onto the back of the sofa to look down the hallway. Dustin stands at the front door with a huge piece of engineering in his arms that you don't understand, wires and ciricuits and things.

"Remeber when you used to bike everywhere? What happened to that?" Steve asks, sounding majorly pissed. You can't work out why he's so frustrated but it makes you laugh again.

The two boys turn to you with twin looks of confusion.

"I can't bike there, genius. This won't fit in the basket."

You laugh again, twice as loud.

"What's wrong with her?" Dustin asks, shaking his head.

"What don't you understand about heat stroke?

"Potential heat stroke," you interject.

"She fell asleep in the sun. I don't know how long she was out there her brain might be totally jellified, dude."

"You should take her to the hospital."

You clamber onto aching limbs and walk until your behind Steve, reaching for his elbow automatically. "I'm fine, babe. What's your doohickey?"

Dustin smirks and pulls the weight closer to his chest. "Prototype."

"For what?"

"Top secret."

You giggle some more, wobbling with the force of it. Steve sighs and wraps his arm around your back, his hand under your arm to grip you at the ribs.

Dustin gets wide eyes like a looney tunes character. "What's going on here?"

"Nothing," Steve hisses. "Look, let me set Y/N up with the works and I'll drive you where you want to go, you brat."

Dustin drops his suspicion, having got what he wants. "I'll wait in the car. Feel better!"

"That's three stamps on the shithead card, shithead!" Steve calls after him. The two of you watch his retreating figure and then Steve is manhandling you (not too roughly) down the hallway and back onto the sofa.

"I'm not dying, Steve."

Steve puts your popcorn bowl in your lap and the frozen peas back on your chest. He fills your glass either the warming carafe on the coffee table and then bends down to talk to you, entirely too intense.

"Are you good?" he asks.

"Perfect. I don't even feel hot anymore."

He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, okay. Listen, I'm gonna go drop Dustin off, and then I'm gonna call you to make sure you're not dead."

"You don't have to do that, Steve," you say, moving down into the couch, a cushion falling over as you do. He straightens it out, cups your face in his hand so fast you think you've imagined it and then squints at you.

"Don't die of heat stroke."

He starts to walk away and you're startled. Unfairly, you don't want him to go, and you call, "Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"What about The Breakfast Club?"

He grins at you, a lazy, King Steve kind of smile. "I was always gonna leave that here. So you can come 'annoy' me at work when you return it." He pulls a hand through his hair and gives you a once over and then spins on his heel. "Make sure you answer when I call!"

You lose sight of him as he leaves, the couch backing too tall. He shuts the door kindly and you can just about hear the crunch of gravel as his car pulls away.

"He was definitely flirting with me," you say to yourself, pouring a sweet handful of popcorn into your mouth. You're smiling so wide it's hard to chew.

Dustin bursts into Family Video with his small entourage, Mike and Lucas, and an urgent look on his face. Steve quickly stops his facade of being busy when he clocks them.

"What? Need to borrow ten dollars?" he asks, rolling his eyes.

"Actually, it's about Y/N," Dustin says.

Steve stretches across the desk on his elbows.

"What about her?" he asks, suspecting a waste of time.

"She was crying her eyes out in her backyard last night."

Steve blinks, feeling a pit open up in his chest. "What? Why?"

"Well…" Dustin says. "I didn't ask."

Steve pictures your pretty face crinkled with tears, sitting on the paving stones outside your house. He wonders what would make you cry, sob, whatever it was. You'd confessed to being lonely though he sort of hopes that the feeling has ebbed now that he's calling you every day. At first, under the guise of checking up on you, but, I don't think I'm at risk of heat stroke anymore Steve. It's been a week and a half.

Better safe than sorry.

"Nancy said she saw her outside outside Bradley's Big Buy last night looking miserable," Mike adds, in one of his worst outfits, a mismatch of colours and long socks, a visor that Steve once tried to bribe Dustin to destroy on a hot day with his magnifying glass. The small burned spot perseveres at the caps edge.

Steve feels weirdly proud at their concern and better, their detective skills. The three of them look like they could solve crimes, a mystery gang. Lucas is the only one dressed well in Steve's opinion, though that might be because he's in similar fashion, a nice polo and blue jeans.

"You don't know what's wrong with her?" Lucas asks.

His pride wanes. "Oh, you guys are here for gossip?" he asks scathingly.

"No!"

"You're her boyfriend, right?"

"Not-" Steve swallows, "exactly."

Robin, who had been listening from her stool a few feet back, strides over and falls into place by his side, braced by her elbows.

"If Steve were her boyfriend, we'd know why she was crying," she says, earning a round of boyish chuckles.

Steve nods and then understands her meaning, feeling stupid for assuming Robin would say something that wasn't mean while at work. "Fuck off, I'm a good boyfriend."

Four sets of eyebrows raise.

"I am! I'm romantic."

"You smashed our trellis and dislodged a drain pipe," Mike says.

Steve pins the dark haired boy with a smarted look.

"Sorry, is that not romantic? Sneaking out to see a girl?"

"Sneaking in to a young woman's bedroom," Robin says dryly.

"Pervert style," Dustin agrees sagely.

"Jesus Christ." Steve turns away from his band of adopted heathens and takes the phone into his hand. "I'm gonna call her."

"And what? Tell her we were spying?" Dustin says.

Steve holds the cold plastic to his neck. "Were you?"

"Girls lie about their feelings, anyway. You're never gonna get a straight answer," Lucas says morosely. "Trust me."

He slams the phone down. "What am I supposed to do?"

They stand in a heavy silence. Steve can feel a headache clipping his heels, approaching fast, stress and a sharp worry for you. He really doesn't see why he can't call you and check in.

"Something nice?" Robin suggests, picking at her nails.

"Like what?" he asks. Though, as soon as he says it, he already has the beginnings of an idea. Whether its a good one or not is anyones guess.

Somebody knocks the door and all you can think is, oh god why me?

You're in a bad approximation of pajamas - your comfiest and yet your sloppiest, old and worn and unattractive. Fresh out of a stress-cry shower, you've only just managed to catch your breath.

It's like you told Steve, everything lately feels so lonely. You'd gone grocery shopping by yourself and had known without a doubt that you were moving unseen through the world. Something about deciding between TV dinners. Nobody knew where you were, what you were doing, or where you were going. The only people seeing you were the storegoers of Bradley's Big Buy and your disgruntled cashier. You doubt you'd made a good impression.

It was maybe a silly thing to feel overwhelmed by, but you felt it anyways. Sick with loneliness and then panic. A thousand what ifs had filled your head; you couldn't stop thinking, what if it's like this forever?

What if I feel this lonely forever?

You'd finished grocery shopping with a peculiar numbness weighing you down and then you'd gone home to cry in the garden, comforted and horrified by your flowers. They were pretty and you'd planted them and it didn't matter, you were still alone. A ladybug had crawled over the nearest planter and you'd watched it until you calmed down, knees crossed and elbows digging into your thighs, pins and needles in your hands.

Another insistent knock. You consider ignoring it and curling up into a ball. Something hooks you out of it. What if it's Steve?

If it's Steve, you're gonna feel very embarrassed about your appearance. You check your reflection in the sheen of a photo frame and sigh, rubbing your face with one hand as you open the door.

Steve stands a few feet away, leaning against the side of his car with a pair of shades slipping down his nose. He takes them off.

You're so happy to see him you forget your rumpled outfit.

"Hi," you say, half-shouting to cover the distance.

"Hey beautiful!" Steve shouts, properly, loud and unabashed.

The door digs into your tummy. You don't know what to say. His compliment flusters you from the get go.

"Hi," you say again, laughing under your breath.

"Hey."

"What are you doing here?"

"Somebody told me you weren't feeling well!"

You frown, thoughts racing, and suddenly summon the image of your nosey young neighbour. You take a step back instinctively and Steve must see it because his face goes stony.

"I'm sorry, I know you probably didn't want me to know. But- when I found out you were upset, I couldn't ignore that. You'll have to forgive me."

You try pushing the smile off your face with your hand and stand there scratching your top lip. "No. No, it's okay."

He raises his eyebrows and takes a few big steps towards your house. You step out onto the porch and he closes the space between you, holding his hands out. You take them and he envelopes you, warm hands pulling you along and up the path.

He walks backwards. "Don't let me crash into someone, okay?"

A memory. The two of you hand in hand, ground flashing under your skates.

"Okay," you say weakly.

He squeezes your hands and drops them, a foot from the car. "Stay," and he doesn't finish, turning away from you. He opens the passenger door, the door behind and then the trunk.

The smell is beautiful. A floral wave.

The sight is something else. A carpet of bunches, bell-shaped freesias and carnations, roses in darkest red, chrysanthemums, dahlias, tiny orchids and irises; gorgeous purple irises with white centred petals buffeted by frilly sweetpeas.

"They didn't want to give me the buckets but I told them I had a really pretty girl waiting for me, and if they suffocated in the heat then I was gonna drive right back and complain loudly." He stands by your side and nudges you. "Break out in tears."

"That's a lot of flowers," you mumble.

"Half the store. The other half's on standby."

"Standby?"

"I worried you might not have the space."

"I won't."

Your gaze flits over soft petals and light green stems, thorns and leaves and greenery, baby breath tucked in by plastic wrapping.

"Why did you do this?"

"You…" he laughs at himself. "Okay, so. The day you had heat stroke-"

"I didn't have heat stroke. I had heat exhaustion."

"Semantics. You were lying in the backyard. Just… sleeping. I was waiting for you to look up and see me, and I couldn't- I still can't get the image out of my head. You looked unreal."

You feel hot all over as he searches for words. He's smiling wide as he talks, like he can't believe how happy he is. It's infectious.

He shakes his head. "Anyway, I know you like flowers. Obviously. So."

"So you got me a florists?"

"Half."

You hug your torso. The idea that somebody would do this for you, that Steve would do this for you, is so alien you can't comprehend it.

"They're for me?" you whisper.

"For you. All of them."

You look at him, the flowers, him again, and start to laugh. You throw your hands up to your cheeks and giggle like a little kid.

"Why are you laughing?" he asks, an undeniable affection in his curiosity.

"Why would you do this for me?" you ask in a similar tone.

He purses his lips and shrugs. "You could've called me. I want you to know that."

You scrub your hot cheeks and shift from foot to foot. "I was being silly."

"It's not silly. It's not stupid. And even if it was, I still want you to call me. These are 'call me' flowers. Call me first."

You wrap your hand around the top of the door and lean in for a look at the sea of flowers. Pollen sticks sweet in your nose.

"Do you like them?"

The smallest hint of insecurity. You can't stop laughing, joy warping every word. "Yeah, I love them," you say over your shoulder, feeling as though you've become nothing but a vestibule of breathless wonder.

"I didn't know which one was your favourite."

All of them, you think. Not sure you could pick one, your eyes bump from bouquet to bouquet.

You try to blink them away but tears form quickly, lashes heavy with them as you stand up straight and wipe under your eyes with the back of your index finger.

"Thank you, Steve."

"You're welcome." Steve comes up behind you and takes your shoulder into his hand, thumb rubbing roughly over your shirt. "C'mon, don't cry. I got you all those flowers because I don't want you to cry, not to make it worse."

"They're really pretty," you say, strained, pushing the bottoms of your palms into your eyes to stop from sobbing. That would be dramatic, you argue with yourself, so dramatic, but this is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for you.

"Shit," he mutters.

You tense up as his hand moves across your back to grip your other shoulder and he hugs you to his chest, left hand stroking the length of your upper arm, encouraging your hands from your face.

"You're okay, baby," he says.

You sniffle as his right hand climbs your shoulder to cup your neck. He pulls your face to his mouth and presses a kiss into your temple, warm and tingling, firecrackers under the skin. You turn your face to look at him and he pulls back, his chin jutting down.

The shape of his lips lingers on your forehead, a burn. White hot.

Steve wipes the tear tracks from your face with the side of his hand.

"I know what'll cheer you up," he says.

You miss his touch as soon as he's gone. He leans over the passenger seat, the chair and its footwell both bursting with flowers, and turns on the radio. You watch him click to the cassette player. He turns the volume up high and then pulls out.

Slowly, the song builds into a zinging guitar.

"Oh my god."

"Have you seen her? So fine and so pretty," Steve sings with no hesitation. You're startled by his confidence.

"Fooled me with her style and ease," he continues, holding out his hand.

You take it, listening to him fight his way to the right pitch, his voice cracking.

"And I feel her from across the room-" He takes your second hand, gaze electric. "Yes, it's love in the third degree."

He tugs at your hand, nodding until you join in.

"Ooh, baby, baby," you sing weakly, searching for footing.

"Won't-cha turn your head my way?" he begs.

"Ooh, baby, baby," you both sing, Steve with more passion, pulling your arm one way and another in an awkward dance.

"Come on, take a chance, you're old enough to," and here's where you both go weak and high and enthused all at once, glad the stereo's up so high you can't really hear it when you both shout, "dance the night away!"

It's not quite night yet. You've a lot of dancing to do if you're gonna listen to Van Halen's instructions, the sun a half-disk of gold on the horizon, the sky raspberry pink bleeding up into darkening indigo.

Steve grins at your growing enthusiasm and twirls you around. You only allow him this, too afraid to step on his toes as you come to a stop.

He hums along and you clutch his hand. You covet the other where it's held to his chest, pushing your fingers through his. They fit together perfectly.

"Am I ever gonna get that tape back?" you ask.

"No," he says, laughing loudly. "No way. I love this song."

"I love this song too. That's why I bought the album."

"You said however long I wanted!"

"I didn't think you'd stick around this long," you confess.

"I did," he says. He leans down, stops. "Can I kiss you?"

You nod and beat him to it, hand at his collar as you step on your toes and press your mouth to his. You're both smiling, your eyes closed tight and your lips tight together until he pulls back, pulling his hand from your brushing grip to stroke the side of your face, rough in his rush.

When you come back together it's slower, your lips parted mid-giggle as he moves in. You sigh, a high-pitched and embarrassing sound from the back of your throat that's quickly swallowed by his ardency.

"Stop laughing at me," he admonishes playfully.

"I'm not! I'm not, I'm really happy," you defend yourself, setting back on your heels.

You've forgotten all about your pajamas and the icky feeling in your chest. With Steve's palms to your cheeks like this – like you're something worth being cradled in careful hands – you can't feel anything but happy.

"I don't have enough vases for your flowers," you apologise as he chases you down, dropping kisses over the corner of your mouth and the apple of your cheek.

"Good thing I begged for all those buckets," he says, brown eyes squinting with the force of his cherubic smile. His pert nose flares with a silent laugh.

"Good thing," you agree.

He holds you by the shoulders. "Good thing," he says again.

You descend into another round of laughter that leaves you panting for air, your head dropping into his chest. "A really good thing."

"I didn't go overboard, did I?" he asks, petting the nape of your neck.

"You did."

"Sorry, I-"

You wrap your arms around his waist and squeeze him as hard as you can. He groans lightly as he encircles your shoulders, the tip of his nose a butterfly's wing against your forehead, impossibly light and skipping, back and forth and back again.

"I'm gonna make you flower shortbread," you say eventually, soaking in his warmth, his closeness.

"Yeah?"

"I swear. And more penuche. What's your favourite? I'll make you whatever you want. What do you have a sweet tooth for?"

"Could I get another kiss?" he asks quietly.

You tilt your head back and wait. Steve isn't quite smiling though his eyes boast an emotion you're afraid to name, unbearably fond.

"Are you gonna kiss me again?" you ask into the gap.

"In a sec, just… let me look at you," he says, hand cupping your cheek.

You blink back a stinging wave of tears and smile, tracing over his features greedily.

"You're beautiful," he says.

It’s funny. You were thinking the same thing about him.

𓆩❤︎𓆪

thanks for reading!

#steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington x fem!reader #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4 #stranger things

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oncasette · 5 months

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𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐂. send in a character + a scenario for a blurb + 𝗨𝗠𝗕𝗥𝗘𝗟𝗟𝗔

annnddd another one just for fun lolzies. theseus + the prompt “that’s the sixth time you’ve complimented me today.”

"you smell good," you hum as you dig your face further into your fiancé's lap. his feet were propped up on the coffee table in front of the couch, one hand splayed wide to keep the small paperback open in front of his face while the other toyed with the lacy hem of your slip where it rested at the tops of your thighs. your nose edged along the waistband of his bottoms and the warm cotton he'd pulled out of the dryer barely a half hour ago.

"darling, are you feeling alright?" he asks as he tabs his book and drops it onto the other end of the couch beside your feet.

"fine, love. just happy," you say. "why?"

"well that's just the sixth time you've complimented me today," he chuckles. his hand smooths out over your skin and you can feel the heat seeping into your bones.

"i can't compliment my betrothed?"

"your betrothed, huh?" he asks as he taps on your hip to get you to sit up. his grip tightens as he helps to situate over his thighs so that you're straddling him.

"mhm," you buzz. "you can't take it back now, either. i've got a ring to prove it."

"is that right?" he leans forward until your noses are touching.

"that's right," you say. he pecks your lips once, twice, before he's kissing you fully. his head tilts and his tongue breaches the gap between your lips.

"mrs. scamander has a nice ring to it, don't you think?" he asks once he's pulled away. his fingers come up to brush back the hair that's fallen into your face. nodding, you press forward to reconnect your lips.

#theseus scamander #theseus scamander x reader #harry potter #fbawtft #harry potter imagine #fantastic beasts and where to find them #fantastic beasts and where to find them imagine #callum turner #callum turner x reader

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persevereforahappyending · 2 months

Text

Luck Runs Out |Part 5|

Pairing: Mabel x Reader

Summary: When your luck runs out you unknowingly drag Mabel back into the life, she's so desperate to escape.

Warnings: Light threatening

Word Count: 4k

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

“She remained loyal the entire time?!” Mabel said, flinging the door open to her apartment.

You jumped, quickly flinching at the movement. You were healing up nicely, at least you thought you were, but sudden movements still caused you some excruciating pain. Mabel had left for her class early in the morning and you were dozing off ever since then. You were bored out of your mind being stuck in someone else’s apartment, every little movement causing you pain, and there was nothing good on TV.

“What?” You asked when you finally settled back down. Mabel usually came in relatively quietly, besides when she threw her backpack on the dining table.

“Penelope!” She said like it was obvious, holding her arms out wide.

You furrowed your brow, what she was talking about still not fully clicking. Your eyes drifted to her hands, noticing she was holding a small beat-up paperback book in one. You couldn’t help but smile, breaking out into a laugh when you noticed the title said The Odyssey. She had mentioned wanting to read it so she could talk argue with you more, but you didn’t actually think she would. Most people didn’t find classics very interesting, even you had to admit they were a struggle to read a times. Though Mabel was unlike others, and she actually listened to your rambles, even entertained them, still you didn’t think she’d actually read the book.

“Yeah,” you said slowly. “You already knew that? You were literally just arguing with me about that the other day.”

“Yeah well,” Mabel huffed out, gripping the book in her hand a bit tighter. “There’s a difference between knowing the story and actually reading it for yourself. I didn’t realize how amazing Penelope was and how much Odysseus sucks!”

“You read it?” You couldn’t help but ask, completely ignoring the fact that she said your favorite hero sucked. Looking at her with disbelief, it was so small, it was literally just her reading a book you liked, but no one had ever done that for you before.

“Yeah, well…” Mabel got quieter, bringing one hand up to rub the back of her neck. She suddenly decided the floor was the most interesting thing in the room as she avoided looking at you. You tried to contain a smirk when you noticed the blush slowly beginning to form on her cheeks. “You said it was your favorite and figured you wouldn’t mind re-reading it while you were stuck here.”

You gave her a shy smile, reaching to take the book as she offered it to you. “Thank you.” You looked down at the copy, it was clearly a library book, one that had years of love showing. It kind of reminded you of the copy you used to keep on the boat, so many nights reading it.

You looked up at her, still seeing her avoid your gaze. She kicked at invisible rocks on the ground as she tried to hide a ghost of a smile. “You read it,” you couldn’t help but tease.

“Well, I had it,” she quickly defended, crossing her arms. “I had time between classes and needed something to do and it was there so…”

You nodded, silently chuckling to yourself, she could give you whatever excuse she wanted, it didn’t change the fact that she read it. “What did you think?” You decided to ask, you didn’t care if she didn’t like it, you were just happy someone actually read it and seemed willing to talk to you about it. Even if it meant them arguing with you about the book, you would happily go down defending Odysseus.

“It was fine,” Mabel shrugged. “I guess.” You laughed at her, shaking your head again. “But Penelope,” she got her fire back, pointing a finger at you. “She just waited for twenty years!”

“Well, yeah,” you said, giving her a little shrug. You didn’t know where she was going with this. It’s why it was your favorite love story, for twenty years Penelope waited, not knowing whether her husband was alive or dead, she waited for him. While Odysseus fought for those twenty years to get back to her, never letting anything stand in his way, never losing the love he felt for his wife.

“But Odysseus can just sleep with everyone!”

You nodded finally seeing what argument Mabel was intending to make, too bad for her she had only read the book once, whereas you had to read it dozens of times and knew it like the back of your hand. Her losing the debate was inevitable but you appreciated that she was even trying.

“He didn’t sleep with everyone,” was your first response.

“He slept with women who weren’t his wife.”

“We’ve been over this; it was to survive or because he didn’t have a choice.” Mabel huffed, crossing her arms as she began to pout.

“Penelope has a ton of suitors,” Mabel mumbled. “Living in her house, eating her food, she never once strayed.

You gave Mabel a deadpanned look. “They planned to kill her son.”

“And yet she still held out hope for Odysseus.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at her pouting like a child. “So, you think it would have been better if she what, slept with Antinous?”

Mabel mumbled something incoherently, but you could wager a guess as to what it was. “I’m sorry?” You said in a teasing tone knowing you already won.

“No,” she grumbled louder.

You saw she was still pouting. You sighed and gave a dramatic eye roll; this girl was so adorable. You really wished you had met her under better circumstances, maybe if you hadn’t made poor choices in your life, you could have been someone she deserved. Oh well you never had much luck in that department.

“Come on,” you sighed, “Odysseus isn’t that bad. Isn’t his life like a dream?” You looked up with a smile as you daydreamed about having a life like his.

“What? Traveling the world and having a lady in every port, while one waits for you at home?” Mabel snarked. “That’s your dream?” She raised an eyebrow, as if daring you to agree with her,

“No,” you chuckled. “I mean being out at sea, traveling all over the world, having an adventure, but always coming back home to your love, your soulmate.”

You were staring off into space as you thought of that life. It truly was just a dream for you, you knew you’d never actually get to experience it. Even without your current predicament your job would have never allowed you the freedom to travel like that. Even if you could just pick up and leave, travel all over the world like you wished, you’d never met a girl who shared the same dream, and you doubted you ever would. So, your dream would stay just that, a dream.

“That sounds nice,” Mabel said. When you looked back at her she was giving you a small smile. “So, what is your dream?” She took a seat at the edge of the bed. You could feel her arm resting up against you through the blanket as she leaned back for support. “If you didn’t have to worry about anything, if you could do whatever you wanted, what’s your dream?”

You smiled to yourself thinking about your dream, the dream you had since you were a child. “I want to travel,” you said, smiling as you thought of all the amazing places you had only seen in pictures. “I want to buy myself a little sailboat and just,” you made a gesture with your arm, “sail around the world.”

“Like Odysseus,” she whispered. “Go to war, fight off monsters, and come home to a wife as well?” She chuckled.

You laughed along with her. “Well, I can do without the war.” That made her laugh deepen. “And I would prefer not to almost die at every turn but also…” you nodded your head back and forth as you thought about it. “I wouldn’t complain about seeing kraken.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she said through her laughter. “And while you’re off having an adventure you want a girl waiting for you to come home?”

You couldn’t help but blush at just the thought of that. “Preferably she’d come with,” you flicked your eyes up, meeting her gaze. “Not sure how many girls are looking to live on a boat for weeks at a time as we’d sail around the world though.”

Mabel tilted her head as she stared at you, your face was starting to get hot under her unwavering gaze. You weren’t sure what she was looking at, what she was seeing in you.

“I don’t know,” she finally whispered. “Sounds pretty amazing to me. Like a real adventure.”

You couldn’t help but smile at her words. Many people loved to travel; many people loved to visit other places. There weren’t many that wanted to spend the time sailing to those places though, it was dangerous, it was a commitment, and a lot of work. Most people wanted to hop on a plane and stay in hotels, not be stuck sleeping on a boat for weeks, only able to pack what was absolutely necessary.

“Do you have a boat or one in mind?” Mabel asked.

You chuckled, thinking about the hours upon hours several nights a week you’d spend looking at listing of sailing yachts, looking at the things that were perfect for sailing around the world. “No, no boat yet,” you sighed. “Despite my… side job.” Mabel raised an unimpressed eyebrow at you but didn’t comment. “A boat for sailing around the world is a lot. I have some saved up, so hopefully one day.”

“Definitely one day.” You looked at her, she sounded more confident than you ever did in you reaching your dream. “You already have money saved up. That’s amazing! What would be your first destination? Or the destination you must want to go to?”

You let out a laugh, you knew exactly the first place you wanted to go to. It was a place you had wanted to visit your entire life. You wanted to travel the world, see, and experience everything but this place was your number one choice every time. “Greece.”

It was Mabel’s turn to laugh, shaking her head. “Of course.” Your eyes didn’t leave Mabel as she leaned back, her hand brushing across your leg once again as she relaxed even more. “Sounds like you have it all planned out, you know where you want to go, you’re looking at boats, and you’re already saving money.”

“Just missing the girl,” you said with a light chuckle. You knew there was no way you’d ever find anyone to make that trip with you, you’d have to settle for going at it alone, if you lived long enough to even make your dream a reality.

“Yeah,” Mabel whispered.

The two of you got lost staring into each other’s eyes. Your eyes darted to her lips; you were hoping she didn’t notice but when you met her eyes again it seemed as though she might have been looking at yours as well. Despite everything in you telling you it was a bad idea you sat up, you waited for her to move away but she never did. You slowly slid your hand across the blanket to the point it was resting next to hers, your fingers barely touching hers. You looked down at her lips one last time, quickly flicking your gaze back to her eyes. The two of you seemed to begin to lean in at the same time, your eyes just began to close.

All of a sudden someone flung the front door open, breaking the two of you out of your trance. You shot back on the bed, the quick movement making you hiss and reach for your injured shoulder. Mabel jumped up from the bed, crossing her arms, as if what was about to happen wasn’t about to happen. She was glaring at whoever decided to barge into her apartment uninvited.

When you recovered enough you looked at the uninvited guest to see Charlie, one of the guys from the Finestkind crew. You looked between him and Mabel, realizing he was her ex on the crew. No one said anything, they just stared at each other, and you couldn’t help the way your eyes darted back and forth between them. It was obvious that Charlie was still in love with her, and Mabel seemed to still at least care for him as well. You sighed, they’d probably get back together eventually, it was good you didn’t kiss, she was better off without you.

You cleared your throat to interrupt their little staring contest, it had begun to get awkward. Mabel broke first, shaking her head as she moved from looking at Charlie to looking at you. When she looked back at Charlie it was to glare at him. “What the hell are you doing here?” she asked, clearly annoyed.

“You’re awake,” Charlie said, ignoring Mabel and looking at you. “Are you okay?” Charlie was always so nice despite your crew’s little rivalry with his, he was a good guy, it was annoying, you couldn’t hate him when he was so nice.

“Yeah,” you said, clearing your throat. “Thank you for saving me.”

“No problem,” he smiled.

He shrugged it off like it was nothing, like saving your life was an obvious choice. You owed him everything, him, and his crew. They could have left you in the water for dead, they should have, but they didn’t. They fished you out, brought you to a friend to get patched up, and they were also holding drugs you were involved with on their own boat. Their lives were at risk the moment they brought you onboard, you wondered if they had known at the time if they would have just left you in the sea. They weren’t part of your world, there was an incident a year ago but it was resolved, and they hadn’t been involved ever since. They were much better people than you ever were.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Mabel asked again, getting more irritated at clearly being ignored. “You can’t just barge in here whenever you want.”

“Sorry,” Charlie mumbled. “We just got in,” he scratched the back of his head. “I know we left you in a situation,” he glanced at you. He almost looked apologetic at calling you a situation, not that you were offended. Being called a situation was nice, it was almost a compliment considering you thought of yourself as an inconvenience and a burden to Mabel. “So, I wanted to check in, make sure everything’s okay?”

“We’re fine,” Mabel rolled her eyes.

“Not to interrupt,” you said, hesitant to insert yourself into the conversation. “But do you still have the drugs?”

Charlie looked at you nervously before nodding. “They’re back on the boat.”

“You need to get rid of them. I appreciate you saving my life, but you really shouldn’t have.” Charlie furrowed his brow at your words. “The people I work with, they will kill you if they get word of you having the drugs or having found me alive.”

Charlie’s face paled, his mouth hanging open as he turned to Mabel for confirmation. “You just got back,” she sighed. “You probably haven’t seen the news or heard yet.”

“Heard what?” he asked hesitantly.

“The Scylla blew up a few days ago,” Mabel said with a humorless chuckle. “There were no survivors. At least that’s what the news is saying.”

Charlie looked at you with wide eyes, recognizing the name of your crews ship. “They went back without the shipment,” you said with a shrug. “And now my whole crew is dead. The guys we worked for don’t play when it comes to missing drugs. You need to get rid of them.”

Charlie nodded quickly, already backing up towards the door. “Okay, how? What-what should we do? Where-”

Charlie was cut off by a light knocking on the still open front door. Everyone tensed at the newcomer. You all turned to the door, Mabel went rigid, she put on a blank face as she stared at the older gentleman entering her apartment. Charlie also crossed his arms, puffing out his chest to make himself seem as big as possible as he stepped between the man and Mabel, cutting off the man’s line of sight to her. You looked at them, hoping someone would give away who this mysterious new guy was.

“So, defensive,” the man said, not taking Charlie as a threat seriously. “Mind calling your guard dog off?” he looked around Charlie at Mabel.

“What are you doing here?” Mabel asked, her voice cold. You had heard her annoyed and clearly unhappy at you for being in her apartment when you first woke up and you’d only known her about a week, but you never heard her so emotionless before.

“I came to check on my patient,” he said with a smile. He stepped around Charlie to get a good look at you. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” you said slowly, watching the man, your brow scrunched up. It seemed this man was the doctor Mabel had called to help patch you up when you were unconscious.

You remembered her saying he was in a similar line of business; you vaguely recognized him but had never done business with him before. He probably only worked with a few dealers and probably only operated with the higher-end products and clients. Despite the fact that she called the guy to help you, it was clear that she was not a fan of this man.

The doctor came over, lifting your bandage without asking permission. You tensed at the man’s cold fingers on your skin as he looked down at the wound. The man might have supposably been a doctor, but you didn’t like anyone besides Mabel touching your bandages and poking around your wound. “It’s healing up nicely.” He replaced the bandage then turned back to Mabel, tossing her a little bottle. “Refill of pain meds.” He moved towards the door, leaning close to Mabel to whisper in her ear. “Don’t worry, I already added them to your tab.” He smirked before making his way out the door.

You watched as Mabel stormed across her apartment, before she could slam the door in the doctor’s face, he placed his foot, stopping the door. He leaned back into the apartment, getting close to her face. “If you can’t afford it,” he said lowly. “There are other ways.” His hand slid down the door until his fingers brushed over Mabels.

Mabel quickly recoiled from his touch, stepping back into her apartment, getting as far away from the man as possible. Charlie was quick to fill the gap, crossing the apartment in only a few strides. He flung the door open wider, standing tall as he stared down at the doctor. The doctor held up his arms and backed away. Charlie slammed the door shut, making sure to lock it so they didn’t get any more uninvited guests.

The doctor had been speaking quietly but you had been close enough to hear him. Mabel owed the man, and it seemed like she owed him a lot. Based on the way he spoke to her after giving her the pain meds for you, you couldn’t help but think that whatever price she owned this guy was because of you. Mabel hadn’t said anything to you, but you couldn’t be surprised, this doctor didn’t seem like he did anything out of the kindness of his heart, so you doubted he’d save your life for free. You hated the idea of Mabel being indebted to that man because of you. It was your life that he saved, you deserved to pay the price, not Mabel who just got stuck dealing with you and your problems.

“Who was that?” you asked hesitantly.

“Nobody,” Mabel said. She stormed across the apartment, entering and then slamming the door to the bathroom.

“What was that about?” you looked at Charlie.

“Oh, you know Mabel,” he said, waving off Mabels reaction. “She just-”

“Not her,” you were quick to correct him. “That guy,” you nodded to the now closed front door. “I already have my suspicions, so please, don’t lie to me.”

Charlie sighed, running a hand across his buzz cut. He looked at the bathroom door, making sure Mabel wasn’t about to come back out before looking back down at you giving you a reluctant nod. “He’s the doctor Mabel called, after we brought you here,” Charlie admitted, confirming your first suspicion. “He told her she would owe him for saving your life,” he confirmed your second suspicion.

“Do you know how much?”

Charlie shook his head. “I’m guessing a lot. The guy’s a total dick,” he mumbled.

Before you could say anything else the bathroom door swung back open. Mabel now had a jacket on, and a bag slung over her shoulder. “Let’s go,” she said shoving Charlie in the shoulder as she made her way to the door.

“Where?” he asked, turning to trail after her, despite not knowing where they were going.

“To get the drugs.” She already had her hand on the doorknob.

“Wait!” you said. “You’re going with him? It’s too dangerous.” You didn’t want Charlie and his crew to be in danger either but Mabel going with him to the boat was adding an unnecessary level of danger.

“I know how to get rid of the drugs discreetly,” Mabel said. When she turned to look at you, she once again had that soft look in her eyes, but it was clear she was still annoyed from the interaction with the doctor.

“I’ll go.” You knew that was an even worse idea, but you didn’t want Mabel risking any more than she already had.

“No,” she said softly. She moved away from the door but not close enough to be at your bedside again. “I’ve done similar stuff before, trust me.”

“I don’t like this.” You shook your head. “The docks will be crawling with the bosses’ men, looking for any hint of their drugs.”

“This is the only way,” Mabel sighed. “Or we could just leave the drugs on the boat until they set out again.” You clenched your jaw knowing she was right. You would love to wait for them to set out again, but you had to wait until they had a job otherwise it would be suspicious. You couldn’t wait though because the longer the drugs sat on their boat the more there was a chance of them getting discovered. “We’ll be quick, I promise.”

“Okay,” you nodded reluctantly. “Be safe.” Mabel nodded with a smile before turning and walking out the front door. “Charlie!” you called, stopping him before he could close the door. “Keep an eye out, they will be there.” He gave you a grateful smile before closing the door.

You let your head flop back onto the bed, all your anxieties from the situation taking over your mind. You trusted Mabel, you trusted she knew what she was doing. You also knew what kind of men you worked for, what they were willing to do, to not only get their product back but to get information on where the product might be. You dropped hundreds of thousands of dollars into the ocean, they weren’t going to just let that go, chalk it up as a loss and try again. So, you laid there, staring up at the ceiling, not able to focus on anything until they got back.

You even tried picking up the copy of The Odyssey that Mabel had brought you. Usually, the book brought you nothing but comfort, whenever you opened it, you would forget about the world and all your problems. Not this time though because this time you were the one stuck home while Mabel was the one going out to fight the monsters.

#mabel finestkind #mabel (finestkind)#mabel x reader #mabel x fem!reader #mabel x you #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #finestkind 2023 #luck runs out

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hollybell51 · 1 year

Text

Last night on Earth

^don't mind me going absolutely feral over this gif

Navigation

Cas x AFAB!fem!Reader

Supernatural (2005), s05e03 "free to be you and me"

Word count: 6.4K

Summary: following the hooker failure, you feel that sitting alone in a shitty abandoned house is not the best way to spend one's last night on Earth. Cas seems to agree with you.

Content: smut! Yay! First kisses, first time, making out, handjobs, hickeys, penetrative sex, safe sex (yay!), cowgirl, mutual masturbation, fingering, gags? if you squint? maybe? like a hand over the mouth. Discussions of sex work and sex workers (I'm not commenting on anything, it's just there as dialogue due to the nature of the episode, and all dialogue/internal monologue regarding the topic is purely for the furtherment of the plot). Talking during sex, Cas is loud. Sex on a couch, spooning, almost-love-confessions ("like-confessions"). Very light comment on body image, some very vague descriptions of scars (reader is a hunter). Cas is just Cas and I love him for it. He's also a virgin. Dean's probably a warning but I adore him.

Notes: Heyyyy how's it going? One day into my holidays and I churn out this bad boy. Couldn't get the idea out of my head, and hey, I'm a sucker for virgin angels. This show is rapidly taking over my whole life lmao.

It's also been a while so I just thought I'd remind people of the taglist form, and the existence of my AO3 (if you wanna read my stuff there for whatever reason). Anyways enjoy, stay safe out there xx

“That was quick,” you called as the door creaked open, Dean’s low chuckle echoing through the hallway. You closed the book you’d been reading – a shitty paperback you’d picked out of a bargain bin – and watched as the other hunter dropped his jacket onto a rusted dining chair. You’d expected them to be gone for a few hours, hence your foray into the realms of “downtime”, but it had barely been one since they’d left, Dean throwing an obscenely enthusiastic wink your way as he shoved an apprehensive looking Cas out to enjoy his last night on Earth.

“We had to wrap it up pretty fast.” Dean glanced over his shoulder at Cas, laughter still clinging to his face. You hadn’t seen him look that happy in ages, not for this long. Well, that was something at least.

You’d had your doubts about the whole idea from the moment Dean had mentioned it. Sure, sex was sex. It was something that could be pretty darn nice and that you were glad for in your life, but you weren’t sure if Dean fully grasped that it was never the same with a hooker. It would never feel as good, it would never be meaningful, it would be a service purchased from a provider. A business transaction. That wasn’t any way to experience it for the first time, in your opinion.

“Good time not a long time, then?” you asked mildly.

“Would you say that, Cas?”

The angel stiffened, hands shoved into the pockets of his trench coat.

You wrinkled your nose, suddenly wondering if you should feel bad. “Bad time?”

Dean snorted. “I’m turning in. You tell (Y/N) about it, she’ll give you a pat on the back and tell you it’s alright. And don’t look so… grief stricken.”

“G’night,” you waved to his retreating back, then turned back to Cas. “Really bad time?”

He really did look grief stricken, standing stock still in the dimness. Even his hair looked droopier than usual, and you almost got out of your seat just to push it off his face. You settled for putting your book down and leaning forward.

“She ran away,” he said after a moment. “I think I scared her.”

“Geez,” you frowned. “How’d you scare a hooker?”

He shrugged. “I told her it wasn’t her fault that her father Gene ran off.” Then, as if it explained everything; “He hated his job at the post office.”

You laughed, but stopped quickly. “Oh, Cas. You know the whole–”

“The whole industry is run on absent fathers, I know.” He sighed. “Dean found it hilarious.”

This time, you did get up, crossing the room to pat his shoulder. You knew Dean wouldn’t have meant anything by it, wouldn’t have been laughing at Cas. Still, a pang of what was almost pity shot through you. It wasn’t about the sex, not really, as much as Dean played that aspect up. It was more all the coulds that never would. Cas wasn’t human, as much as he could pass it off (mostly), but there were so many things that he wasn’t going to get to try now. You just didn’t understand how he could so casually volunteer to die at the drop of a hat. It was either incredibly selfless, or incredibly selfish. Or maybe just stupid.

But no, Cas wasn’t stupid. He was razor sharp, a soldier of God, even if you poked fun at him when he didn’t understand your and Dean’s pop-culture reference infused slang. It had only been the last time you’d seen him that you’d vowed to make him sit through all the Star Wars movies, something you hadn’t realised until afterwards had sounded a lot like a “movie and chill” proposal. Luckily, he wouldn’t have picked up on that. Just like he wouldn’t have picked up – like Dean had – the moments where you caught yourself watching him, or the smiles that were just too damned determined to break out on your face when he showed up – either in the real world or in your mind. And thank the heavens nobody but you noticed the tiny flurries of butterflies in your stomach you’d noticed increasingly often when he was around, the surges of warmth that would sneak up and rush over you unexpectedly when you thought of him, the tingles that flooded your skin when he stood that little bit too close to you.

Which, when you thought about it, was maybe contributing to the ounce of vindication you were feeling regarding the hooker failure. It wasn’t all the “I told you so” type of satisfaction, anyway, and you weren’t too proud to admit when you liked someone.

“Don’t worry about it,” you assured him now, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“You’re giving me a pat on the back and telling me it’s alright,” he sighed, almost mournfully. “Dean said–”

You reached up, pressing a finger to his lips and shaking your head. “You wanna know something?”

He nodded, brows furrowed. He hadn’t drawn back, you noticed.

“It doesn’t matter how much sex Dean has,” you whispered, hand still floating close by his face. “I wouldn’t take a damn letter of his advice in that department.”

“Why not?” His breath tickled your skin, and suddenly you realised just how close you were standing.

You shrugged, dispelling the shiver that had run up your spine. “I just know if a dude came onto me how he comes onto chicks, I’d kick him in the balls.”

“I’ll make a point to not come onto you like he does, in that case.”

It took a moment – past the words “like he does”, not that he wouldn’t come onto you full stop, but like Dean does – for the fact that it was a joke to sink in, then you smiled. Maybe there was, or had been, hope for him yet. You took a breath, turning the words over in your mind. It was now or never, you supposed.

“I want you to know,” you said carefully, “if you die–”

“When. Tomorrow, when I die.”

“Uh, yeah.” You swallowed. How could he be so matter of fact about it? How could he just say it like that? It didn’t matter, you supposed. Whether he said it or didn’t, it wasn’t going to change the fact that it was happening.

“When I die…” he prompted when you were silent.

“I want you to know that I liked you,” you said simply, then shrugged. “I think I was on the way to really liking you.”

He frowned, and for a moment you thought you’d made a massive mistake. “You don’t have to do that,” he said. “I don’t mind. I know I’m… a dick.”

“Jesus, Cas,” you snorted. “Guess we say that a bit too much, don’t we?”

“Maybe.”

“And we don’t say ‘thank you’ enough.”

He shook his head, still holding your hand. “You don’t have to do this,” he repeated.

“It’s not about that. Not all of it, anyway.” You smiled, glancing at your hand where it met his. It looked big, wrapped around your fingers, and it fitted painfully well. “But, you know, if it’s your last night on Earth…” You looked up, wiggling your eyebrows. You could play it off as a joke if you needed to, you weren’t too far in yet.

That familiar almost-smile you’d come to look for danced over his lips. “You pity me, dying a virgin? Dying,” he added. “A virgin.”

You laughed. “I don’t… pity you. Not exactly. Not because you’re gonna die a virgin, and definitely not because you’re a virgin.”

“Because I scared away a prostitute?”

“Her loss,” you laughed. “And anyway, if it’s your first and last time, it’d be nice to… y’know… feel good.”

He frowned. “Surely a prostitute would know how to do that?”

“Maybe the technicalities,” you shrugged, “but there’s more to it than that. There’s feelings, y’know?”

“Feelings?”

Again, you shrugged, suddenly self conscious. What were you doing? “Two way street kind of thing,” you explained lamely. “Not just someone you want, but someone who wants you. Not just your money.” You were acutely aware of the unspoken words floating beneath the casual sentence. I want you. It could be me.

A pause, where his eyes seemed to bore into your soul. He had a knack for that, you’d noticed. Sometimes you felt like he could see right to the very core of your being. In the dimness, they looked even more startlingly blue than usual. He was so close, you could almost count his eyelashes, almost feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath the coat, jacket, shirt, tie…

“When it’s…” He paused, his tongue darting over his lips. God, his lips. “Someone you want.”

“Mhm.”

“Someone who wants you.”

“Mhm.”

“Not just your money.”

You hadn’t taken your eyes off his mouth through the whole exchange, and your voice, when you asked, sounded softer than you’d meant it to, breathy and faint to your own ears. “Do you want me, Cas? Last night on Earth, and all.”

The corner of his mouth curled up, brows twitching into a thoughtful frown. No, you thought, not quite a frown. Something else, more curious than confused. Almost quizzical. “I think…” He paused, drawing breath. “I think I do.”

“Ok,” you smiled, ignoring the butterfly rampage taking place in your stomach. This kind of thing wasn’t supposed to happen in real life. Not your life, anyway, even if it was Cas’s last night on Earth. It didn’t exist outside the pages of those shitty paperbacks.

“Do you want me?” Cas asked.

“Mhm.” It was all you could manage, really. Then you were stretching up the last few inches between your face and his, pressing your lips gently against his own.

He was perfectly still for a heartbeat, two heartbeats, almost three. Then his hand tightened around yours and he pulled you closer, trench coat rustling where your chest met it. He kissed you the way you remembered the first boy who’d ever kissed you – a boy in your year level at school, at a party, playing spin the bottle no less – had kissed you. The want was all there, the enthusiasm and anticipation and the only half-conscious desire for more. His lips remained shut, but you could feel in it that he knew it wasn’t quite right.

You pulled away briefly, just enough to raise a hand to his mouth and run your thumb over his bottom lip. “Like this,” you murmured, pushing just enough to part his lips. Then your hands were in his hair and you were pulling him down to you, and this time it was perfect.

He made a little sound of pleasure as your tongue slipped beside his, stroking, caressing, gently as you could. Without any guidance, his hand had found the cloth-shielded contours of your breast, tracing the outline with a sort of awe. His fingers ran along the neckline of your top, dipping under the material, curving around your bare shoulder, exploratory and cautious.

You let him explore you, his hands mapping out every curve he could touch, tongue darting into every uncharted depth he could find, tasting and learning and discovering parts of you you hadn’t guessed could be felt like this through just a kiss. Your mind spiralled as his hand eased under your shirt, cool fingers tickling the skin of your hip. He squeezed gently, pulling you against him harder, and you gave in completely. You weren’t sure if it was what he had been going for, but when you pushed your pelvis against his he gasped; a quiet, shuddering little sound that went straight to your panties.

“Ok?” you breathed between kisses, then, at his nod, you did it again.

His voice was strangled when he said your name, the pads of his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your waist. Oh Cas, you thought. A rush of affection washed over you at how eager he was, where just an hour before he’d been being literally pushed out the door by Dean, looking as terrified as you’d ever seen him at the prospect of sex. Now he was kissing you hungrily, kneading at your skin, inching your shirt up off your torso, his feet at risk of tangling with yours as he walked you backwards. Not to mention the increasingly noticeable bulge pressed against you.

“Clothes off,” you breathed, already undoing his tie. “On the couch.”

He paused, then he was shrugging off the trench coat, the blazer following suit – no pun intended – and landing with a soft rustling thump on the floor. You stepped back, just a little, as he deftly unfastened the buttons of his shirt, drinking in every inch of skin like a kid in a lolly shop. Fuck, maybe you had the hots for him even worse than you’d thought.

“Are you going to undress too?” The question was mild, matter of fact, but something in the way Cas had paused midway through relieving himself of his pants and was watching you, hands still on the belt buckle, made you stomach flip.

You cleared your throat, but your voice still came out too low, too husky. “Sure.”

His gaze didn’t leave you for an instant – apart from when he kicked his discarded trousers aside – as you pulled your shirt the rest of the way over your head, slid your jeans as gracefully as you could down your legs. You shivered slightly in the cool night air, acutely aware of your hunter’s body.

Cas’s eyes widened, scanning over you and taking in every inch of your skin. It wasn’t perfect, you were aware of that. It wasn’t like a hooker’s body, it carried you around as you fought monsters, and was littered with the proof of said monster fights. You wondered if Cas had seen other – normal – human bodies like this, if he’d find the painfully obvious reminders of your mortality somehow repellent. You suddenly felt very, very small and very, very human.

“Sorry about… y’know…” You shrugged, patting your thigh awkwardly. “The meatsack’s a little dinged up. Most people don’t look like this.”

“Don’t look like what?” he frowned, finally looking back at your face.

You shrugged again, poking a long white scar over your side. The first werewolf you’d ever come face to face with, and nearly the last. “Scarred. At least not as much as I am,” you added.

A shiver shot up your spine as Cas settled his hands on your bare waist, fingers running over the most noticeable marks. “Don’t apologise,” he said softly. “You’re human, and you spend your days killing monsters. It would be more disturbing if you were unblemished.”

You laughed at that, a small breathy sound. “You think I’m disturbing?”

He smiled faintly. “You’re not so bad.”

You felt your own mouth curve, matching his. “Neither are you.”

He leaned down, his lips meeting yours once more. This kiss was softer, more intimate, maybe a little too intimate. You were vaguely aware of the couch behind you. Before your knees knocked against its side, you broke away – a difficult task, given that Cas chased your lips like a lab rat after cheese – and spun, laying your hands firmly on his chest.

“Couch,” you muttered, giving a gentle push.

He pulled you with him as he sat down, his hands running down over your hips, your thighs, back up again to your waist. He watched you carefully as his touch slid up the centre of your torso, over your bra, lingering momentarily on the anti-possession sigil tattooed over your heart before he moved on, across the line of your ribs. Unbidden, the memory of the last time he’d touched you there sprang to mind; the sharp, burning pain and throbbing after-ache of the Enochian sigils being literally carved into your bones.

“I can see them,” he whispered, as if he’d read your mind. “The sigils.”

You raised an eyebrow. “How do they look?”

“Foreign,” he said after a moment. “They don’t belong.”

You shrugged, unsure how to respond to that. Sure, the sigils weren’t part of you, and you didn’t exactly know how you felt about angel writing being carved into your ribcage, but there was also something reassuring about knowing it was there, knowing you carried that kind of magic with you. In you.

Cas’s eyes lifted from your body, fixing on your own. “Can you feel them?” he inquired.

You shook your head. “Not really. Not physically. But I know they’re there.”

“Perhaps I should have asked,” he muttered, almost to himself. “It’s your body, after all.”

“No,” you smiled. “Don’t worry about it. I kinda like the idea of you scribbling on me. Bone graffiti.”

“Bone graffiti?”

You felt the smile grow, nodding. “Besides,” you added, “I’ll always have a little bit of you, even after you're gone. Like a… souvenir.”

“Oh,” was all he said. You supposed people were right about impending death making people sappier. But still, what you said was true. Your own ribs had become a kind of lucky charm, a talisman, a locket of sorts.

You dragged yourself out of that line of thinking before you went any further, turning your attention back to the angel currently underneath you on the couch. Underneath you and very shirtless. You’d placed your own hands on his chest in an attempt to not fall over on top of him, and now you let yourself touch him – really touch him. His chest heaved under your fingers as you swept over him, a tiny, strangled noise falling from his lips.

“Alright?” you asked, pausing for a moment.

He nodded, shifting slightly under you. “It’s good,” he said softly.

“Keep going?”

Again, a nod. Cautiously, gently, you spread your fingers over his chest. His heart beat fast, thudding frantically as you moved your other hand lower, down the centre of his torso, following the contours of his lithe muscles. You reached the waistband of his underpants, pausing.

“Can I?” you asked, your hand hovering over his barely concealed erection.

“Yes,” he whispered, tongue darting over his lips. His eyes flicked from your face to your hand, back to your face again.

You smiled as you slipped your fingers under the waistband of his underwear. His dick was hot to the touch, hard and already damp at the tip. “You ever touched yourself?” you asked as you withdrew your hand, spitting into your palm.

Cas’s breath hitched. “Once.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded, licking his lips again. “Dean said I wasn’t supposed to talk about it.”

“Yeah, well…” You smiled again, wrapping your fingers around his cock and stroking languidly. “You can tell me.”

He gave a sort of half gasp, half moan, his grip tightening on your thigh. “I found Dean’s magazine,” he confessed. “The one with the women, not the cars.”

“Mhm?” You kept your voice mild, focussing on the steady motion of your arm and wrist, your fingers sliding effortlessly over him. You could almost see Cas flipping through the pages of one of those god-awful porn mags Dean insisted on carting around, picture his confused little head-tilt and his frown as he looked through the pictures, his hand creeping to where yours was now, his much larger fingers circling–

“It was uncomfortable,” he continued, jerking you back to the present. “Too hot. I really just wanted it to go away.”

“And did it?”

“Not until I– oh!” He broke off as your thumb slid over the leaking head of his cock, fingers digging into your thigh.

You fought off the surge of heat the sound sent shooting through you, watching his slightly parted lips, his wide eyes. “Did you cum?” you asked evenly.

“Yes,” he panted, hips twitching up slightly. “Oh, (Y/N), yes–”

“Yes, you did cum?”

“Yes, yes I did.”

“Was it good?”

Another soft moan, then he smiled. “Not as good as this.”

Maybe it was the praise, maybe the moan, maybe the smile. Either way, the words went straight to your panties. You ignored it, stopping yourself from grinding against him with willpower that would have impressed Jesus. Although, you weren’t sure how he would have felt about you fucking a literal angel.

You leant forward, kissing his lips gently, then his jaw, then his neck, then his chest. You kept going, tracing a path inexorably downwards, shuffling backwards to straddle his thigh as he shifted with you, now splayed along the couch lengthways.

“Help me out,” you muttered, your hand moving beside your face as you attempted to pull his underwear off. Obediently, he lifted his hips and kicked them aside, the muscles of his stomach twitching as you placed a kiss on the junction of his hip. And holy shit, you could have just watched his torso moving like that forever. You kissed his hip again, sucking gently at the spot, licking over the mark you conjured. Then you added another beside it, and another, and another. A little belt of hickeys across his pelvis.

“Do you, hm, touch yourself too?” he asked, breathless and raw.

“Fuck, Cas.” You paused where you’d been about to kiss the base of his cock, raising your eyes to his. His chest rose and fell, rose and fell again, the skin almost glowing in the dim light.

He frowned. “Am I not supposed to ask that?”

“You can ask me anything you want,” you assured him, kissing the little trail of hair below his belly button. “And yeah, I do.”

“Does it feel good?”

You smiled. “Yeah.”

“Do you…” He paused, searching for the words. “Do you want to do it now?”

“This is about you,” you said softly, giving his cock a gentle squeeze. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I want you to feel good too.”

You sat up, studying him. There was nothing by sincerity in his eyes, the genuine desire – and desire there was – for you to enjoy yourself. And why shouldn’t you indulge that? You were having a great time as it was, and there was no denying the throbbing ache that had grown exponentially between your legs.

“You want me to touch myself?” you asked, double checking.

He nodded. “Yes, please.”

“Ok.” You shed your own underpants, shivering as the cool air came in contact with your wetness. Slowly, you reached down and ran your finger over your clit, your breath hitching in your chest. You repeated the action, your hand moving further down to circle your entrance, slick gathering on your fingers. You’d done this countless times before, and you weren’t ashamed of it. Masturbation was natural, it was a perfectly normal perfectly human thing to do. This, however was different. You’d never had an audience before, never had anyone watch you with such rapt wonder and awe.

Cas’s eyes flicked down to your bra, then back to your face. A question, almost a request.

“Off?” you asked, already reaching behind your back. He nodded, watching carefully as you shed the garment and cast it aside to join the pile of clothes on the floor. Slowly, reverently, he stretched up and kissed your breast, his hand leaving its place on your hip to trace over the other one.

A shiver ran down your spine and you bit down on your lip, attempting futilely to stifle your moan. Absently, your hand resumed its place between your thighs as Cas’s hand left your chest and found its way to his cock. You’d never in a million years have thought you’d be where you were now; touching yourself on top of an angel touching himself while he did his best to turn your chest into one giant hickey. You were hardly complaining.

Something rustled in the next room over, and you both froze. Fuck, you thought. Dean was still (hopefully) asleep, only the wall and the hastily closed door to that room barring him from hearing you. Cas seemed to have had exactly the same thought, his head tilted slightly as he listened, his breath raising goosebumps on the spit-damp skin of your chest. There was another rustle, then a quiet snort, then nothing. He hadn’t woken, then.

“We gotta be quiet,” you whispered. You shifted, biting back another moan. “Ok?”

“Ok,” Cas nodded. He pressed his lips firmly together, eyes flicking down to where your hand disappeared between your legs. You hissed as you resumed your movement, acutely aware of every possible sound you or Cas made, ears pricked for any other disturbance from nextdoor.

Cas’s free hand was still resting on your thigh, firmly holding you in place on top of himself. His wrist brushed your own with every stroke of his cock, the skin over his stomach and chest twitching ever so slightly. His own thigh tensed as he thrust into his hand, something that you could only describe as a whimper falling from his lips. Heat surged over you, your mind awash with desire. If only that hooker knew what she was missing.

“Sorry,” he muttered almost immediately, eyes darting towards the door.

“‘Salright,” you replied, swallowing hard. Being quiet was a much more difficult task than you’d anticipated, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy the possibility of being caught just a little bit. You grunted softly as your finger brushed over a particularly sensitive spot, the familiar rhythm and movements working just as well as ever, and even better when you had Cas to look at. Not to mention the warmth of his mouth where it occasionally found your breasts again.

But you wanted more, you needed more. The same part of you that was electrified by your own touch craved his, especially when his beautiful hands were right there and his eyes were still fixed on you like you were the centre of the universe, his own movements becoming faster and more frantic, chest heaving.

You paused, much as it pained you. “Do you wanna go further?”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

Gently, you laid your hand over his and peeled it away from his cock. Wriggling forwards a little, you finally – finally – rocked your hips over his, revelling in the hot hardness of him against your slick. His mouth fell open, fingers tightening on your own.

“Here, Cas. I want you inside me, wanna fuck you properly.”

“Oh, (Y/N),” he sighed, his own hips matching your movement.

“Will you let me? Let me fuck you?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “Yes, of course.”

You smiled. “Ok, one second.” You reached over the side of the couch, digging through the pockets of your jeans until you found your wallet – and the little foil package inside it.

“What are you doing?” Cas asked as you tore it open and set the latex atop his dick.

“It’s a condom,” you explained. “So I don’t get pregnant. No offence,” you grinned, “but I don’t really wanna have your babies any time soon.”

“Oh.” He swallowed, processing. “That’s… understandable.”

“All good?” At his nod, you slid the condom the rest of the way down, spitting into your hand once more and resuming your earlier ministrations. “It feels a little different, I know,” you whispered as you moved to grind against him once more.

“It’s still good,” he assured you, placing his hands gently on your hips.

You smiled. “Ready?”

“Yes.” The word was a breath, nothing more, but it was all you needed. Carefully, you lined him up and sank down, watching his face carefully. His eyes widened, his fingers digging into your flesh slightly as a deep groan reverberated through the space between you.

“Gotta be quiet,” you reminded him, your voice not half as steady as you’d have liked. “Don’t wanna wake Dean up, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he echoed, “quiet.”

You leaned forwards and placed a soft kiss on his lips, rocking your hips over his. He was everything you’d imagined and so much more. It was like he’d been made for you, the way his cock stroked every inch of your insides, sliding smoothly with how wet you were. You wanted to go back in time and kick your past self for having waited this long.

“God, Cas,” you sighed. “Oh God.”

His brows pinched together slightly, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he stretched up and captured your lips with his, moving down over your jaw to your neck, sucking gently just as you’d done to the skin of his hip. Your fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close against you as you lifted and lowered your hips, a faint whine somehow slipping from your lips despite your best efforts.

“Is this, hm, ok?” he asked, his usually gravelly voice made even more so.

“Fuck,” you gasped as his hand came to rest on your ass, kneading at the soft flesh, moving up over the front of your hips where your leg met the rest of your body. “So good, Cas.”

“You’re so good,” he murmured, guiding your movements gently. He thrust into you, his hips meeting yours halfway, stomach muscles flexing.

“Let me,” you said, pushing him backwards into the couch cushions. “You relax, yeah? I’ve got it. I’ve got you.”

He nodded, head tipping back as you bounced on his dick, the rough fabric of the cushion beneath you scratching at your knees. Fumbling slightly, your hands found purchase on his chest and you locked your elbows in an odd sort of imitation of CPR. If CPR was done from the front rather than the side, you supposed, but you weren’t exactly doing any resuscitation.

His chest heaved under your touch, another low groan seeming to echo in the otherwise stillness of the night. The tiny part of your brain that wasn’t totally consumed with the wonderful pleasure-ache of his cock hitting deep inside you and the burn of your thighs was torn between telling him to be quiet and just listening to him, but then he was licking his lips again and his mouth was falling open and you were lost.

“(Y/N),” he panted, his eyes fixed on your face. “Oh, (Y/N), oh my–”

“Alright?” you asked, biting back a moan as you found a particularly good angle.

“Yes, yes, of course. It’s, hm, so good.” He glanced momentarily down at where your body met his, another groan rumbling in his chest.

“Sh–” you whispered, half tempted to press your hand over his mouth. Or maybe your own, given the struggle you were facing to remain quiet yourself.

“Sorry, sorry I–”

You cut him off quickly. “It’s alright Cas, you’re fine. Just, fuck–”

“(Y/N),” he panted, the muscles of his arms and stomach flexing as his fingers gripped the couch cushion, luminescent in the dimness. Again, his eyes flicked downwards, this time to the soft mound of flesh currently on display.

You smiled, reaching down to take his hand, drawing it up to rest over your pelvis. His skin was warmer than you’d ever felt it, faintly clammy and God his hand was big under your own. You couldn’t count the number of times you’d caught yourself picturing his hands in this kind of context, and you didn’t want to try. His fingers splayed over your skin, moving with you, covering the whole space below your naval.

“That’s where you are,” you panted. “That’s where I can feel you, Cas, right there.”

A small, strained noise you could only describe as a whine. “Is it, ah, good? Do you like it? Do you like feeling… me?”

“Fuck,” you sighed. “Yeah, sure do, Cas. Do you like feeling me?”

He smiled, biting down hard on his lower lip. “Of course. I like it immensely.”

You felt yourself clench at his words, and this time you were unable to restrain the downright pornographic moan that tore from your throat. Any other time, you might have been embarrassed, but Cas seemed to like it. Pressing your lips firmly together, you glanced hastily towards the other room, but as far as you could tell there was no disturbance.

“(Y/N), oh, (Y/N), I don’t think—” He swallowed hard, eyes wide and back on your face.

“Yeah? What’s wrong?”

“I can’t— I don’t think I can be quiet, (Y/N) I—”

Affection bloomed alongside the desire in your gut, and you had half a mind to tell him it was alright, he didn’t even have to worry about being quiet at all. It wasn’t like you didn’t love the noises he was making. But Dean was only one room over, and you didn’t want to wake him.

“You can, Cas,” you breathed, “you can. You’re doing so well already, we just gotta— fuck.”

He’d bucked his hips up into you, the movement jolting the steady knot of pleasure forming low in your stomach. He was close, you could see it as much as hear it, but the thought of the thin walls and your friend sleeping in the next room over had taken root more firmly in your mind now.

“It’s so much,” Cas gasped. “Oh, oh, (Y/N) it’s so much—”

You managed a smile, slowing down your movements a little. “I know,” you said softly. “You’re ok, yeah?”

He nodded frantically. “Hm, yes, yes. Please, don’t stop. Keep going, please—”

Another soft moan slipped from your mouth, Cas’s answering groan enough to make your legs shake. It was too loud, and any other time you’d have soaked up his praises and curses and everything, but not now. After a moment’s hesitation, you clamped your hand firmly over his mouth, sh-ing him gently. If possible, his eyes widened even further and he groaned against your skin.

“Alright?” you breathed.

Another frantic nod, an almost-whimper as your grip firmed up. Well I’ll be damned, you thought vaguely. Who’d have guessed he was into that?

You felt him shiver all over as you continued to rock your hips over his, his hand where it rested on your hip tightening. You wondered if you’d have finger-shaped bruises later. It didn’t matter, you told yourself as he moaned again, his stomach muscles tensing, something that could have been your name squashed under your hand.

“Sh, shh!” you gasped. Between holy shit I’m so close and holy shit he’s so close, the thought that Dean was right there and would hear you was still rooted in your mind. “Cas, sh, Dean’s right– ah, fuck, Dean’s–”

You broke off as Cas’s chest heaved, his hips bucking up into you once more. His mouth had fallen open under your hand and he was gasping something, angel curse-words, maybe? It didn’t matter, not when his eyes were screwed shut and his head was tipped back, your name sprinkled into the litany of foreign words like a prayer.

The sight was enough to make the bomb that had been building in your stomach explode, sparks of pleasure shooting through your aching legs right to your toes and back up again. You might have said Cas’s name, you weren’t sure, but the sentiment was there. You clamped a hand over your own mouth, nothing but the need to be quiet reverberating through your pleasure-blanked mind.

After what felt like an age, your brain managed to find its way back into your skull and the aftershocks of your orgasm faded from your body. Gently, you removed your hand from Cas’s mouth and looked down at him, smiling.

“Alright?” you asked.

His hair was a mess, his brow lightly beaded with sweat, cheeks flushed. There was even a slight red mark where your hand had been, which you stroked gently.

“I’m more than alright,” he smiled, turning to place a tiny kiss on your fingers. “Are you?”

“Good,” you nodded as you slid off him, mourning the sudden emptiness momentarily as you peeled off the condom, tying it in a neat knot to be disposed of later. Then he was lifting his arm, wriggling with you as if he could read your mind, and you were being cocooned against his body.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment, “if I was too loud.”

“You weren’t,” you assured him quickly. “Not at all. Sorry about… gagging you. I should’ve asked. That’s not what usually happens.”

He hesitated, turning to meet your eyes. “I… didn’t mind.”

“No?”

He shook his head, a small, nervous smile dancing across his lips. “No. In fact, I quite liked it.”

You felt your own smile widen as you placed a soft kiss on his cheek, taking his hand where it rested on his chest. “Good,” you said. “What about the rest? What do you think?”

He sighed, a beautifully satisfied noise that flooded you with warmth. “I think I should not have waited this long.”

You laughed, pressing closer. “Mhm?”

“Mhm. Thank you, (Y/N), truly.”

“Oh,” you said softly, turning away to hide the blood rushing to your face. “That’s ok, Cas. Thank you.”

He gave another little hum, shifting to drape his arm over your waist and pull you into him, fingers skimming your ribs. Getting spooned by a divine warrior of God, you thought with a thrill. Real life really was stranger than fiction.

“You’re tired,” he murmured, his voice seeming to rumble through you in the best way possible. “You should sleep.”

“Hold on,” you protested as you felt his arm withdrawing. You grabbed his hand, pulling it firmly back down to rest on your stomach, wiggling closer. “There was a blanket on the back, grab that. I’m staying here.”

You could almost feel him frowning when he replied. “You’d not rather a bed?”

You only hesitated a moment before bending to kiss his arm. “I’d rather you.”

He didn’t seem to know quite what to say to that, but after a beat something heavy and slightly scratchy was being draped over you, and Cas’s arm was tightening around your waist, and his lips were pressing against your shoulder.

“G’night,” you whispered.

“Good night, (Y/N).”

It was Dean who found his two friends curled together on the couch the next morning. He snorted, taking in the gentle rise and fall of your shoulders in tandem with Cas’s, his hand enveloping your smaller one where it rested just above the blanket, the assortment of what was very clearly Cas’s suit and your own clothes scattered over the floor. Well, he supposed, the night hadn’t been a complete failure. He had half a mind to throw something at you, the scene was so jarringly… sweet.

“Rise n’ shine lovebirds,” he called instead, “we’ve got shit to do.”

#supernatural #castiel #castiel x reader #castiel smut #castiel x you #supernatural fanfiction #shameless smut #supernatural smut #smut #fanfiction #fanfic #cas x reader #female reader #x reader #reader insert

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munson-blurbs · 5 months

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Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

Day 11 of TUI-Mas

Warnings: pregnancy, Reader has a baby bump and stretch marks (briefly mentioned), talk of insecurities

WC: 1.2k

A/N: this was inspired by an ask that I got for Eddie feeling so grateful when he witnesses a sweet moment between Ms. Sweetheart/Reader and Harris, but I can't find who sent it. If it was you, thank you!

November 1999

“Har? You ready for bed?”

Harris nods, peeling back his Spider-Man comforter and slipping beneath the covers. He points to the laminated list that’s Velcroed to the back of his door. You run your finger down the column where he’s used the dry erase marker to check off each task in his routine: shower, comb his hair, brush his teeth, pee, and change into his pajamas.

“Nice job!” You walk—though at this point in your pregnancy, it’s a bonafide waddle—from the doorway towards the small bookshelf in the corner of his room and pluck the newest Magic Treehouse from its spot. Removing the bookmark, you cautiously lower yourself onto his bed, resting your free hand on your belly to keep steady.

He snuggles into you, head nestled against your arm as you read aloud. “Chapter four,” you begin, but before you can continue, Harris speaks.

“Mommy?” His voice is tiny, very much unlike his usual boisterousness, and you can’t help but feel worried.

You brush an unruly lock of his hair from his forehead. “What’s up?”

Harris pauses for a moment, singular front tooth scraping over his bottom lip anxiously. “What if Baby Brother doesn’t like me?” His hazel eyes are shiny with incoming tears. “What if he doesn’t think I’m a good big brother?”

Your heart splinters into a thousand pieces when you hear the concern in his voice. “Oh, Har,” you murmur, shifting your weight to find a more comfortable position, “he’s going to love you. More than that; he’s going to look up to you. You’ll be his role model.”

“But I don’t know how to be a role model.” He keeps his gaze trained on the webbing shooting from Spider-Man’s fingers. “An’ everyone keeps saying that being a big brother is a really important job, but I’ve never been one before! What if I’m not good at it?”

You consider your words for a moment. “Can I tell you a secret?” you finally ask, softly smiling when his attention immediately snaps back to you. “Do you remember when I was your teacher, and you wanted me to be your mommy?”

“Mhm. An’ now you are.”

“And now I am,” you agree with a laugh. “But when your dad and I first started talking about me being your mommy, I was so scared.”

Harris’s eyes widen in disbelief. “You were scared?” His nose wrinkles as he tries to discern your reasoning. “Why?”

“Well, being a mommy is a super important job, too,” you tell him, tucking the bookmark back between the pages and setting the paperback down on the bed. “And I didn’t want to mess up or make any mistakes. But guess what?”

“What?” He places his hand on top of yours.

You lean in and whisper, “I’ve messed up and made mistakes.” Your tone stays lighthearted, but both of you know that the words are spoken with truth. “There have been times where I should have been tougher, and times that I should have been more easygoing. And sometimes, I look back and think, ‘why did I do that?’” You shake your head to combat the memories of missteps you’ve inadvertently conjured up. “But you still love me, just like Baby Brother will always love you.”

Harris exhales with a heaviness that’s almost comical coming from a seven-year-old. He’s not wholly convinced, so you continue.

“Har, you are gonna be the best big brother the world has ever seen.” The promise is honey-sweet and just as natural. “There are so many things you’ll get to teach the baby that Daddy and I can’t.”

He allows himself to look at you once again, curiosity overtaking nervousness. “Like what?”

“Like…drawing,” you say, scratching an itch on the side of your stomach where a stretch mark has formed. “You’re our resident artist; no one draws a family portrait better than Harris Munson.”

He giggles at this. “Yeah, an’ you guys don’t know a lot about superheroes; only a little bit.”

“Exactly. Only what you’ve taught us.” You kiss the crown of his head. “Baby Brother is so lucky to have you.”

Harris nods, letting out a yawn that alerts you to the time.

“Come on, let’s get you into bed so you’re not snoozing in school tomorrow.” You lower his pillow from where he’s propped it against the wall, but he doesn’t move from his spot.

“I wanna say good night to Baby Brother.” He rests his cheek on the swell of your stomach with his hand just above your belly button. “Good night, Baby Brother. I love you, and I can’t wait to meet you in…” he rotates his neck so you’re looking directly at his nostrils, “how many days?”

“Thirteen, if he comes on time,” you say, adding a gentle reminder, “but sometimes babies show up a little late, so he might not get here until closer to Thanksgiving.”

“Oh.” He considers this for a second, his gaze shifting back and forth from your belly to your eyes. “If he comes on Thanksgiving, do I still get to eat mashed potatoes?”

You shrug. “I don’t see why not. As long as you save some for me when I get home.”

Harris harrumphs at the prospect of sharing and you laugh, which gives you the urge to pee—again. “Sweet dreams, Har Bear.” You kiss his scalp again, slowly rising to flick off the light switch. There will be a time when he eschews the nickname, labeling it babyish, but it lives on for another day.

In your beeline for the bathroom, you find Eddie waiting just outside Harris’s room. His cheeks are pink as though he’s been caught, and you notice the glassiness coating his chocolate eyes.

“Eds? You okay?” You murmur the question under your breath, not wanting to alert Harris.

“Mhm. Yeah, ‘m fine.” He hooks his fingers into the white cotton sleeves of his undershirt and wipes at his face. “Just pregnancy hormones,” he teases with a soft chuckle, and you nudge his hip with yours. “Really, though; everything’s good.”

You want to press him further, but the full-term baby tap-dancing on your bladder has other plans, so you have to surrender.

Eddie sighs, contentment flooding his body as he blinks away the blurriness and closes Harris’s door. Domesticity has wrapped itself around him, and the softness with which you talk to Harris only has him falling deeper into its embrace.

He used to describe himself as lucky, but you’re always quick to point out that luck has nothing to do with it. He’s deserving of his little family and the unconditional love that comes with it.

But deserving doesn’t explain you showing up at the Hideout three years ago, or him picking you out of the crowd, or you being Harris’s teacher and fostering an awkward but necessary reunion. There’s a solid chance that he’d still be the angry and defensive man who’d shoved his dreams away, because holding hope that they would come to fruition was simply too scary to consider. But now, despite years of self-sabotage, he’s got everything he could ever want.

So, yeah. Eddie Munson is a lucky man.

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #tui

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szynkaaa · 9 months

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This Is How You Lose The Time War by Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone

Another paperback-to-hardcover rebind

First time layering HTV vinyl, I think it turned out pretty well! The spine title and author names are done with reflective vinyl, which means if you turn on flashlight and look through the camera, the names will be more visible (see second video). I thought it was a nice touch to the book.

Book cover and dust jacket illustration are upside down on purpose, so you can decide which side you'd want to have on display

#book binding #bookbinding #book rebind #this is how you lose the time war #tihylttw #eggfriedpenguin

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see-arcane · 2 months

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We're officially down to ONE WEEK until The Vampyres is available for eBook and print, March 15th!

But, as expected, there's a minor snag. Well, less a snag than a nitpick, but still.

Much as I love me a matte cover, it turns out the bright neck-wound red doesn't translate as well, giving it a more dried bloodstain/clay tone in the preview. Just take a gander at the Amazon and Barnes and Noble pics.

So now I'm ordering a matte and a glossy author copy and will give them both a final comparison. Thankfully I can make the switch without too much trouble either way. So consider this a minor PSA that:

The paperback version, be it matte or glossy, might not look exactly like the cover I previewed. Ugh.

I wasn't made any promises as to whether glossy will come out appropriately vivid or not, only that sometimes the finish improves the color. If the glossy sample doesn't work out, I'll probably stick with matte after all. It feels comfier. But my thinking is Color > Cover finish, so we'll see what happens.

Because eBooks don't have to worry about printer ink or covers that sponge colors up, it'll be nice and vivid regardless.

In the meantime, I will be hiding from the self-publication process in my newly acquired box of vampire dirt.

I'm sure it's what Dracula would have wanted, may he rest in pieces.

#need me a little napping coffin so bad augh #the vampyres #my art #my writing #dracula #the vampyre #books

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ashmouthbooks · 4 months

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2023 in books

better late than never, right?

2023 was a relatively slow year for me in bookbinding, but I still made 30+ books. (ask me how much time I spent on my other hobbies and it becomes clear why books were fewer.)

A5 books

the first A5 of the year was an entry for a bookbinding competition (which I didn't win), where the theme was climate change. I had a lot of fun putting it together and it was the first time I made an A5 tête-bêche book - I usually do these A6 or A7 size.

this was also the year I decided to start a collection of menocchio fics, which also led to experiments with printing directly onto bookcloth to get titles on the spine

what's fun about bookbinding is that you can Just Make A Book, but you can also Get Ideas And Run With Them with it. which is how I wound up with this black on black book. destiel necromancy fic, because of course it is

going back to something more colourful...Ulysses. not the James Joyce one, the slowburn 00Q one. named for a Tennyson poem.

final A5 book of the year is my Renegade Exchange book, which I bound for Silent Sun Press - a Crowley-centric genfic with outsider POV, so naturally I went for TV!Gomens colour schemes

A6 and A7 books

I started the year ambitiously - in addition to entering a competition, I started my urchin specials project. thus far I've still only bound these first three books for the project, but I plan to do more. first dustjackets as well!

I continued with the no-glue pamphlets and did three

I joined the Tiny Books Exchange, and as a proof of concept - before I typeset an A7 sized tête-bêche - I did a little tête-bêche of the two Temeraire fics I wrote for yuletide once upon a time

then followed of course the Tiny Book I bound for the exchange - my copy (test & proof of concept, bottom), the giftee copy (green, top right), and the author copy (blue, top left)

I typeset a lot more than I bind - I have plans to bind so and so, so I typeset it, but don't always have the time to bind it right away. so I have folders full of typesets ready to go at a moment's notice. this one was typeset a whole year before I bound it

are these paperbacks or just very slim hardbacks? I call them paperbacks as I used 0.5mm boards and they have no spine, but ymmv

this one definitely is a hardback - with slightly thicker boards, a spine, and two fics in one book. I do love those tête-bêches

at my work we have a lot of deliveries wrapped in this nice recycled brown paper that was just going into the recycling bin, and I thought: why not make books out of it? so I played around with it (and my printer) and came up with a neat aesthetic for paperbacks with breakaway spines (using 0.5mm boards)

will I ever stop with the tête-bêches? no. also this one has endpapers made from SEAWEED. how cool is that?

the last A6 of the year is this little collection of my own stories for a tiny Danish fandom. detectives and trauma, but make it about food? yes. food and cooking themed endpapers and cover papers, and the dustjacket has fake coffee stains on it. perfect

and that is all, folks. I did a lot of different styles and types of binding this year, I had fun with it, I learned a lot, and I'm happy with what I've created.

#2023 in books #fanbinding #bookbinding

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copperbadge · 2 months

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The sixth book in the Shivadh Romances, The Royals And The Ramblers, is now available for purchase in print and epub!

Already familiar and just want to buy the book?

The Royals And The Ramblers: Paperback | Epub

You can purchase the book for $3.99 for epub and $14.99 for print; these prices vary by currency for the paperback, but I’ve priced them as affordably as possible. I had hoped to sell the epub across several retail platforms but Lulu is being fussy, so for now both paperback and epub are only available on Lulu. (The upside to this is that I get more of a cut from Lulu sales than I would from other platforms!)

Want to learn more? Read on!

Askazer-Shivadlakia is “the little country by the sea” — a coastal micronation perched between France and Italy, with Europe’s only Jewish royal family and a distinctly queer-friendly culture. The irreverent but earnest Shivadh people have recently elected a new king, Gregory III, and the Shivadh romances follow him, his extended family, and their friends and partners as they manage love, politics, and an ever-expanding social circle.

You can learn more about the series and find purchase links here.

The Royals And The Ramblers

It's an exciting time for the Shivadh royal family! Gregory III, king of Askazer-Shivadlakia, is marrying kitschy TV chef Eddie Rambler…three times. There's the beach party in Eddie's hometown in California, a private wedding for Gregory's family back home in Europe, and a big formal blowout for everyone in Askazer-Shivadlakia to celebrate.

Eddie's sister Monday is wary of the royals when they arrive in Santa Luna, but they seem nice enough. Gregory's stepbrother Noah even befriends the youngest Rambler, shy and quiet Ephraim. Soon, Monday has warmed to the royals as well, particularly Gregory's bodyguard Georgie, who isn't opposed to a fling while visiting. Then Gregory asks Monday to be a surrogate for a royal baby, and her life turns upside down.

Monday's not the only one dealing with change, either. Gregory's father Michaelis is navigating his relationship with Noah's parent Jes, Noah is adjusting to his new job as prince, Gregory's friends Alanna and Jerry are testing their whirlwind romance, and Georgie is trying to work out where she stands with Monday -- as staff, or friend, or maybe more? And then there's Ioanna, the bright, troubled kid that Gregory catches ditching school to attend Parliament…

It's a year for everyone to learn new roles, find surprising ways to keep growing up, and, as always, keep that irreverent Shivadh sense of humor, whether they're a Royal or a Rambler. And with the birth impending, Monday should probably figure out just what she and Georgie are to one another, and what that means for her future with the royal family.

Purchase: Paperback | Epub

Download: Free PDF

Thanks for reading, everyone!

#shivadhverse #romance #romance novel #indy publishing

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gogobootz1 · 10 months

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Paperback Writer

Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: When Bradley finds a stray journal at the Hard Deck, he makes it his personal mission to return it to its owner. But not before reading what's inside.

Word Count: 2.4k

Top Gun Masterlist

You've spent the last four hours at this bar and still haven't come up with a thing. The newest page in your notebook stares back at you, entirely blank. Well, blank, save for the water ring your mojito has left on it. Only the ice cubes have been left for a while now, and you sip sadly at them as you stare off at the water. Maybe a beach day will inspire you.

Sighing, you close your notebook and push it toward the wall. You don't want to think about the deadline that is slowly closing in on you. A new book, and only about two months left to complete it. It had been three, but you've spent the last month at a complete loss.

This whole night, going to dinner, going to a bar, has been with the intention of finding inspiration. You still haven't found it, so now it's time to find your way home. Pushing yourself away from the table, you peel yourself from your chair and settle up with the nice lady at the bar.

You look out at the ocean again on your walk home. It's extremely nice of your agent to let you stay at her and her wife's beach home. Pam had granted you this accommodation in the hopes it would kickstart your writing. To the extent of her knowledge, it has. She's been worried about you after you argued with the publishing company over a sequel. You fought tooth and nail for the opportunity to work on something totally new. After the commercial success of your debut novel, however, they were reluctant to pass up their chance at a sequel.

Your publishing company clearly hadn't been expecting such an exorbitant amount of copies to sell. Frankly, neither had you. By some stroke of luck or divine intervention, Taylor Swift picked up your book, read it, and posted it on her Instagram story. Stores could hardly keep it on shelves after that.

Now your publishers are simply hoping to milk the cash cow. You can't really blame them, but soon, when you don't have a second novel to give them, they're going to blame you.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Thanks for cleaning up, you two," Penny calls from behind the bar. Maverick had practically begged Bradley to stay and help so that he and Penny could start their date early. After some negotiating, he happily acquiesced.

"No problem, Penny," Rooster calls back, sending a smug look at Pete, who narrows his eyes at him. They're just about finished wiping tables, and he can tell Mav is more than ready to leave.

Bradley turns to wipe the last table but stops when he sees a leather-bound journal sitting near the window. He picks it up, turning it over in his hands.

"Done. Let's go, Pen," Mav says, rushing his girlfriend. Penny finally drops the rag she'd been wiping the bar with.

"I've still gotta lock up," she says, lightly mocking.

"I can do it, Penny," Rooster says, not taking his eyes off the journal.

"Thanks, kid," Mav smiles, whisking his girlfriend away. "Keys are on the bar. I owe you one!"

Bradley just barely hears Penny's protests as Pete rushes her out. He figures he'd better get home, himself. Giving the table a cursory wipe, he heads toward the bar to grab the keys.

Suddenly his eyes land on the lost and found bucket. Most of the Hard Deck's patrons are locals and regulars. The bin is almost always empty, and when it isn't, people always come back for whatever's inside.

Bradley looks at the journal again. Surely no one would be coming back for this tonight, though. And would they really notice if it had been flicked through? Letting his curiosity get the best of him, Bradley takes a stool at the bar and starts reading.

After a few pages, he starts to realize just what the journal is. It's no diary, none of the juicy details of someone's personal life that he had nosily been hoping for. No. It's a book, or some sort of story, at least. It's a good one, too. Bradley takes a sidelong glance at the clock and finds he's stayed for an hour longer than he intended.

He grabs the keys and locks everything up for Penny, not bothering to put his find in the lost and found.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Bradley can’t remember when he’d fallen asleep, but he's certain that it wasn’t before he’d read the vast majority of the journal. His neck is stiff from crashing on his couch, but he has a new interest in finding whoever wrote this.

He hasn't been that interested in a book in a while, and he'd be remiss if the author doesn't get their work back. Especially when the work is so incredible. Bradley's never considered himself the most avid reader. He only reads when he's got the time and wouldn't rather be watching the game. This book, however, has him hooked. He thinks it should be on shelves, selling out all over the world. He only needs to find this person to tell them that.

Where do people write their names in their journals?

He makes a face, confronted by his own stupidity, and flips to the front page. Sure enough, on the back of the cover is a woman's name and address. Bradley's not quite sure if people knock on each other's doors nowadays, or if that's entirely creepy, but he's willing to find out.

Once his fist is inches away from her door, Bradley hesitates before knocking. Is it creepy that he's here? Is it creepy that he read the journal? He's willing to admit that one. Should he tell the author he read it at all? Maybe he should pretend he didn't. Can he fake being a Good Samaritan when he really wants to ask this woman about her writing? He doesn't have time to answer these questions for himself before the door swings open on its own.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

You recoil when you realize someone's standing on the front porch. "Hello?" You're certain you don't know this man. He's too pretty for you to know him, and you'd at least remember him if you did.

"Hi," he responds stiltedly.

You look at him questioningly, "can I help you?"

"Yes! Actually," he holds up your journal, "is this yours?"

"Oh my god," you snatch your notebook out of his hands, "Where'd you find it?"

"You must've left it at the bar last night," he shrugged.

"Well, thanks," you smile, putting it in your tote bag.

"No problem, yeah. Wouldn't want to lose all that work," he nods. You look up suddenly.

"You read it?"

The man grimaces when he realizes he's outed himself. "Sorry," he cringes, "I'm too nosy for my own good. But can I just say that this is incredible? Really! This could be a book!"

Your face falls, and you look at him blankly, "it is."

"No!" He shakes his head. "I mean- well, yes, it is. And that's a great attitude to have, but what I'm trying to say is that you need to find a publisher. This is-"

You roll your eyes, shaking your head. Reaching into your giant beach bag, you grab your sunglasses and shove them onto your face. Stepping out onto the porch, you grab a real copy of your book from your bag and plop it in his hands. "That’s really not my problem right now, hot stuff. Have a good one,” you lock up your house and start walking towards the beach.

He doesn't follow you until a few seconds later.

"You mean you're already a published author?" You hear from behind you. You roll your eyes and keep walking, but he easily catches up. "What I read was just-"

"The prototype to what seven million American women have already consumed? Yeah," you nod.

"Holy shit!" He says, and you just hum in agreement. "So wait, what is your problem then?" You stop in the middle of the path. You haven't even said it out loud yet.

"They want another one," you admit quietly.

"That's great!" He says excitedly. You slowly turn and remove your sunglasses to level him with a glare, "...or not?"

"No, stranger, it's not great."

"I'm Bradley," he interrupts.

You barrel on, "You know when they want the sequel by?" Bradley shakes his head. "The end of next month!" You practically shout, and he cringes.

"And how much do you have done?"

Your face falls. "One," you say reluctantly, holding up a solitary finger.

"Chapter?" He asks hopefully.

"Word!"

Bradley grimaces, "What's the word?" You huff.

"'The' and the thing is, I don't even like it. I'm gonna go back and delete it." You give an exaggerated shrug, seemingly distraught.

"That's probably a bad idea," he says gently.

"Oh? And what do you know about writing novels?" Your tone is biting.

"Not a damn thing, but I know a thing or two about speed. At a certain point, you just have to keep going," he offers.

"Thank you for that wisdom, speed racer," you snap, sauntering away.

He stands there stunned.

“Wait!" Bradley jogs to catch up to where you're still marching onto the beach.

As soon as he's next to you, you barrel on. “How am I supposed to give them a sequel to a story I thought was over?”

“Huh?” He feels like he's still playing catch-up as he matches your pace.

“And I told them - I swore to God that if they made me write a sequel, I'd probably end up accidentally plagiarizing any given Remington Steele episode. But, nooooooo they insisted,” you vent.

“Remington Steele?” Bradley raises a brow.

“Okay, you don’t get to judge my 80s preferences when you look like that!” You gesture to his general appearance, Hawaiian shirt, porn stache, and all. Not that it's not working for you.

He holds his hands up in surrender.

"I've done everything. Really. Everything to try and inspire some writing. I go outside," you gesture to the outdoors around you. "I've switched the font on my computer to comic sans," Bradley visibly grimaces in response to this, and you nod at him. "Hell, yesterday I went on a run."

"I don't feel like that's all that abnormal," he ventures.

You look at him, stricken, "I've never been on a run."

"Never?"

"Not in my life," you confirm. "It didn't even help, and now my legs hurt."

"It does kind of seem like you're hobbling," he nods.

Your eyes widen, "Gee, thanks," you bite out.

"You can probably chalk it up to poor form," Bradley tries to console you. "You're supposed to land on the front of your foot when you're running."

You shake your head. "They always want to teach you something," you mumble.

"What was that?" He looks over innocently. The two of you stand at the entryway to the beach. You decide it's time to make your goodbyes to the near stranger you've confessed half your current life problems to.

"Look, that's very nice of you," your words lack some sincerity. "You seem like a nice guy, and you're very attractive, but I don't really want to get better at running. What I want is to get better at writing, which is my job, and usually, I can do it. But right now, I'm broken, so what I will do is lay in the sun and crisp like a piece of fried chicken. Bye, now!" You say cheerily, placing your sunglasses over your eyes and bounding away towards an appealing-looking plot of sand.

All Bradley can do is watch as his new favorite author walks off. He drives home and finishes the official, hand-gifted copy of your book in one sitting.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A week later, Bradley is once again at the Hard Deck. This time it's Mav's birthday, and the whole squad is celebrating before they all go their separate ways. The Navy gave everyone a month off after the Uranium mission, so this is simultaneously a celebration and a goodbye.

He steps out onto the deck to enjoy the ocean view. Bradley is pleased to find a familiar figure that lies a few meters away from the bar.

"Let me guess, you're crisping like a piece of chicken again?" You hear a voice call from above you. Suspicious of the intrusion on your private beach sulking session, you look up to find the handsome man who'd tried to return your journal the other day.

"Actually, I'm boiling like a lobster," you correct.

"Ah, my mistake," Bradley nods sagely. "Mind if I sit?"

"Okay..." you agree, silently questioning his motives.

"I had an idea," he starts. "The main character in the first book," you nod, encouraging him to continue. "You mentioned her younger sister."

"I did," you agree, not understanding where he's going with this.

"Write the new book about her," Bradley says simply, shrugging.

You stare at him for a moment, processing this thought. After a bit, your jaw drops. How did you not think of this yourself? A slew of ideas pop into your brain, and you lunge for your bag, hoping to grab your journal and write them all down.

"Are you okay?" He asks. You hold up a finger, silently asking for him to give you a second. In a hurry, you scribble down a giant bulleted list. You can't help but wish your hand moved as fast as your brain. Bradley gives a weak call of your name, concerned by the new burst of hyperactivity. It pulls your attention away from the final bullet point you've just made.

"I think you're a genius," you breathe out, looking at him in awe.

He seems shocked, "it was just an idea."

"No, no," you remain firm, "you're brilliant, and you've just saved my life." A grin pulls across his face at your words. "Pam is gonna be so stoked," you say, standing and starting to pack your things. You pause all of a sudden and reach for your notebook again. You scribble something else and tear out a sliver of paper.

You hand it over to him, and his gaze flicks over a series of hastily written numbers. Your phone number. Bradley slowly stands up.

"Breakfast, lunch, dinner, coffee, dessert, movie, ice cream, drinks- whatever you want, on me," you say in a rush. You take about two steps toward your car, hoping to call Pam and confirm that you can go in this creative direction before his voice stops you.

"How about a date?" He asks, looking after you.

You turn over your shoulder and smirk, "That was the idea."

____________________________________________________

Rooster taglist (open): @tallyovie

I hope everyone is having another very Top Gun summer <3

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster x reader #rooster x reader #top gun maverick #top gun x reader #top gun maverick x reader #rooster x female reader

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callmelola111 · 10 months

Text

my summer of you ♡ part two

✄ - - - - part 1 , part 2 - - - - inspo track (till there was you)

synopsis: being sent to your grandparents for the summer was supposed to be a punishment, but when you came face-to-face with your neighbor, you knew it’d be quite the opposite.

| 𓆣 | pairing & wc: loser!ellie williams x neighbor!reader. wc: 4.5k

| ❀ | cw (by part): 18+ themes (MDNI), modern au, fem reader, lots of fluff, marajuana use, profane language, mentions of tense family relations and childhood trauma (brief), joel cameo, ellie is so loser nerd it's actually adorable, ⭑ SMUT ⭑ … soft dom!reader, sub!ellie, mommy kink, fingering (e receiving), oral (e receiving), pet names (baby, special girl, etc.). MINORS DNI !!

a/n: hi lovelies, last part!!! ellie is just a sweet little angel baby who deserves to be taken care of!! sorry not sorry. i know dom!ellie is a fan favorite (trust me i love her too) but i feel obligated to write loser!ellie as an actual inexperienced, obsessed, space loving loser. kinda unplanned, but the end just turned into me living out my mommy fantasies tbh. ha i need her so bad, anyways... thanks 4 the love ♡~ lola

A twinge of anxiety hit the pits of your stomach as you stood, fist at the ready, face-to-face with your neighbors white front door. A deep exhale finally sent your hand into motion producing a loud knock on the wood— one you repeated 4 times before finally being answered.

The door handle rattled a bit before completely twisting to the right and revealing an older gentleman. His hair was brown, short and messy. The man's face was shrouded in a thick beard full of grays and his brows seemed permanently furrowed. You would’ve been a little fearful if it wasn’t for his sweet southern greeting that immediately softened you.

“Well, hello there little lady. What can I do for you?”

“Uh, hi… I live next door. You’re Ellie’s dad right?” you questioned.

“Mmm… kinda, I’m Joel. But um, if you’re looking for Ellie she’s still at work.” he replied, quickly moving past your question. It felt odd but you could see that asking him to elaborate wouldn’t be in your best interest- or his for that matter.

“Oh okay… do you know when she gets off?”

“Six I think. I’m sure she’d love to see you though. Girl hasn’t stopped smiling since you moved in next door.” His answer made your cheeks hurt from the widest grin you’d ever made.

“I guess that makes two of us.” You looked at the ground feeling somewhat bashful as you admitted how smitten you were with his “kinda” daughter. “Well uh, thanks Joel, it was really nice to meet you.”

“No problem kiddo, you too.” The man waved you off down the concrete steps and you waved back before he shut the door behind him.

Without a 2nd thought you trekked 4 blocks over to the bookstore where Ellie works, practically skipping the whole way. That sweet little bell rang once more as you pranced inside. A comforting smell of old paper immediately wafted through your senses.

Running your fingers along the yellowed edges of tattered books, you waited for Ellie to detect your presence. The girl seemed to be completely consumed by the small paperback resting against the edge of the counter she was positioned behind. The intentional clearing of your throat is what finally broke her focus with a slight startle.

“Hi Els.”

“Hey, what are you doing here?” she attempted to question nonchalantly, but the excitement behind her voice was clear. The frantic taming of her auburn locks and crimson colored cheeks was also a dead giveaway, and just as she tucked a stray hair behind her ear, it quickly fell back to its rightful place- in front of her lovely face.

“Wanted to see if you’d wanna go to the boardwalk after your shift?”

“With you?” Ellie could hardly believe it.

“Of course with me… But, I mean that’s only if you wanna go.”

“Yesyesyesyesyes.” she slurred out frantically at a volume that was definitely not suited for a bookstore.

“Knew I could count on my special girl. You’ll be done at six right?”

“Yeah, how’d you know?” You almost lied to Ellie, as the topic seemed like the kinda thing that was supposed to go unsaid. But you didn’t.

“Uh, Joel told me…”

“Oh? You talked to Joel?” Ellie seemed to withdraw at his mention, fidgeting with the pages of her book.

“Yeah… just for a second. I went over to see you and he answered the door.”

“Gotcha…” She lingered on her words like there was more to say but ultimately refrained from speaking out. You couldn’t help but pry just a little, it was in your nature.

“You seem kinda off when he’s brought up. Can I ask why?” Your bold question made you wanna squeeze your eye’s shut until the moment was over, and the growing silence made it even worse.

“Another time?” Ellie answered begrudgingly. You felt bad for even asking.

“Yeah yeah of course. I- I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” All the sudden your hands were clammy and the long thread hanging from your top was wrapped around your index finger, restricting circulation. Anything to distract from your social slip-up.

“No, no, don't feel bad! I promise you did nothing, I- it’s just me.” She gave you an apologetic smile and suddenly everything felt okay again.

“We’re still on for the boardwalk though, right?” you questioned, motivated by the need of reassurance.

“Yes. Please.” she affirmed. “If you want you can just hang here with me until then? I’ve still got like half an hour left.”

“Okay, yeah.” you gave a shy smile feeling less in control than in your usual interactions with Ellie. The fast growing feelings had suddenly clouded your incessant need to flirt and tease 24/7. What was this girl doing to you?

✄ - - - - ♡ - - - -

As the sun set south in the watercolor sky, the green tinted waves crashed just past the dock where you stood. Ellie was positioned beside you with both hands awkwardly in the pockets of her distressed jeans. Nerves were obviously eating her up.

“Chill out Els, this is gonna be fun!!” you smiled all teeth and nudged at her tattooed arm which she eventually released from the denims tight hold. You snatched her free hand, which was concerningly wet, and dragged her through the crowds of people. Ellie didn’t complain once and if you had asked her to jump off a cliff too she probably would have done it right then and there.

You looked up at the towering ride in front of you and then turned to give Ellie some puppy dog eyes, “Can we pleaseee ride the ferris wheel?”

“Yeah of course, whatever you want.” And she meant it. The only thing Ellie asked of this night was to see your gorgeous smile and hear the symphony that was your giggles. She wanted you to be happy– happy with her.

After waiting in a short line of babbling kids and adults, a small blue pod sheltered by white, plastic roofing swooped down to load in more passengers. You slid onto the bench attached to the left side and Ellie situated herself opposite, hand anxiously gripping the edge of the seat. The wheel began to move as you sat face-to-face, only a thin white pole separating the two of you. You gripped it between your hands before peaking around to question her.

“Are you scared of me or of heights?”

“Huh? Wha- what do you mean?”

“I meannnn… you’re huddled up in that corner like I’ve got Covid or something. Come sit with me Els. I miss you.” You batted your eyelashes and gave a pout like you were a sick puppy who only Ellie could cure. She could barely keep her composure when you flirted like this and was of course already embarrassed enough for sitting so far away. But how could you blame her? The poor girl was so anxious and had basically zero play to go off of.

In frantics, she scurried over to the other bench causing the apparatus to rock back and forth with a screech and you let out a little squeal in return. Ellie came to your protection leaving only centimeters between each other and you essentially lost all brain function.

With a sheepish laugh she apologized, “Sorry I’m so fucking stupid sometimes.”

“Hey don’t say that!” You scooted to the right, closing the gap between her jean-clad thigh and yours. “You are not stupid Ellie Williams.”

“I kinda am.”

“What makes you think that?” you asked, placing a comforting hand to her tense shoulders.

“I don’t think you wanna know…”

“I do Ellie. Seriously, you can tell me.”

“Well, uh- I guess I just feel stupid cause… I can’t tell if this is supposed to be a date.” She looked down in shame at her confession. “And I- I feel even more stupid for wondering that.”

Moving your hand to her thigh you gave a long sigh, “Oh els, don’t feel stupid for my shortcomings. I know it’s childish, but even now I can never seem to find the courage to say how I really feel.” Ellie’s face was teetering on the verge of surprise at your admission.

“Well, how do you really feel?” she appealed.

With slight hestance you spoke the truth, “I feel like… I also want this to be a date.” The girl smiled wide and patted your knee with care.

“I guess we’re on a date then, huh?”

“Yeah I guess we are.” you poked back. But before you could even take in the view from your spot on the ferris wheel, your pod had already reached bottom and the metal door swung open to exit. Maybe another time when you weren’t so captivated by the girl in front of you.

After a few games and an ice cream stop, the sun had set and crowds dissipated. Although it was obvious that neither you or Ellie were ready for the night to end.

“Sooo, what now?” you looked all around trying to think of an excuse to stay out longer.

“I have a joint in my bag… if you’re up to smoking. We can light up on the beach.”

“Ellie– I’m always up for smoking.” Problem solved.

✄ - - - - ♡ - - - -

Sitting cozy in the sand, Ellie reached into her navy blue backpack to grab the weed and you watched dotingly. As she zipped the front pouch back up you noticed a small pin– a rocket ship

“What’s that?”

“Just a pin. I’m into space shit.” she answered, pulling out a forest green lighter from her back pocket.

“Ooo tell me more!” Ellie released the joint that was about to be lit, genuinely stunned at your interest in her nerdy fixation.

“Well, I wanna be an astronaut. Kinda like Sally Ride. That’s why I’m a STEM major.”

“Hell yeah, women in STEM! But ummm, who’s Sally Ride though?”

Her eyes went wide, “You don't know who Sally Ride is??” This spun her into a long tangent about the famous astronaut, and the strides she made for women, and how it’s even cooler because as Ellie put it, “she was gay!!”. As she rambled on you felt your feelings multiply. You had never seen her talk so much, and with so much passion too. It was a sight to see– one that you’d save to memory.

“Sorry, am I talking too much?” she questioned.

“No, not at all Els! I love it. I love hearing you talk.” You gave a reassuring beam as Ellie finally lit the joint that had been rolling around in her lap after the conversational detour. The salty air picked up making it hard to ignite the paper so you offered a helping hand to shield the wind. Ellie accepted graciously, eventually taking the first inhale and passing it over to you. Sitting criss-cross in the sand, you held the burning substance between your pointer and thumb before taking a savory puff.

“God, it feels like ages since I last smoked.”

“Have you not been able to find a good plug here?” Ellie wondered.

“Not exactly…” you took a pregnant pause considering if you even wanted to mention it. “I haven’t been completely honest about the real reason I’m staying with my grandparents.” Ellie didn’t seem to phased at this. She had suspected something was up after the odd cigarette incident with your grandma.

“You know I’d never judge you ____. You can tell me, really.”

“It’s embarrassing but… my parents banished me here for acting out at school.” you admitted.

“Really? What’d you do?” she questioned, taking another drag from the lit joint.

“My smoking and drinking habits were a little ‘out of whack’. And apparently so were the little escapades that those habits got me into.”

“What do you mean by… ‘escapades’?”

“Umm, sex. With girls.” You plummeted your finger into the sand, feeling way over the situation already. “My parents swear they’re not homophobic but sometimes I wonder if they would’ve reacted the same if I was hooking up with some frat dude instead.”

“Damn I’m sorry. So they must be really mad then?”

“I guess, they rarely even call. But I’m not sad about it anymore so it’s okay.” Ellie noticed a gloss form on your eyes and refused to believe that there wasn’t at least a little part of you that was still hurt. Like instinct she roped you into a tender hug and you reciprocated with your hand around her neck. When she pulled back a small tear fell to your cheek and you quickly wiped it trying to stay tough.

“Now you owe me an explanation after that one.” you sniffled once more, eventually moving past the momentary sadness.

“Fine.” Ellie almost had to convince herself to keep talking. “Joel isn’t my dad, but he’s like my dad, and everyone thinks he’s my dad which just makes things weird.”

“Not to pry, but uh could you maybe elaborate?” Ellie stared off into the sea as she dumped her heart out.

“My real parents didn’t stick around for long. I was bouncing from home to home for a while until I turned 14. Joel found me, he was a family friend, and we’ve kinda been inseparable since. I hate when it’s brought up though. It’s a reminder that the people who were made to love me just didn’t. I had to find it elsewhere. And even now, years later with Joel, I still sometimes feel so void of worth.” Finally looking back to you she was met with streams of your tears.

“Ellie what the fuck. That’s heavy... I’m so fucking sorry.” You just wanted to hold her for eternity and tell her that everything was gonna be okay. Tell her that she was worth something– she was worth everything.

“Hey, hey no need to cry. I’m alright now, I promise. Joel is awesome.” she reassured, using a rough thumb to brush away the drops littering the apples of your cheeks. You placed your hand on top of hers feeling the comforting warmth.

“Els, I-” Before you could even finish her lips had met yours in a spur of the moment kiss. You reciprocated as both of her hands flew to the sides of your face to pull you in deeper.

It felt like you were the only 2 people in the world and this moment was all that mattered. Passion rose as you slid your tongue into Ellie's mouth, playing a game of tag with her own pink muscle. The girl—more confident than you had ever seen—found your wrists and sent you back into the sand with purchase, obviously hungry for something.

But just as things were getting good your phone began going off like crazy. After about 7 buzzes and Ellie’s lips traveling down your neck, you had to swiftly roll out from under her to see what was up. The poor girl looked like a kicked puppy at the loss of your touch. She watched as you read through messages and immediately jumped to your feet, grabbing your bag along the way. It was Grams. And she was mad.

“Fuck fuck fuck!! I’m sorry Ellie, I have to leave. Like now.” you blurted anxiously.

“Wait what?”

“I’m sorry! I promise to explain later but I have to go.” Ellie sat confused and unresolved as she watched you disappear into the darkness with only the moonlight to guide.

✄ - - - - ♡ - - - -

The night after coming home late, Grams had smelt the weed and in turn confiscated your phone, along with all freedoms you once possessed. “As much as it hurts to do this, I promised your parents I’d enforce some rules” she had told you as you pleaded for mercy. You were officially fucked and didn’t even have your phone to explain it to Ellie. What was she gonna think? How could you get around this? But as you lay on your bed a certain book catches your eye and that’s when it hits you.

With a pen and a brightly colored index card you scribbled out a simple note. It read...

Dear Ellie, if you’re receiving this then my plan has worked. I’m currently writing from the confines of my bedroom which I will be isolated in for the next week. I’m sorry it’s taken so long to communicate this but my grandparents weren’t too happy about breaking curfew to go “smoke pot” (which i reeked of). I don’t have my phone either, but god I miss you Els. So… if you can ever forgive me, come knock on my window late tonight and maybe I’ll let you in ;).

You slipped the small, highlighter-yellow note into the pages of The Bell Jar and handed it off to Grams to run next door, arguing that “Ellie needs it back immediately” and “it just can’t wait”. She eventually gave in after some well thought out begging and delivered the borrowed book to Joel. He then handed it back to the green-eyed girl who at first didn’t even wanna touch it.

Ellie was convinced you’d purposefully abandoned her– just like everyone else in her life. Her heart was broken and all she had done since that night was play Valorant, high out of her mind, while ignoring the rest of the world. Luckily, Joel noticed the bright yellow peaking from the paper and urged her to crack it open and take a second look. And after a quick thumb of the pages she fell upon your note which practically gave her a heart attack as she read. Ellie instantly dropped the controller at your whim and hopped in the shower to get ready for that night.

✄ - - - - ♡ - - - -

The girl sported some heather gray Champion sweats and an oversized band tee as she slipped through the back door of her house. She opened the back gate to a small strip of grass that was the space between your house and hers, but just as the clock hit 12:00, the automatic sprinklers shot up to do their duty. Ellie was pinned to the edge of the fence as water began spraying at all points of the yard. There was no way she was getting to your window– at least, not dry. Assessing the situation, the only thing left to do was run straight through the line of fire and hope you were keeping a close ear.

She bent her knees, digging the toe of her converse into the moist dirt and then bolted over to the glass. Ellie was being pelted left and right as she knocked on your window to be let in, but you were taking your sweet damn time, and those polite taps soon became desperate ones. After about 8 chaotic bangs you eventually opened up, scolding Ellie for the loud noise and then taking note of her current state.

“Sprinklers–” she gasped, out of breath. “You never told me about the sprinklers.”

“Ellie- oh my god.” you put a hand to your mouth trying not to laugh but miserably failing. She climbed inside, rolling her eyes.

“Hey! I did this for you, fuck off.”

“Sorry, sorry I know!” You traveled to your closet still laughing as you grabbed a spare towel and clothes. “Sit. Let’s get you changed” you commanded.

Ellie placed herself on the very edge of the bed, eyes locked on your figure. She raised her arms up and peeled off the drenched T-shirt leaving her in a simple sports bra which you couldn’t help but ogle at. Then followed her sweats which stuck to the flesh of her toned thighs before finally dropping at her ankles. She wore the sweetest plaid boxers, and now naked before you, she looked so shy.

Towel in hand, you straddled her knees which dangled off the mattress just slightly. Any thoughts of self doubt had left and all she could think about was you and how close you were to her heat. You ruffed up her dripping locks of hair with the soft linen and soaked up what you could. Ellie’s arms fell back into the bed, trying to fight the urge to grip both of your thighs in her strong hands, right then and there. The silky, sheer pajama shorts adorning those thighs were not helping her case either.

“There, all better.” you smiled, doing some final scrunches to the ends of her hair. “Wanna put on some dry clothes now?” Ellie gulped down some fear and slipped her hands to your waist.

“No, not really.” she muttered.

“Oh yeah?” you teased, slinging your hands over her shoulders and connecting them at the back of her neck.

“Yeah.” Ellie affirmed and then slid her hands down to the fat bunching at the crease of your thighs. She pulled forward till your crotch was on hers and breaths became irregular.

“I missed you Els.” you said, before planting a juicy kiss onto her slightly chapped lips.

“Missed you too ___” she murmured between lips locking. “I was starting to think you hated me.” You pulled back quickly, both hands on her face. How could you ever dislike someone as perfect as Ellie? And how could you ever let her think that?

“Never baby, never.” you said, smooching the damp hairs on her head. “Let me make it up to you, okay?”

“Okay.” She agreed and the kissing resumed but this time on her neck. Wet, purple marks of your doing sent butterflies to Ellie’s stomach, and as you started to roll your hips her head flew back with a gasp. She quickly caught on, gripping your sides to assist the fervent grinding. Your fingers traveled down her abs, tracing the v-line, before finding themselves in the vats of her boxers.

“Is this okay Els?”

“Yes, yes please” she gasped. You dipped down further and were greeted with strings of slick and Ellie already bumping against you for pressure.

You gave a sly smile, “All this for me?” She nodded, almost proud at her quick arousal. “Here lie back and let's take these off. I’m gonna take care of you tonight.” Ellie of course followed in suit, scooching against the headboard and revealing her bare cunt. On all fours, you climbed towards her with the intent to please and only that. She slammed her lips into yours as soon as you were in reach, it was impatient and primal– a side you rarely saw from Ellie. Through breaks of tongue, teeth, and spit you discarded any and all clothes covering your flesh.

The sight of your breasts quickly shifted Ellie’s attention. Goosebumps exploded up your body when she soon took them in her grabby hands. She twisted at your hard nipples as your hands found their way back down to her anticipating folds. Your fingers split between middle and ring then gliding through Ellie’s slick, capturing her bundle of nerves with each pass. The pleasure was indescribable except through the gasps and moans she was making into your mouth. Coated in Ellie, you couldn’t help wiping her mess across the expanse of your tongue and sucking it clean.

“You taste fucking perfect.” you elated and Ellie went red. She wasn’t used to dirty talk like this. In all honesty, she wasn’t used to any of it. But god was she willing to learn. With a short preview of her taste, you inched down to try the real thing. You couldn’t wait any longer and pushed up and open at the girls knees to get a better angle. Her hole clenched in prospect as you playfully ghosted your lips past her clit a couple of times.

Finally taking it between your lips Ellie’s eyes completely rolled back, jaw going slack. You gave a gentle suck before sticking out your tongue to make slow, tight circles. This one really drove her wild which you noted from the arch of her back and guttural moans echoing off the walls.

“Els baby, you gotta be quiet for me.” She whined at your request, however complied. There’s no way you were getting caught with your tongue inside the next door neighbor, but god were her little noises music to your ears.

Next came your fingers and she squirmed with the insertion of the middle one. You pumped in and out slowly and it was obvious that Ellie was trying her best to keep quiet. She was practically drawing blood from the strong bite she had on her bottom lip, whimpering ever so often.

Rubbing circles at her thigh and adding another finger, you praised, “You’re being such a good girl for mommy.” Ellie’s hips jolted, and olive-colored eyes went wide at the name– something she never thought would turn her on. It was something that had just slipped from your lips, too caught up in the moment, but now that it was out in the air it just made you all the more wet. Your pace picked up and it grew harder to penetrate through the desperate clenches of her walls. You took it as a challenge and added your mouth back into the mix, really trying to push her to the limits.

“Ahh f- fuck” she cursed out with ramblings of your name. Knowing how good you made her feel drove you crazy, and through swipes of tongue and fingers you found yourself grinding into the stiff mattress below. Ellie was obsessed with the way you rocked your hips and even sat up a little bit to get a better view. This, combined with the work you were doing on her core, forced her to the brink of satisfaction. Her stomach sucked in tight, feeling the build-up of pleasure inside.

“J- just like that, a- almost there-” she sobbed through the wet squelches of her folds.

“You gonna say please for me?” you questioned, slowing down your movements just enough to make her listen.

Stuttering through it she obeyed, “P-please mommy, please c- can I cum?”

“Go ahead baby.” Just hearing those words made you almost gush right along with her so you rewarded the girl with an unfaltering pace. Ellie was right where you wanted her, clenching every muscle at the bliss you so graciously gave her. With your thumb on her clit and fingers curling up to hit just the right spot, she buckled along with attempts to muffle the groans she couldn't hold in any longer.

“Shit, I- I’m cu-cumming.” Her thighs flew shut but you quickly parted them back as you coached her through the euphoric feeling.

“You’re doing so fucking amazing Els.” You planted kisses across her thighs as she rode out her orgasm to a limp state. Ellie had yet to open her eye’s after the second finger and was still coming back down to Earth. Climbing up the bed to lay next to her, you brushed all the hair stuck in the girl's freckles, occasionally giving a slight peck of comfort. She finally fluttered her lids open and her pupils exploded with love. No one had ever taken care of her so well, and she’d thank you for it until the end of time.

✄ - - - - masterlist - - - - ♡

taglist...

@endureher @gold-dustwomxn @alexpritch @4rt3m1ss @robinismywifee @sophlovesbooks @97cityy

(taglist is for all callmelola111 works, if you'd like to be removed just kindly lmk)

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thelightsandtheroses · 10 months

Text

sing fever to the form | frankie morales x female reader

Summary: Fake dating Frankie Morales seemed the obvious solution to both of your problems, until you caught feelings and now everything is a mess. Pairing: Frankie Morales x female reader Warnings: language and explicit content, 18+ blog - minors do not interact, a little angst with a happy ending romcom style,no physical descriptors, no use of Y/N or specific age mentions for the reader. Word Count: 6.3k Notes: the fic title is from one of my absolute favourite songs which features on every single playlist i ever compile (fever to the form by nick mulvey). I also owe a huge thank you to the lovely @mvtthewmurdvck for her support on this one 💕 i think without her, this would have probably languished in my drafts.

In the cold light of Benny Miller’s bathroom, you come to the conclusion that you’ve made several mistakes. The worst one of these, the one that set the rest in motion like dominoes, had honestly seemed like such a good idea at the time. It appeared such an obvious solution to the numerous questions, interrogations and unspoken pity that you were encountering. You could never have expected this.

You’d moved to Florida for work some time ago and while you had friends and a great career, your love life was definitely lacking. People picked up on it and while no one directly said it, you felt you were continually judged. Sure, it was all well and good that you had a nice job, but if no one’s dating you - well, what’s your red flag?

Between that and the fact your parents kept asking about whether or not you were dating, or if you’d met anyone nice at work, it started to weigh on you. Was there a problem with the way you were living - was it you? Your loved ones seemed so disappointed that you weren’t dating and putting yourself ‘out there in the world’. You tried to tell them the dating pool was not great, that the apps were awful and the only guys you ever seemed to attract came with so many of their own red flags that they could have lined the whole of your street. You’d dated enough bad guys already, you didn’t want to date any more.

You just needed some space.

Frankie was your friend and he was experiencing similar pressures. His friends were asking him when he’d start dating again and he was grappling with a new status as a single father. So, he also needed a break, needed to remove some of the noise from those around him.

Fake dating might belong in the movies, but it seemed an obvious solution to both of your predicaments. For a while, it was perfect.

Frankie is the ideal fake boyfriend, he’s better than any you could have ever imagined. In fact, he is probably the best boyfriend you’ve ever had, which is part of the problem. Most of your previous boyfriends hadn’t been the best, and suddenly here’s Frankie, acting like the perfect man for you?

Of course, you ended up falling for him.

It might have seemed a good idea back then, only now you’re hiding in a bathroom, fighting back tears and berating yourself as the BBQ you’d been looking forward to carries on outside. You’re so stupid. This is a dumb game. It isn’t real.

You’re not supposed to catch feelings.

But you have.

“So, how did we get together?” Frankie asks, leaning his head back against the sofa so you can see all the freckles on his neck above his hoodie.

“Um…” you chew your lip, take a gulp of your drink, “I have no idea.”

Frankie’s house is the sort of home that has comforting chaos and mess to it. His daughter’s things are strewn around the living room, an aviation manual rests on open pages on the coffee table next to you and a pile of battered paperbacks are stacked next to the sofa. The walls are a warm yellow; surprisingly comforting and bright. It’s a stark contrast to how Frankie presents himself outside of his home - cool, collected, a little quiet.

His home feels lived in. You always feel comfortable here.

“We could say that we just realised one day, hanging out, I mean crazier things have happened. A big story would stand out. KISS principles an’ all.”

“What did you just say?’” you ask. “Did you just say kissing principles?”

“Kiss?” He shakes his head. “Keep it simple, stupid! The way I see it, the only way for us to get away with this is to keep it realistic, boring almost so people don’t ask more,” Frankie says thoughtfully.

“Ah, so hooking up with you would be boring? That’s good to know.”

“Oh, carinô, if I kissed you for real that is not the word you’d use …”Frankie trails off, mischievously raises an eyebrow.

“Ergh, you can be so arrogant,” you tease, “Okay, fine. We had a sudden movie like realisation and what - we just got together and then what did we do?”

“Well then, y’know, by that point, you couldn’t exactly walk away.” Frankie smirks salaciously.

You throw a sofa cushion at him.“I think I hate you, Frankie Morales..”

“No, no that’s definitely not what you said.”

“So,” Frankie pauses, runs a hand through his hair. “We should agree what the boundaries are, when we’re with others.”

“Others?”

“Yes, when we’re with our friends. It needs to be believable, right? And I’m sorry, but if we stay like we are now, around my friends, then they’ll know it’s fake in five minutes.”

“Why?”

“I did an online quiz with my ex and um, physical touch is my love language,” Frankie says sheepishly.

“You do know that whole love language thing is bullshit, right?”

“No, it’s not. Jessie said -”

“She’s wrong.”

“Regardless, the quiz said that - ergh, fine, whatever. So, what’s the plan there? I don’t want either us to feel uncomfortable though, okay.”

“We’ve been friends a long time,” you say lightly, “This won’t change that. We can figure this out.” It’s not like you’ve never hugged Frankie or he hasn’t put an arm around you before. How hard can it be - you need people to believe you?

“Also, I am not lying to my kid, or getting her to lie for me. We need to keep her out of it, tell everyone else we’re taking it slow with her until we know it’s serious, okay?” Frankie looks at you with a suddenly serious expression. Oh god, he’s a dad and this is stupid and complicated and you can’t involve her in this and you’ve just been discussing the physical boundaries in this stupid game and this is ridiculous.

It was a pathetic idea of yours.

“Maybe we shouldn’t -”

“It’s fine. We just keep her out of this.”

“Okay, that sounds sensible.”

“So we’re really doing this then?” he asks with a shy smile.

“Yeah, I think we are.”

It’s Frankie. What other choice was there when it came down to it? It’s Frankie with his deep brown eyes that have mastered the puppy dog expression and his shy smiles. You care about him and all of his insecurities, doubts and vulnerabilities you’ve learned over the years. They make him tangible, real, and truer. Perhaps you always liked him and you didn’t know. Maybe you did and subconsciously thought this was the only way you’d have him which is why you’d pursued such a ridiculous idea. Perhaps you had thought this would be like the movies, that he’d confess his love for you and you’d drive off into the sunset.

You’re now accustomed to the way his hands skim your back or waist when you’re with friends, the way he leans closer to you and you can feel his breath against your ear when he whispers sweet nothings in his low voice, smell the laundry detergent on his clothes.

He’s so convincing.

No one has ever questioned whether it’s real with the two of you. You don’t think it would ever cross their mind that the two of you are fake dating.

Your body and mind certainly doesn’t think it’s fake anymore.

You sit on the edge of the bath and try and try and pinpoint when you realised you felt this way. You’ve both been flirting with danger for weeks; the way you’ve let him trace shapes on your side when he pulls you close, how you lean into the crook of his neck, play with the ends of his curls when you’re out with friends. You tell yourself it’s just to make it look real, to make this situation look authentic.

You’ve certainly fooled yourself.

You’re not even sure when you realised this. One moment everything was like normal and then it wasn’t. Perhaps it’s your fault, you have always been a dreamer. You’ve always walked through life fantasising that this will be the moment when everything changes, when you suddenly fit in and someone will like you or fall in love with you. Given the way your mind works, it was inevitably a stupid idea to even try this with Frankie.

It’s been overwhelming at the BBQ today; the gentle touches, the way he looks at you and you almost believe it’s genuine. It wouldn’t normally bother you so much, but now you’re aching for it to be something it can’t be and it’s all too much.

You couldn’t help looking at Frankie throughout the BBQ; wanting to count the freckles on his neck, to run your hands through the curls hidden by his hat as you notice the ends peeking out at the nape of his neck. You’re always taken with the broadness of his shoulders too, his hands.

You’re completely doomed.

You can’t do this anymore. It’s not fair, it’s a betrayal of your friendship with him. It’s a betrayal of his trust because agreeing to do this fake dating was an exercise in trust, one you are failing.

You’ve been thinking about it for days. The reason you feel so safe with Frankie is because it’s not real, because you weren’t supposed to have to give your heart away. It was just meant to distract people so you could breathe again. You’ve seen too many romcoms and movies, you’re too much of a dreamer to have ever let this work without getting messy. You thought you could be detached and objective, but you can’t.

It’s you, you’re the one who has screwed up.

So you go downstairs, make your excuses and leave.

You’ve been fake dating for two weeks and this just might be your best relationship ever. You can’t decide if that’s sweet or perhaps the most depressing thing you’ve ever admitted.

You’re in Frankie’s car on the way to Tom’s birthday, playing with the handle of the gift bag you’re holding. The sun is out, Frankie’s playlist is setting the scene and you feel so happy in this moment.

“Don’t be surprised if they say something about us,” Frankie says casually as he changes gear, “The guys have been giving me grief since I told them about us. Well, since I told them about what we’re saying about us, anyway.”

“I thought the idea was it would stop them giving you grief?”

“Oh, this is much better than it was, trust me,” he says, laughing as he looks at the road ahead. With his sunglasses on, no hat and a loose t-shirt he looks more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him. Frankie strikes you as a tightly wound coil, he’s just got that energy. He’s calm, not something or someone you are afraid of, but you recognise the way he thinks, see the nervous anticipation in his eyes before he smiles at one of his friends on a night out.

You see the same thing in yourself.

“You know, I can’t believe this is working,” you say cheerfully to Frankie, “My mom has even stopped sending me those news articles about people who meet their soulmates later in your life.”

“Your mom was sending you those?” Frankie asks, raising an eyebrow.

“She means well,” you say placidly. “My parents have always had a lot of expectations for me.”

“Shit.” He reaches over and squeezes your hand. “Well, I can promise you that you’re the best fake girlfriend I’ve ever had.”

“Likewise, Frankie, likewise.”

You don’t mean to ghost Frankie after the BBQ. It’s just you’re not sure what to say to him. I’m sorry, but I think this fake dating is getting a little too authentic because I might be falling for you?

You can’t do that to him, can’t embarrass yourself with your stupid crush either. It’s better to just ignore the messages, pretend it’s not happening and bury your head in the sand.

Of course, Frankie knows where you live, so you shouldn’t be as surprised as you are when he turns up at your home.

“So what’s going on? I texted you,” he says with a forced casual voice as he leans against your kitchen counter. He’s wearing a loose t-shirt and jeans, his usual hat discarded next to him. He runs a hand through his hair and looks over at you.

You don’t want to look at him properly, so you focus your attention on your kitchen tiles instead . You really need to mop the kitchen floor later.

“I think, I think this thing has run its course.”

“Oh, really?” Frankie looks surprised, almost sad, when you dare to look at him, “I thought this was working well for us both.”

“A little too well,” you mumble under your breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

You sigh.

“Hey, cariño, talk to me.”

“It’s just us, Frankie, you don’t have to call me that right now.”

“Why, do you not like it?”

You exhale again with exasperation and shake your head. Just make this easier on me, you think, stop muddying the water. When you meet Frankie’s eyes he looks perplexed though, concerned and his brow is furrowed.

“What’s going on?” he asks, arms folded as he looks over at you. “Talk to me.”

“I think we should stop with this fake dating arrangement. I mean, the idea was just to do it until my friends and my parents were off my back and until your friends were off yours, and they are. So, let’s call it a win and move on.”

“Did something happen?” Frankie asks. “You meet someone?” There’s a strange tone to his voice, almost wistful.

“No, no. I just - I don’t think we should keep doing this. I mean that girl asked you out last week at the bar and because Will and I were with you, you said no.”

“She wasn’t my type anyway and that’s what this is about? Come on!”

“I’m - I’m clearly holding you back and that’s not what this was supposed to be.”

“Is this what you really want?”

“Absolutely,” you lie brightly, smiling as widely as you can. “We’re friends and we’ve helped each other out so let’s bow out of this gracefully. We can say to the others - we can tell them we realised that we’re better off as friends.”

“Right. Okay.”

“Okay?” you repeat, disappointed that he’s just giving up, that this really is it.

A small part of you was holding out hope for Frankie fighting back, for him to declare his love for you, take you into his arms and then for the two of you to have the most passionate, intense sex of your life right there in the kitchen. That’s what happens in the movies and books. It’s all meant to end with a kiss.

Only he doesn’t do that.

He just quietly acquiesces to your demand that this ends now and when he smiles, as though his acceptance will make you happy, he shatters your heart into a million pieces.

You have no idea how your friendship will recover from this. You have no idea how to watch someone else love Frankie in the future, to watch him put his hands on someone else or look at them like he looked at you and know it’s real for them but wasn’t for you.

“I should probably go,” Frankie says, his gaze fixated on the floor.

“Oh, right. Well, I’ll see you around.”

The story of your breakup spreads quickly. Your friends are disappointed, they tell you it’s obvious you both liked each other, they ask if you’re sure you can’t work it out? Your parents are clearly disappointed, but at the same time you catch a glance of relief on your mother’s face when you tell her.

“He’s complicated,” she says, taking a sip from her cup of tea. It’s your mom’s first visit in months, a visit you had originally planned during the fake dating misadventure.

“Complicated?”

“He’s a single father and the job he has? Being a pilot isn’t like a regular 9-5.”

“He makes his hours work for his kid, and none of those things were the reason we broke up”you say defensively. “And at my age, most people have previous relationships and baggage so I don’t think that makes him any more complicated than anyone else I could meet.”

“You don’t, darling, you don’t have any baggage.”

“That in itself is clearly a complication,” you say, rolling your eyes like a petulant teenager. “I mean, you and Dad hated it when I was single. You were always asking if I’d met someone, or if I was looking and -“ you trail off and stare at your hands on the table. Your nail varnish is chipped. Rouge Noir, the classic vampy red you always put on when you’re feeling blue, when you need a confidence boost. It’s not working for you right now though.

“We just want you to be happy,” your mom says, gently taking her hands in yours. “Whatever that looks like.”

“I am happy.” It’s meant to sound assertive but it comes out more like a question as you speak. You’re happy, dammit. Or you were before everything went wrong.

“No, honey, you’re in the middle of a break up and it’s obvious you still feel something for him. Are you sure - are you sure it’s over? You told me you were the one who ended things.”

“Yeah, I did. I don’t think - I don’t think it’s a good idea, mom. I’ll get over it. I have this big work project and then that trip and the apartment move soon, so I’ll be fine.”

You’re not sure of anything now. You thought stopping the arrangement with Frankie would save your friendship, but it didn’t. Now you don’t have him at all and it fucking hurts.

You are so angry and sad and confused. This is all your fault for getting feelings that you’d laughed at the possibility of months ago. You’ve lost him anyway and it’s caused a great chasm in your heart.

How can you be mourning something that wasn’t even real in the first place?

When you became friends with Frankie, he introduced you to some of his friends from his military days. While you didn’t exactly get on with all of them, Tom is aloof at best, Benny and you had become friends over time. In the wake of your fictionalised break-up, you’ve lost those people too. You’ve avoided Benny’s fights, wanted Frankie to have his friends without the bother of you. Besides, you’ve been focused on work. You had a trip away for a few days and then you had a big project, presentations. Work has been something to throw yourself into.

It’s a good plan, but Benny keeps texting you and personally invites you to his next fight.

You and Frankie have both said you’re still friends so what’s the problem?

I don’t know if it’s a good idea.

Just come to the damn fight, would you? Liv keeps asking after you.

You decide you should go at least once to show your face. You can do this, you can handle one night. You like Liv, Benny’s girlfriend, and you can say hello and then vanish quickly after the fight ends. If you’re careful with the seating set up, you might not even see Frankie or have to talk to him at all.

The bar is crowded and while Will, Santiago, Tom and Frankie all greeted you when you arrive, it feels different. Stilted somehow.

It’s almost how it would feel if this was a genuine break up, if this was real. You suppose it is to Santiago, Tom and Will.

You sat with Benny’s girlfriend, Liv, for the fight. She squeezed your hand sympathetically when she catches you looking over at Frankie.

Frankie still looks the same as ever, you think as you cast your eyes over to where he is in the crowd. He’s wearing his usual hat, the one you’ve teased him about for years but can’t picture him ever giving up, with well fitting jeans and a jacket. He looks infuriatingly good.

Before the fight Frankie had moved so he was next to you and he looked like he wanted to say something to you before the fight began. Panicked, you quickly moved next to Liv instead and so you were sitting on the other side of the group to him as you took your seats.

Crisis averted, you thought. Only now, you can’t stop wondering what he might have said to you.

“I can’t see why you can’t get it together,” Benny says, taking a sip from his bottle of beer. The two of you are standing together by the bar, waiting for the rest of the group’s drinks. Benny’s mostly fixed up from his fight, with just a small red stain on his forehead between the steri-strips and bruises. You think the other guy must look a lot worse.

“Wait, what did you say?” you ask.

“I don’t see why you and Frankie can’t work it out. I mean, look at him,” Benny points his bottle towards your friends, to where your attention had just been. Frankie’s standing on the edge of the group, arms folded, hat rigid. He looks uncomfortable.

You shouldn’t have come here tonight.

“We tried and it wasn’t a good fit. It wasn’t going to work out,,” you say flatly, repeating the line you and Frankie had agreed on.

“Look, you might have fooled the others, but you can’t fool me.”

Your stomach sinks. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I know you guys were fake dating at first.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You could barely keep your stories straight about how you got together when I asked,” Benny says softly. “You kept adding details and I noticed Frankie shake his head whenever you did that.”

��Why didn’t you say anything? Does Frankie know?” You’re mortified for him, you know how embarrassed he would feel if he found out that Benny had guessed all along it was fake.

This really can’t get any worse.

“‘Cause you two obviously liked each other. I assumed that you’d figure it out along the way. I thought you had, but then -” Benny trails off.

“You know when you assume, you make an ass -”

‘Oh sweetheart, don’t even finish that sentence.“ Benny exhales. “How are you holding up?”

“It’s what you said, it was fake and we ended it and it’s all fine now.”

“Bullshit,” Benny exclaims, his southern drawl even more pronounced.

“It’s not.”

“It is.”

The bartender interrupts by finally handing you the rest of your drinks and between you and Benny, you take them and rejoin your friends.

‘Cause you two obviously liked each other.

Benny’s words echo in your mind. He didn’t say because you liked Frankie, but because you both did.

Frankie doesn’t like you like that though, you know this. He’s clearly just a very good actor.

You end up the one handing Frankie his drink, no doubt due to Benny’s meddling. Your hands brush against his as he takes the bottle and you can’t help looking up at him, noticing the unreadable expression on his face.

Will coughs loudly and you quickly take a step back.

“It was a good fight, Benny,” you say awkwardly, hoping he’ll take the change of subject.

“I need a smoke,” Frankie says, hunching his shoulders as he walks away from the group.

The room instantly turns cold.

You awkwardly pull the edge of your jacket down, wishing the ground would swallow you up. Santi, Tom and Will are staring at you and you can’t be here. They hate you, they’re judging you.

This is so fucked up.

“I’m uh, going to go.”

Liv makes a motion as if to stop you, but she doesn’t, and Benny’s looking at you with real disappointment but that doesn’t stop you either. You’re getting good at running away now.

You’re too afraid to look behind you and see whether they’re looking at you as you walk away.

Frankie’s standing by the parking lot when you finally weave your way past the crowds and bloody fighters to reach the exit.

He looks surprised to see you. Just seeing his face makes your heart ache because you’ve lost him, you’ve lost him and you didn’t want to.

“I’m leaving now, so you can go back in” you say flatly.

“I was just having a smoke,” he says defensively. It’s an obvious lie, you both know it.

“Sure, Frankie. Look, you can’t just stomp off like that. You can’t leave me in that position with everyone. It’s not fair.”

“Yeah, well, there’s a lot of things we don’t discuss, lot of things that aren’t fair,” Frankie says bitterly, tossing his cigarette to the floor and stamping on it a little too vigorously.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What’s going on with you? This wasn’t meant to affect our friendship. I never, ever would have agreed if I’d known,” Frankie says firmly. “You were my friend and I still wanted you to be but you ghosted me and ended our deal. That’s fine, but we didn’t go back to normal after. We just - it’s like you hate me now.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“Just would you tell me what I did wrong?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then why -”

“It was too real,” you whisper, folding your arms around yourself and leaning against the brick wall.

“What? What did you say?” Frankie asks, moving closer.

“You know, the faking it thing. It was too real, it was confusing me. And I - I didn’t want to ruin everything but I still ruined it all. Story of my life.”

“Don’t say that. Don’t be so hard on yourself.” You think, somehow he’s going to break your heart even more tonight and you didn’t think that was possible..

“I just - I got confused.”

“How did you get confused?” he asks in a low voice, taking another step closer to you.

“Don’t, Frankie, don’t make me say it.”

“Say what?” he asks, dramatically throwing his hands in the air, “I can’t understand you. I mean, this was your idea and then you ended it and now you don’t even want to be friends? I don’t know what I did but -”

“You did nothing, Frankie. It’s me, not you.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Clearly something happened. Can’t you just talk to me? I’m fucking miserable here. You were supposed to be my friend and I miss you.” You hadn’t thought that your actions could have hurt Frankie, you thought you were protecting him by doing what you did.

You feel even worse, a sick feeling rising in your stomach.

“It got muddled in my head, okay, it felt like it was real and I couldn’t do that to you, so that’s why - that’s why.” You falter at the end of your sentence as all of the adrenaline and energy from your body fades away..

“It got too real for you? What are you saying?”

“That I like you. That I ended up liking you more than I should, you obtuse jerk!”

Frankie pauses then takes another step closer. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, a slight smile on his face that you can’t make any sense of.

“It’s embarrassing, Frankie. We made an arrangement and I caught feelings like an idiotic teenager. I’m just daydreaming my life away again.”

Frankie is so close to you right now, he braces his hands against the wall as he stands right in front of you.

“You caught feelings, huh?”

You notice a familiar smirk on his face and then he’s kissing you.

Frankie’s kissed you before; it’s been part of the facade after all, but not like this.

This kiss is everything. It sends molten heat down your core, renders your mind completely blank. All the anxiety, all the internal dialogue is gone for once. The silence is blissful as you can feel your heart pounding, take in the soft texture of Frankie’s shirt as you fist it to pull him closer because now he’s with you like this, you can’t let him go.

It’s not an aggressive kiss, it’s not teeth clashing or fury. It’s not exactly gentle either. Frankie kisses you with care; like he’s trying to take you apart right here and now with just a kiss.

In just one minute, he’s ruined you for other people. No one else could kiss you like Frankie does.

“I told you, if I kissed you for real it wouldn’t be boring,” Frankie mumbles, moving his attention down your jaw and neck to your collarbone. You can feel the velvet softness of his lips, the heat of his breath.

“Oh fuck you,” you joke.

”Well, baby, I think I’m trying. Not here though, we can do better than that.”

You both laugh. The tension breaks for just a second as you wrap your arms around his shoulders, laugh into his neck, breathe him in.

“C’mon, you had to know I liked you. I just, I just thought you deserved someone better than me -” Frankie starts.

“That’s bullshit,” you argue. Frankie is kind, thoughtful and funny. He’s also so competent, multi-skilled and as you’ve just learned, an excellent kisser. Frankie has that quiet and collected energy you’ve noticed in a lot of ex-military people too. He flies planes and helicopters for a living. He’s your friend. How could you deserve any better than him?

“Can we get out of here?” Frankie asks, “Talk, not talk, I don’t mind. I just - I want to be with you right now. God, I missed you.”

“Okay. I really fucking missed you too,” you say, kissing his shoulder lightly before leaning back against the wall.

He doesn’t stop touching you the whole way to your apartment. He’s either holding your hand or touching your leg. If he has to temporarily remove himself to make a turn or change gear, he’s immediately back with you as soon as possible. You wonder if he’s worried you’ll leave or vanish if he’s not actually touching you, if he’s also wondering if this is really happening..

His car stereo blares uncharacteristically cheerful music by the latest pop sensation and you raise your eyebrows when he looks over at you.

“It’s her favourite album by her favourite singer and school’s been rough for her the last few weeks so this cheers her up,” he says defensively, flexing his fingers on the steering wheel, “I think I can probably hear it even when it’s not playing now.”

“Sure, but your daughter’s not in the car with us. Is she, Frankie? You could have switched it over.”

“I keep forgetting to change the CD,” he whines unconvincingly. “This car’s old.”

You make your way to your apartment, his arm around you, fingers entwined with yours the whole time.

As soon as you close the front door, he’s pushing your back against the wall, cupping his hands around your face to kiss you deeply.

You move your hands up to meet his and then move one of your hands down his chest.

“Your heart’s racing like crazy,” you mumble as he kisses a particular spot on your neck.

There’s always a moment of fear at a junction like this. What if the sex is bad - what if you’re just not compatible this way? But you need him, you need him with you, in you and the two of you are both too far gone to focus on that now.

Your friendship is changed anyway. There’s nothing more to lose.

He places his hands on your hips, pulls you away towards your bedroom.

“I want you so much,” he says.

“I want you too,” you reply, dazed between kisses as he navigates you to the edge of your bed.

He ghosts his hands down to the edge of your top and you move to desperately pull it off you.

You watch him take in the sight of you in your bra, take in the smile on his face. He looks at you with something like reverence; as if he can’t quite take it in that you’re real and you’re with him. Part of you wants to glow under his gaze and the rest of you fights panic, because this feels different, it feels real. You’ve never been looked at like this before.

You’ll do anything to keep this moment.

He gently unhooks your bra, moves his kisses down from your lips to your neck to your collarbone to the curve of your breasts and then down again.

His hands fumble with the button of your jeans and you’re desperate for him.

“What do you want, baby?”

You, you think, I just want you.

”C’mon, tell me,” he coaxes.

“I just need you. I want you to - ”

“I’ve got you,” he says, calmly lifting your hips to remove your jeans, to touch the hem of your underwear - and could you have not put better underwear on this morning?

You open your mouth to say something but then he comes back to meet your lips as he moves his hand inside your underwear. You’re already slick with wanting him, he slides a finger inside before tracing circles over your bundle of nerves to make you gasp.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he whispers as he continues taking you apart.

“Frankie -”

“I’ve liked you for so long, I just thought you didn’t want me that way. I’d take anything you give me - friendship, I mean fake dating. I thought it was as close as I’d get.”

“Frankie, how could I not want you that way? You’re - you’re Frankie.”

“Exactly.”

“I’m going to show you.”

You feel your orgasm building and clasp your hands over his shoulders, into his hair. You shut your eyes and then it’s gone.

“Frankie?”

You open your eyes to see him take his finger into his mouth then mischievously smiles as he moves back and off the bed. He moves you so your legs are over the edge of the bed and then. He gets on his knees.

You take a deep breath He kisses the inside of your knee, traces kiss up your thigh until he meets you. You sit up slightly on your elbows as he looks up to meet your gaze with a dazed smile before he turns his attention to you.

Frankie Morales knows exactly what he’s doing between your legs but in case, you tell him how good he is anyway. He takes you apart with expert precision, gets you back to the precipice of pleasure all too quickly and guides you over the line.

“Do you want to -” he asks breathlessly as he comes back to you afterwards and kisses you. You can taste yourself on his lips, can feel his hardness pressing into you.

“Yeah, I do. I have uh - condoms in the bathroom cabinet.”

“Give me a second.” He kisses you briefly and you shut your eyes again as he goes to the bathroom. You try and catch your breath back and get your legs to stop trembling.

Why are the condoms so fucking far away? You still desperately need him, still need to feel him.

When Frankie comes back, he kisses you hungrily before he slides the condom over his length.

“Fuck, to think we could have been doing this the whole time,” he says before he’s sliding inside you.

There’s nothing else at this moment. It’s just you and him and the way you dig your fingers into his back with your free hand and the way your other hands is entwined in his as he moves inside you, the two of you desperately exchanging sweet nothings to each other, groaning each other’s names.

Your heart is racing and the blood is pumping in your ears. You watch the expression on his face just before he buries his face in your neck, sure he can feel the way you’re tightening around him, can surely feel how close you are too and then just as he takes you to that place one more time, you hear the way he moans as he joins you.

The next morning you watch Frankie pacing your balcony as speaks on the phone to his daughter. His hair is still damp from the shower, curling at the ends, and he has a mug of coffee in his other hand. He turns and smiles at you.

Just twenty four hours ago, you never thought Frankie could feel that way about you. You were resigned to your mistakes and your losses.

You were wrong.

He hangs up the phone and you walk over to join him on the balcony, your mug of coffee tightly clasped between your hands.

“Hi.”

“Hey,” he says, putting his phone in his pocket and wrapping his now free arm around you as he takes a gulp of coffee.

You take a sip of your own coffee.

“I was just thinking,” Frankie says, “so, I guess the story we came up with before was true, right? We just realised how we felt about each other one day - and okay, it might have taken some fake dating to get us both there - but no one else needs to know that.”

“No one else needs to know that.”

You definitely need to tell Frankie at some point that Benny has figured everything out, that Benny clearly pushed you two together last night. You probably owe him a thank you, but you’ll never tell Benny that.

“So, what do we do now?” There’s a lot you need to discuss, figure out, but you just want to be with him. Surely that’s enough for now.

Frankie grins. “Well, I don’t need to be home until the afternoon so I’ve got some time right now.”

“I’m sure we can think of some things to fill that time.”

Frankie laughs. “Definitely.”

Tag List

All Pedro characters: @harriedandharassed @pedrostories @hiroikegawa @pedrosaidsheispunk

#frankie morales x female reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #triple frontier #frankie morales fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction

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persevereforahappyending · 2 months

Text

Luck Runs Out |Part 4|

Pairing: Mabel x Reader

Summary: When your luck runs out you unknowingly drag Mabel back into the life, she's so desperate to escape.

Warnings: Mention of drugs, mention of death

Word Count: 2.7k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Mabel was leaning back in her chair, eating fries from a local burger place she got takeout from for you and her. She shook her head as she continued to argue with you. It was a few days after you woke up and though you weren’t super active you were more awake than you had been. Mabel had only known you less than a week, but it felt like longer, the two of you didn’t have a ton in common but that didn’t matter, she continued to listen as you told her about Odysseus. She also found she loved trying to poke holes in the story, but you always found a way to defend Odysseus.

“But he cheats on his wife!” Mabel said again, as you finally ended your ramble, throwing a fry at you in the processes. “How is that a great love story?”

“Because it wasn’t by choice!” You defended, making Mabel roll her eyes for the thousandth time. “Circe is a witch, she manipulated him, he knew it was the only way to get out of there alive or without being turned into a pig like members of his crew.”

“Calypso didn’t trick him,” she was quick to point out. She hadn’t read the odyssey yet, but you had basically given her a full run down, so she was confident in arguing with you.

“He was trapped on an island with her for over a year! She might not have used magic, but she definitely took advantage of him!”

“Twenty years. Twenty year and despite all her suitors Penelope never once strayed.”

“Neither did Odysseus! Not in his heart! He loved her the entire time, his whole journey was just to get back to her. He could have stayed with Circe, he could have stayed with Calypso, but he didn’t because the most important thing was getting back to his wife.”

Mabel sighed, shaking her head as she took a sip of her drink. “If you’d just read it, you’d see for yourself,” you said before shoving your own fries in your mouth.

“I still don’t get it,” Mabel said, throwing her hands in the air.

You let out a dramatic sigh as you let your head flop back onto the pillows. “What’s not to get? He loves his wife!”

“Not that,” she chuckled. “I mean you.” You lifted your head from the pillows scrunching your eyebrows. “The odyssey is your favorite story, Odysseus is your hero, but you wear a trident necklace.” You tilt your head still clearly not getting it. “Poseidon is the villain! He literally tries to kill your boy the entire story!”

You break out into a laugh, wincing as your entire body shook but the pain didn’t stop your laughter. “Okay fair,” you got out between laughs. “But I mean the ocean is his domain, I feel like if anyone can protect me it’s him.”

“I don’t know, he kind of seems like an asshole.”

“All the gods are assholes,” you smiled. “It’s kind of their thing. But look if I was a pilot, I’d be wearing a little lightning bolt.”

Mabel scoffed, lightly chuckling at that. “You totally have multiple editions of the odyssey,” Mabel narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you?” You opened your mouth as if to defend yourself but quickly shut it. “Of course you do!” She threw her head back as she laughed. “Alright go on!” She waved her hand at you. “Tell me about them.”

“Well, I have a nice hardcover that’s both The Iliad and The Odyssey,” you jumped right into it with a smile. “Then I have a paperback that’s just of the odyssey, it never left my bunk on the boat.”

Mabel chuckled. “Are you serious? You even had a copy while on the boat?”

“Well, yeah,” you shrugged like it was obvious. “I needed something to do during down time or before bed.”

Mabel rolled her eyes at your reasoning before she grabbed the trash from the food, taking it to the kitchen to throw away before she got back to doing her homework. She had skipped class the first few days you were at her place because she didn’t know you well enough. After getting to know you a bit more Mabel decided that even if you were a drug smuggler you weren’t like any of the ones she knew, you were actually kind. When she came home from class the first day she left you alone, you were still there, sound asleep in her dark apartment, she was probably throwing your sleep schedule off with her boarded up windows, but you didn’t complain.

“Holy shit,” she heard you whisper as she started to organize her school stuff. When Mabel looked up, she saw your eyes were on the TV.

She had turned on the TV when she got back with food but had quickly muted it when the two of you started talking. She got up from her seat, quickly unmuting the TV. On the screen was the news, video played showing debris from a boat. Mabel didn’t know what was so significant about it, she glanced back at you to see your eyes hadn’t left the screen. They lived in a fishing town, it wasn’t common but boating accidents happened, hell when she first met Charlie, he had just gotten back from having to be rescued after his first time on the boat. Charlie and the boys had gotten lucky they had all made it to the life raft.

The news anchor appeared taking over most of the screen, the video of the debris still played in the top right corner of the screen.

“Authorities got alerted of an emergency situation last night,” the news anchor said. “Reports of an explosion on the Scylla came in. There is still no word on what caused the explosion or if there were any survivors.” The video took over the screen again while the news anchor’s voice continued to narrate what happened. “A life raft was recovered, however it seems it to have damaged in the accident and doesn’t appear as if anyone made it on to it.”

“There were seven crew members believed to be on the ship,” the anchor appeared on screen again. “No bodies have been recovered but it appears as though there was no survivors.” A picture of seven faces of the crew appeared on the screen.

Mabel’s eyes widened when she recognized the second to last person, it was you. She looked back at you seeing you stare at your own picture with wide eyes. The boat that had sent the distress signal, the one that had gone down, the one where the entire crew was killed, was your boat.

“Authorities are calling this a recovery mission not a search and rescue,” the anchor continued. “An investigation will be underway to determine what exactly happened to claim these seven lives.”

Mabel quickly turned off the TV when the anchor started to go over more of what happened. She had a good idea, the boat you were on went down and your entire crew was dead. For some reason, the authorities suspected you were also on the boat, and you were thought to be dead as well.

“Are you okay?” Mabel asked softly as she turned back towards you. Your eyes continued to stare at the now dark screen.

You shook your head. You were blinking rapidly as you tossed the blankets off your lap and moved to get up from the bed. “Wow,” Mabel said, holding her hands out to stop you. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I-I-I have to go,” you mumbled, groaning as you flung your legs off the side of the bed. “I have to get out of here.”

“What? No!” Mabel rested a hand on your shoulder, pushing you back down onto the bed as gently as she could.

“I can’t be here!” Mabel jumped; she had never heard you yell before. In the few days she spent with you, you had always been kind, guarded, but kind. “I can’t be here,” you said again softer, like usual.

Mabel stared into your eyes. Her gaze darted around your face, taking everything in. She saw your eyes shifting around the room while she tried to keep them on her. It was like you were searching again, waiting for someone to pop out from behind the couch or swing through the windows and get you. There was a slight tremble to your entire body, if Mabel wasn’t standing right next to you, if her hand wasn’t still brushing against you to keep you in place, she never would have noticed. This wasn’t a tremble from the pain or from the cold like when you were first brought to her apartment, this one was much different.

“I have to leave,” you said again. “You can’t be around me right now.”

“What are you going to do?” ‘Mabel decided to ask. “You were shot, your crew is dead, you dropped a pallet of drugs in the ocean. Where else do you have to go?”

You opened your mouth to say something, but no words came out. Mabel knew she was right, according to authorities you were dead, lost at sea, like the rest of your crew. She didn’t know what had happened, but she knew you couldn’t just go waltzing out of her apartment. Your face was all over the news, this was a small fishing town, everyone would know your face by now. You wouldn’t be able to walk through town without someone spotting you and that would lead to questioning from police, if you were lucky. Word would get around to whoever you worked for rather quickly, Mabel didn’t know your boss, but she knew how quickly word spread through a gang especially when it involved a missing shipment.

“They did this,” you whispered. Mabel furrowed her brow. “The people I work for.” You looked back at the blank TV screen. “My captain shot me; they left me there at the ocean's mercy.” Mabel had stared at you; you had such a fascinating way of talking about the ocean. It was clear you respected the ocean and how it could go from calm to ruthless in a matter of seconds.

“The people I work for,” you continued, turning to face Mabel again. “They aren’t good people. My crew went back without a shipment and now they’re all dead.”

“You can’t know that,” Mabel tried to reason, tried to make it seem not so dire, as if there was hope. Mabel knew that was all bullshit though, she had dealt with dealers her entire life, she knew how they got when drugs went missing or when payment was short. She couldn’t imagine what your boss would do with an entire shipment missing.

“Of course I do.” You let out a humorless laugh. “We’re expendable.” You shrugged as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “They lost their drugs so now they’re cleaning house, can’t have an incompetent crew working for them.”

“So, what’s the plan?” Mabel raised her arms. She understood how violent drug gangs could be. The one you seemed to be working for was even worse than all the guys she knew.

“I don’t know.” You ran a hand through your hair in frustration, gripping it tightly. “I don’t know. Maybe if I tell them what happened, if I return the drugs I do have, and tell them where the shipment is, they’ll let me go?”

Mabel stared at you; you said it like a question. It was clear you didn’t believe it though. If you walked into wherever your boss was working out of, you wouldn’t be walking out. You were already presumed dead. All your boss would have to do is kill you then take your body out and drop it in the ocean, it would be as if nothing happened, no one would ever know.

“Well, you can’t leave here until we have a plan,” Mabel stated, crossing her arms so you would know there was no arguing with her.

“If they find out you’re helping me they will kill you,” you said.

You looked up at her guiltily, as if everything that happened was your fault and you were the biggest inconvenience of her entire life. It wasn’t untrue, it wasn’t your fault you got shot, it was Charlie’s fault for bringing you here in the first place. If someone were to ask Mabel a few days ago how she felt about you she would have said you were an inconvenience, she had to keep you hidden and take care of you because of your injury, it was all truly inconvenient. However, Mabel enjoyed your company, she liked it as you quietly sat there while she did her schoolwork, even though you hadn’t gone to college either you still helped her out with what you could when she was struggling, you always asked her about her day. She also liked listening to you talk, she was about to go out and buy The Odyssey so she could continue to discuss it with you. You got so excited when talking about something you loved so much, it was cute.

“I don’t want you to put yourself in danger, not for me,” you continued, talking as if you weren’t worth helping, as if you weren’t someone worth being saved. “They blew up an entire boat, with their main crew for bringing in their drugs on it. They won’t have an issue with getting rid of you and your friends.”

Mabel sucked in a breath; she knew that was true. If your boss learned you were alive and someone had helped you, even if they were a total stranger, they’d find them and kill them. Charlie and his crew were in this deeper than they could imagine, they found you, they found you with drugs, and said drugs were still on their boat. Your boss would kill all of them just to get the drugs back, it wouldn’t matter that it’s only three packs, they wouldn’t take the chance of letting witnesses survive. The fact that Mabel helped you and just knew what happened also put a target on her back, you were all screwed if the gang you worked for got wind of any of this.

“I think that ship has sailed,” Mabel mumbled. She watched as you closed your eyes, letting out a long sigh. She didn’t mean to make you feel more guilty, but she needed to express why you couldn’t leave. That leaving wouldn’t change the fact that they’re all in danger.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled. “Your friends should have just left me in the ocean.”

Mabel frowned; you truly thought you were better off dead. “I’m not,” she admitted softly. She smiled when you looked up at her surprised. “The boys chose to help you and I chose to let you stay here during your recovery. So, we will figure this out, together.” Mabel crossed her arms, staring down at you so you knew she was serious and there was no changing her mind.

“Besides,” she grumbled, pretending to be annoyed by what she was about to admit. “I’ve enjoyed talking to you. You aren’t the like regular drug smugglers I know.”

“I’m not a drug smuggler,” you replied instantly.

Mabel smiled, making you smile as well. She now believed it, you might have done some drug smuggling and that technically did mean you were a drug smuggler but that wasn’t all you were, you were so much more than that.

“Since you’re already sitting up,” Mabel said with a slight smirk, already knowing how you’d react. “Let’s change your bandage and clean your wound.”

“Ugh,” you dragged out in an overly dramatic groan.

Mabel moved to the spot right next to you, and slowly began peeling back the bandage on your shoulder. She ignored the way her knee brushed against your leg. She flicked her eyes to your face, seeing you already staring at her, she pretended she didn’t know where your eyes went when they flicked down for a second. She pretended her eyes didn’t also flick down to your lips, she focused on the bandage, silently hoping she wasn’t blushing as she tried to continue to ignore your unwavering gaze. You were cute, you were fun, but you were trouble.

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