#i swear to god i will finish this someday

[autisticlancemcclain]

The actual Garrison had honestly been worse than the airport.

Middle school children were, notoriously, the worst people in the world, and Lance’s foreignism made him an immediate target for venting the frustrations of going through puberty. As much as the constant mocking of his accent and his English (he was ESL, not fucking stupid) were horrible, Lance was honestly pretty annoyed by the whole ordeal. Like, yeah. He wasn’t new to bullying. But at least the bullies back home tried, a little. They actually went digging for things that would genuinely hurt his feelings – which sucked but at least there was some fucking effort, y’know? The kid in fourth grade who looked him dead in the eyes and said he looked like Timmy Turner but with bigger teeth made him cry for days. These idiots just repeated anything he said in a stupid voice and laughed with all their friends. Where’s the refinement? The nuance? Did these dickheads think they were too good to insult Lance properly, or something?

Needless to say, his spite kept him going through that first year in Arizona’s most esteemed piloting program. Yeah, he was friendless, and lonely, and honestly pretty bored, but the faces of all those shit-for-brained jackasses when he was in the top three of the class, month after month, was beyond gratifying. Jerks.

His bad luck broke eventually, though – in the second year of the Garrison, he’d petitioned for a new roommate, and his petition had been accepted. That’s when he’d met the one and only Kealoha Garrett. The two of them had hit it off almost immediately: both visibly different and thus targets for the rest of the student body, with similar interests to boot. Lance remembers with fondness how many times they’d stayed up into the early hours of the morning, chatting and laughing and becoming the best of friends. Lance had been so delighted to find out that Hunk loved space as much as he did – he’d never been able to click with anyone else about that, much to his shock, since they were in a space exploration military school, but whatever – and the two of them had several memorable excursions taking the school shuttle to the next town over to clear out the library.

Lance still remembers the elation he’d felt on one of those trips – he’d found a particularly interesting book he thought Hunk would like, about the history of combustion engines in spaceships. Hunk had lit up when Lance had shown him – a beaming smile, teeth on full display, eyes all crinkly and joyous.

“Aw, Lance, you’re the best! I love you, man.”

Lance had choked out a quick ‘love you too, dude’, then excused himself to go cry quickly in the washroom. After months of only hearing the words from the tinny speakers of his laptop whenever his family had the time to call, the unexpected affection had him incredibly emotional. He’d really known, then, that he and Hunk would be forever. He’d known that their friendship would be solid and carry them through the living hell that was the American education system, military boarding school or otherwise.

He wishes that had been the truth. That he and Hunk were still that close.

He misses his best friend.

———

other part of this wip

[eldritchqueerture]

wanted to write noel and arthur kissing and instead it evolved into them explaining to john how attraction works and why society is homophobic

[ghostzzy]

i’m reading a book.

[clemnoir]

every day i make eye contact with the unfinished sad marichat and insane adrienette fics in my google docs and i sigh 😔

[fionnaskyborn]

pros of learning how to play fighting game:

undergoing a learning experience, trying out something entirely different from anything i have previously played

i get to look at a little guy do cool things on my screen :)

cons of learning how to play fighting game:

i am clumsy as all hell with the inputs

the order in which you press and/or hold buttons to create inputs is less like trying to get a sequence of movements right and more like playing a rhythm game (down then while not letting go of down press forward then let go of down and THEN press an attack button on the other side of the keyboard). i suck at rhythm games. hell world

sometimes, the damn things just... won't register? at all? you do a half circle to forward input and the game says "half circle forward? oh, sorry, that's ensenga :)" or, worse, "too slow, that's a regular heavy slash move :)". brother. why must you do me like this.

the area between the knuckles of my ring and little finger hurts like a motherfucker (though this has hurt in various areas since at least this morning, but i'm willing to bet that practicing quarter and half circle inputs for at least an hour did not make the situation any better)

[katbites]

130 GYARADOS

[aseplant]

some high school au drawings that i don't think i'm ever gonna finish haha... but i figured i'd post them here so they'll stop marinating in my drafts at least P:

some scenes from the incomplete fic below the cut ✨

------

It takes a moment to realize Ruth has stopped beating him. Kaizan’s hand is on his shoulder, and Nagyunn glances up to see Tyr standing in the doorway.

He’s seen them, of course. It’d be impossible to miss them in the otherwise empty classroom. He doesn’t look surprised to see Ruth and Nagyunn in this position, Kaizan looming over them stoically, but how could he be? The things that go on in this place when no one is looking are an open secret.

“Hey, class monitor,” Ruth says, his grip on Nagyunn tightening nervously, even as he greets Tyr with a blustery tone. “We’re just playing. You know.”

Tyr inclines his head briefly, considering.

“Yeah, sure,” he says after a moment, moving past the doorway to his locker. “Whatever. Don’t take it too far.”

Ruth’s nervous smile morphs into a leer. He turns back toward Nagyunn, fully reassured. “Aw, look at that. Even the class monitor knows you’re just getting what you deserve.”

From the corner of his eye, Nagyunn watches Tyr retrieve his English textbook and leave without a backwards glance.

It’s not betrayal, really. That would imply he expected something from Tyr in the first place.

He hasn’t expected anything from his peers in a long, long time.

------

Najin and Lauzun appear by the school gates after about twenty minutes, back from cram school at last.

“Gyunn-ah!” Lauzun waves a hand eagerly as they approach, still energetic despite the long day and the late hour. “The teacher says my reaction speed improved a lot! I think your pointers last week really helped.”

“See, hard work pays off even outside of studying,” Nagyunn bullshits with a straight face as he falls in step with them. Truthfully, he has no idea how his advice helped when he’d mostly invented ludicrous training exercises to get Lauzun to leave him alone, but sure, whatever works.

“…You gave him advice?” Najin pouts. “What about me?”

Nagyunn gives him a playful shove. “What advice could I give you about gaming that you don’t already know?”

“It’s not about the advice, it’s about the principle of the matter,” Najin pretends to whine. “Are you showing favoritism? You like Lauzun better than me, is that it?”

“No, Jin-ah, don’t say that, Nagyunn would never,” Lauzun says earnestly.

------

He sets down the bags in his right hand to fumble for his keys, then checks his phone as he pushes open the door—no new messages from Najin and Lauzun, which means they’ll probably be home for dinner. They’re probably still out with friends for now, though.

He slides his phone back in his pocket. Alright, produce in the fridge, and then, ah, someone forgot to turn off the lights on their way out this morning, and—

Marsha. Is. Straddling. His. Brother. On. The. Sofa.

“…Hi, Nagyunn,” Najin says sheepishly, cheeks flushed and Marsha’s hand frozen halfway up his shirt.

Nagyunn calmly sets down the groceries and walks back out.

The front door falls shut behind him. He sits down on the steps, has a brief scream into his hands, and then recollects his composure.

“My eyes,” he tells the empty air forlornly.

Marsha storms out moments later, fully dressed and hair hurriedly finger-combed back into submission, her cheeks still an angry red.

“You have the worst timing,” she snaps at him.

He thinks this may be the only thing they’ll ever agree on.

------

Ruth’s face darkens. “Who—”

“The history teacher is looking for you,” the boy from the stairwell says, unreadable gaze directed toward Nagyunn. “Come.”

Nagyunn glances at Ruth. His expression is stormy, which doesn’t bode well, but Kaizan, ever the voice of reason, tells him, “Hey, look, if the teacher’s wants him we should probably lay low…”

Ruth grits his teeth.

“I’m not done with you,” he warns Nagyunn.

But he does release him, which is good enough for now. Nagyunn forces himself to his feet as the boy from the stairwell turns and starts heading for the teacher’s room, not bothering to check if Nagyunn is following. His friend throws a curious glance at Nagyunn over his shoulder, but says nothing as Nagyunn scrambles to catch up to them.

They walk to the teacher’s lounge in silence. The stairwell boy wasn’t very talkative last time either, so Nagyunn isn’t exactly surprised. He figures he’ll just give him a quick word of thanks before heading in, but when he reaches for the doorknob of the teacher’s room, the boy grabs his wrist.

“Not there,” he says shortly.

Nagyunn blinks. “But you said…”

“I lied.”

He tugs Nagyunn forward. Nagyunn obliges, even though he’s confused; he shares a glance with the boy’s blue-haired friend, who seemed just as bemused by his behavior.

They end up on the roof. It’s devoid of other occupants, which—makes sense, actually, since he’s heard rumors that one of the most ruthless third years likes to hang out up here. Doesn’t seem like she’s around though; he can’t tell if the other two are lucky or out of their minds.

The boy from the stairwell, Nagyunn notes, shields his eyes from the sunlight as soon as they push open the door. Hungover again?

His friend sits in a shady corner, and the boy all but collapses into his lap, curling up on his side with his back to the sun. Nagyunn stands awkwardly, not sure of what to do, until the boy’s friend gestures at a vague spot beside him, and he sits obediently.

“Is this because of—” that time in the stairwell, Nagyunn begins to ask, but cuts off partway when the other boy shifts slightly to glare at him. Better not to bring that up, he guesses. “…Thanks.”

The other boy goes back to hiding his face in his friend’s lap, mollified. “No problem.”

His friend glances back and forth between the two of them, utterly lost. He smiles when he notices Nagyunn looking at him. “Hey. I’m Fidorance.”

He forces himself to smile back despite his confusion and matches the other boy’s barely audible tone out of respect for stairwell boy’s hangover. “Nagyunn.”

“Zius,” stairwell boy offers, without looking up.

Fidorance raises his eyebrows, but of course, Zius can’t see, so he doesn’t react. He looks back toward Nagyunn. “So, uh, how do you two know each other?”

“We don’t,” Nagyunn says. And then, because Zius seems to want to hide their actual first meeting, he throws in a small lie. “We met in the cafeteria once.”

Fidorance looks about half-convinced, but if Zius wants a more elaborate lie, he’ll have to spin it himself. Nagyunn’s done what he can; time to change the subject.

“How’d you know my name?” Nagyunn asks. “In the hallway. Earlier.”

“Your brother’s pretty well-known,” Zius says vaguely.

God, is this how he answers all questions? Nagyunn glances at Fidorance, who just shrugs. “Najin, right? I think the whole school’s heard of him. He’s good at soccer, right?”

Nagyunn perks up. “Yeah, and gaming. He’s been that way since forever, so he’s always been popular.”

Fidorance laughs. “Yeah? Maybe I should ask him to join us at a PC bang sometime.”

“Ah, he can be picky about who he plays with,” Nagyunn grins, half-amused and half-apologetic. “Even seonbaes. Sorry.”

Fidorance is still smiling, but there’s a weird, searching quality to the way he’s looking at Nagyunn now. His smile falters. Did he say something wrong? But…

To his surprise, Fidorance breaks eye contact first, scratching his neck awkwardly.

“Um,” Fidorance begins, “so there’s no good way to ask this, but—does your brother know you’re being bullied?”

Nagyunn blinks. “But I’m not?”

Fidorance stares at him. Zius mutters something that sounds suspiciously like christ.

“What was with that kid back there then?” Fidorance asks.

“Ah.” Ruth, he means. “You know how it is.”

…Judging from Fidorance’s stare, he does not, in fact, know how it is.

Nagyunn resists the urge to cross his arms. No point in assuming a defensive posture; then Fidorance will know he’s getting under his skin.

“I mean, it’s not that big of a deal,” Nagyunn says. “Najin’s in another class. It’s natural that these things wouldn’t affect him.”

They can’t. Nagyunn’s been careful to keep it that way. He’s the older brother; it’s his job to deal with these things, not Najin. It’s troublesome, but not the end of the world.

Fidorance is giving him a weird look that’s uncomfortably close to pity.

Stop that, Nagyunn wants to say, but he doesn’t want to come off as rude when they’ve gone out of their way to help him, so he swallows his discomfort.

“You should spend your breaks here,” Fidorance says at last. “It’s pretty quiet usually.”

Nagyunn hesitates. “But Ruth will…”

“Let him,” Zius says shortly. “He’ll have a hell of a time if he thinks he can go up against Fidorance.”

Nagyunn blinks. Fidorance grins at him, and it’s no longer the amiable grin he’s been greeted with but one with a predatory glint to his eyes, and—ah, perhaps he was a little quick to write off that kind of facial scarring as an accident. This guy is dangerous. Even he can see that now.

“…and Waron?” he asks. The infamous reason why anyone with common sense knows not to hang around the roof during breaks.

Zius yawns. “You don’t need to worry about her either.”

Is Fidorance that strong? Or have they heard about the things he’s done in middle school and are setting up some kind of elaborate prank on him? Nagyunn’s always been good enough at reading people that he’s never had to worry about that kind of thing before, but today has proven that even when Zius is lying, he cannot tell.

That’s incredibly dangerous for someone who relies on reading others well to navigate school properly. Which means he should stay away from Zius, unreadable intentions and all, if he knows what’s good for him.

But… what they’re offering, even in the worst case, means that he’d get a horrible beating and then return to his normal life with Ruth. It wouldn’t be a bad deal to see what they’re playing at, at the very least.

“Alright,” Nagyunn says, offering just the right amount of a tentative smile. “I really appreciate it.”

Fidorance smiles back, all sunny and disarming again. “Of course.”

It’s not… he’s not optimistic about this, really. Nagyunn knows better than to get his hopes up.

But it can’t hurt to play along for a bit, can it?

------

At first, he assumes she’s picking on Zius. He’s heard of her, the girl with a face full of unkempt hair and a smile full of threats; everyone has. No one in middle school would look her in the eye. Rumor has it that she transferred mid-year because she beat up a teacher at her old school.

So what’s he supposed to think when he pushes open the door to the roof and finds her pinning Zius to the railing? She’s laughing, all mockery and jeers, and he’s stammering something at her, eyes averted—

But then he catches sight of Nagyunn and he lifts a hand in casual greeting. Nagyunn returns the greeting, confused.

Zius is… hm… his ears are slightly flushed. Maybe not a fear response after all. That’s interesting; he hadn’t thought the ever-unflappable Zius could react that way to anyone.

It seems it isn’t dangerous for now, so Nagyunn approaches cautiously. Waron turns, releasing her grip on Zius’s shirt, and cranes her neck at him curiously, white bangs falling into her eyes. “Who’s this? Mr. Should’ve-Been-A-Trainee?”

“That’s Najin,” Zius corrects her, subtly straightening out his collar before shoving his hands right back into his pockets. “This is Nagyunn.”

He gives a small bow. “Hello, Waron seonbae.”

She seems nonplussed. “Hm. You know me?”

“Who doesn’t?” Zius answers for him. “Anyway, answer the question. Where’s Fidorance?”

“Fighting with someone in the cafeteria, probably?”

“What.”

“He told me not to get involved,” Waron says, draping one arm lazily over Zius’s shoulders—

“—yes, you dumbass, because you just got back from suspension—”

“—So here I am~” Waron finishes brightly.

…This is a lot to process, Nagyunn thinks.

Zius heaves a long-suffering sigh and shrugs Waron’s arm off. “I’m going to go get him.”

Nagyunn looks between the two of them, unsure of what to do. “Um…”

“You can come with me if you want,” Zius tells him. Then to Waron, over his shoulder, more irately: “You stay put.”

Waron laughs. “Lighten up~”

Zius mutters something unflattering under his breath.

------

Waron bends down slightly so that their eyes are level. She flashes a bright grin at him. “I don’t do things for free.”

Sure, he gets that. “What do you want?”

Waron tilts her head, considering. Then: “Fadiyan says you’re ranked first in your year. Add me. Let’s figure something out.”

“Okay.”

She stares at him for a moment, then drops her phone into his outstretched hand so that he can type in his KaKaoTalk ID.

When he passes her phone back to her, she tells him, “That was too easy. Put up more of a fight next time.”

He furrows his eyebrows. “Against Ruth?”

Or does she mean herself?

She hums as she types something out and doesn’t answer the question.

“Alright, check your phone,” she says cheerfully. “I’ll see you around.”

She gives him a jaunty little wave and strides off.

Nagyunn opens his phone to find a new message: it’s waron~

Her profile picture is a chicken, of all things.

He wonders, briefly, how his life got so strange that he now has their schools’ most notorious troublemaker’s contact information.

------

He makes a strangled noise and buries his face in his hands. “I thought we agreed to never talk about that again.”

Zius laughs. “You brought it up.”

He offers Nagyunn some more of his pocky as a consolation prize. Nagyunn takes another and nibbles it contemplatively.

Truthfully, he hadn’t really expected Zius to actually answer his questions. He’s normally so reluctant to talk about himself, though to be fair, he has been making an effort to be more open with Nagyunn after that bathroom incident.

He hadn’t expected a lot of things when he’d first met the third year, or even when he’d met him the second time—or, if he’s being honest, even now. But Zius has always said that their kindness isn’t contingent on helping him. So… why?

“Seonbae?” he says at length.

“Yeah?”

“Why are you—” Nagyunn waves his hand around vaguely. “You know.”

Zius blinks. “The others enjoy your company. I enjoy your company.”

“But…”

Zius studies Nagyunn for a long time, a calculating look in his eyes.

“Well,” he says, “I mean. I’m surrounded by dumbasses; you’ve seen Fadiyan and Fidorance at work. It’s nice having a perceptive hubae.”

Nagyunn squints. He gets the distinct feeling Zius is humoring him. (Or perhaps lying straight out to his face, hiding his true intentions—)

“Okay,” he says. “…thanks for looking out for me, hyeong.”

Zius snaps the pocky stick he’s currently holding.

“What the hell,” he says, then bonks Nagyunn over the head with the rest of the box. “Idiot.”

Nagyunn tilts his head. That’s an interesting reaction. He grins. “Are you embarrassed?”

“No. Shut up.”

Nagyunn laughs and filches another pocky from the box, chocolate-end first. “What, does no one call you that? Hyeong. Hyeong. Hyeo—”

Zius dumps the rest of the pocky out and throws the empty box at Nagyunn.

Nagyunn wheezes as it bounces to a pathetic stop on the steps below. “Come on now, that was weak, hyeong—”

Zius pulls his hood up, presumably to hide his reddening ears.

“I’m gonna kill you,” he mutters into his hands.

[whysamwhy123]

Still unwell and I'm going to babble incoherently under the cut about my blorbo DG again because it's my blog and I'll do dumb shit if I want and I'm sick right now so I can't be held responsible for anything, those are the rules OKAY

DG absolutely tried to pick up girls while dressed as Waluigi. I am fascinated by how this man's mind works. He is the fuckboyest fuckboy who ever fuckboyed and I just find that so compelling? I'm wanting more and more to write some weird character study of him for a fic. Like, a multi-chapter fic that's just him Doing Stuff and being weird about it and angsting over the state of his life, just full on psychoanalysis. But, like, nobody would give a shit? Because there wouldn't even be a pairing, it would probably just be Daniel's internal monologue as he goes about his life, facing setback after setback, challenge after challenge, loss after loss and then trying to distract himself/numb the pain by going out with his boys, partying, dancing up a storm (because he just wants to DANCE GODDAMNIT) and trying to get laid. Literally, I'm imagining every fucking chapter would ultimately be about which girl he's trying to take home this week and what stupid fuckboy way he goes about it. Maybe sometimes he succeeds, or maybe he fails yet again and goes back to his hotel room feeling profoundly alone and then jerks off in the shower while crying. But regardless of whether he scores or not, it'll never fix the emptiness he feels inside. It will never quiet the doubts. It'll never stop him regretting his past choices. It won't make the people around him - his chosen family, his friends - understand him or stop them from rejecting outright. He looks at his life, all the missed opportunities and wonders if he'll ever get the chance to be the man he's always wanted to be. The man he felt destined to become. But now that man feels more and more like a pipe dream, like a vague, fading dream that perhaps never was. He doesn't know what to do with that information. He doesn't know who he is when he's not trying to be that man. It's soul-crushing and terrifying and it just makes him feel even worse about himself.

But for now, all he can do is dance.

[oopsallmabari]

Anyway team uh. Fighting the arishok 1v1 is hard.

[sanguinarysanguinity]

For the WIP game, how about: idle, sharp, whisper?

Thank you! In their order of appearance in the WIP...

~

The guest room was much as I remembered it, except for what appeared to be a large, free-standing, fully-enclosed and double-thickness window, affixed by hinges to the wall so that it could swing freely. It was entirely full of honeycomb and bees.

“Holmes?” I called, and heard his amused answer from directly behind me. He was leaning in the doorway, having followed me to see my reaction. “When you said you kept one hive at the house...?” I asked.

“It seemed a waste to have a guest room that never saw guests. So I invited several thousand. Not bad for a famous recluse, eh?”

“They're remarkable,” I said, putting down my valise and stepping closer to see better.

“If you think they'll disturb your sleep, you can have my bed,” he offered.

The memory of his bed -- and the few times I had been permitted in it -- rose in my mind, sharp and immediate, before I pushed it back down again. The idea that a few thousand bees would be a greater disturbance to my peace was absurd.

~

"London agreed with you," Holmes observed when he pulled back again, his cheeks pink. 

"You agree with me," I corrected him, and kissed him again. "Now tell me what you've been doing while I was gone."

"And give up my Christmas secrets so easily?" 

"Yes. Be eager and impetuous and whisper every one of your secrets to me."

"Is that so? Well, then." He lowered his voice and spoke directly into my ear, close and intimate. "Everyone in the current issue of The British Bee Journal is wrong, and soon they shall all regret their folly."

~

It was a long day of slogging misery. In London, I might have been safely anonymous in my unhappiness, but I was all too aware that here in Fulworth I was all that day the object of idle gossip and speculation. The village knew what Holmes and I were -- the essential truth of it, if not the shocking details -- and thus had not missed the significance of the previous night's display: my uncharacteristic aloofness at the pub and the chilly reception I had given Holmes when he had come to fetch me home. Traffic through my consulting rooms was heavy that day, all petty made-up complaints and malingering, but I ignored the hinting questions and fishing sympathy, and attempted to perform my work with professionalism -- although my professionalism was somewhat compromised by the neverending argument with Holmes in my head.

[beepbeepinthecorner]

YEEESSS! YEEEESSSS!!!!

I HAVE FINISHED COMIC PAGE!! Man I hated this page right up until I did the dialogue (not pictured) but now it's probably my favorite page so far! Goes to show, trust the process. But then if the process betrays you, delete your art.

[hanaasbananas]

its been like three days since I finished reading perfect marriage revenge WHY am I so desperate to reread already

[bbyobbyo]

Everyone thinks Vernon is always at your place because you feed him. While you can agree it's mostly true, there might be more to it than meets the eye.

content: fluff, f2l, mentions of food

wc: 1.6k

notes: me taking a stab at writing lol. i also don't know how tumblr works. inspired by the fact that this man will eat everything in sight regardless if its someone else's food or not. i'd love to cook for him someday ❤

6pm on the dot. You don't even have to check to know who it is.

"Hey, Sol." You look up from the pot you've been stirring to greet your visitor who let himself in. Your apartment's passcode was practically muscle memory at this point.

"Hey, smells good in here," he comments while taking off his shoes, "I mean — it always does but you get it." You give him a little chuckle in response.

You hadn't been friends with Hansol for very long, but when a mutual friend decided to introduce you two to each other, you instantly hit it off. The whirlwind of a friend group you now shared was filled with strong personalities and quirks: Seungcheol was the self-proclaimed "dad" of the group but you'd swear he would whine and complained more than the rest of them combined. Seungkwan, the one who always had a sassy quip to share, but would be the first to cry at Disney movie nights. There was Jihoon, who showed his love exclusively with acts of service but is so tsundere he would rather die to admit he had any kind of emotions besides annoyance. Not to mention Soonyoung, who made it his mission to convince everyone that he was a tiger. No one knew how this bit started but everyone finds it entertaining nonetheless.

Amongst them all, Hansol was just a dude. A normal guy. As funny as it sounds, that's what made you two click so well. Not that he didn't have his own aspirations (and his own fair share of quirks!), but he had always been the sort of person that was along for the ride. Although a little bit clueless at times, you could tell his heart was in the right place.

"I brought dessert, by the way," He plops a plastic bag onto the kitchen counter, his cheekbones pushed all the way out in a smug grin, "hope you like it."

"Aww, Sol you didn't have to!" delight in your eyes as you wipe your freshly washed but still wet hands on your pants and scurry over to peek inside the bag. "Oh my god, this is that tiramisu from that bougie place, isn't it?! I heard the wait times were, like, over an hour. You're insane for this, thank you so much!" You're practically beaming as you put the dessert in refrigerator, promptly turning around to give him a hug. His hands automatically reach around your back as you bury your face into his chest. Man, he will never get tired of the way you smile at him over the smallest things.

"You're always feeding me, so it's like, the least I can do really" he murmurs as you let go, his own smile spreading across his face when you look up at him.

Right. Your relationship with Hansol was rooted in the fact that you both loved food. Cooking food in your case, and eating it for him. It was a match made in heaven, really. In the beginning stages of your friendship, you always noticed how he would always ask for bites of other peoples' food, the way he would eye a bag of snacks if anyone dared to bring them out, the "you gonna finish that..?" that would inevitably follow the conclusion of every meal. The guy was a human trash can with a black hole in place of his stomach. So really, was anyone surprised when Hansol practically attached himself to you that day you brought in those homemade baked goods for the friend group?

After that day, the rest was history. His insatiable hunger and the lack of his own cooking skills (poor dude would be consuming toast everyday if he didn't eat out) made him worship the ground you walked on whenever you fed him. In turn, his enthusiasm for your cooking and willingness to give honest feedback on your experimental recipes made him a regular guest at your apartment, much like today.

Hansol would be lying if he said he didn't feel like he was taking advantage of you sometimes, no matter how much you insisted that it wasn't the case. He always tried his best to chip in for your groceries or pick up ingredients when you didn't have time. He didn't even mind the way his friends teased him for being at your place more often than his own or the fact that you gained your own nickname among the guys as his personal chef. He was happy with your little arrangement, and it also helped that you were so easy to be around.

"Hey, can you help me set the table?" you say as you push a stack of plates and tableware toward him. Your attention is quickly pulled away again as you go to plate the food you've been laboring over the past hour.

The routine is a familiar one: sitting down across from each other with a wide array of dishes and sides in between. You always make him take the first bites; "I already taste tested everything as I was cooking, silly!" you would say, eyes focused and hands tucked under your chin eagerly awaiting his reactions and thoughts.

Today's meal was a hit, as it usually is. Hansol could count less than a handful of times that he didn't love your food, and even then he still ate everything despite you telling him that it was okay if he didn't finish it.

The next part of the routine, however, rivals even the food in his eyes. Both of you are glued to the chairs chatting away, even when all the food is long gone and empty plates remain on the table. Between you two, there was always something to talk about. Tangents turn to into more tangents turn into "remember when we…" turn into "we should totally do…" Hours can pass by before one of you even remembers that there was dessert in the fridge, and even more hours before either of you get up again to go wash the dishes. When that happens, you simply carry the conversation to the kitchen except this time with the gentle running of sink as background noise.

You were like a breath of fresh air from the chaos of his main friend group and someone he felt entirely comfortable with. Except lately he's been wanting to see you more and more. He would catch himself staring at his phone hoping a text from you would pop up, asking him to come over again.

He's embarrassed to admit that you have never hung out one-on-one outside of the walls of your apartment. It was an unspoken boundary that you two saw each other under the pretense of food, a boundary that he increasingly would like to cross.

You're not even looking at him, attention focused on scrubbing away at the pot in your hand, still talking about that awkward encounter with your neighbor yesterday. But the longer he stares at you, Hansol thinks to himself — have you always been this pretty? He traces every part of your form, from the micro expressions you make with your eyebrows as you talk, to noticing the little strands of hair by your face that escaped the ponytail you put it in, and the way your left sleeve is slowly slipping down your arm and in danger of getting soaked.

"...so screw me if I thought that it was none of his busine— Sol...?"

Before he even knew what he was doing he found himself abandoning his plate drying duty and sliding behind you at the sink, your back pressed against his chest as he grabbed your sleeve and gingerly rolled it up your arm once again. Just as he thinks you can't get any more gorgeous, his world stops when you turn your head around and he finds your face inches from his. The way your eyes glisten into his own makes the split second feel like an eternity before pulling away.

"S-sorry if I scared you, just didn't want your sleeve to get wet." adding a nervous chuckle to the end as he returns to the stack of tableware he has yet to dry.

"N-no! It's okay! Thank you for that!" you stammer back, trying not to look him in the eyes to hide the very obvious blush that spread on your cheeks. "Ahaha... yeah so anyways, what was I saying again?" Without missing a beat, he replies "you were talking about how your nosy neighbor thinks we're dating because I come over so often."

"Oh, haha, right..." your voice is barely above a whisper, a chuckle dies in your throat as you realize you've been scrubbing an already clean pot for 5 minutes now. You sigh as you turn off the water and start drying off your hands to put the dishes back in their places.

"I don't mind," he says after a thoughtful pause. It takes a second for you to register the words. "Sorry, what?"

"I don't mind if he thinks we're dating."

You feel like the hearing comprehension part of your brain just reset. "Wait, wha-"

"I think it would be kinda nice actually... if we dated."

After a second too long of silence from you, he was the one with panic with his eyes this time. "B-but only if you want to! Shit, uh, sorry I really didn't mean to make you uncomfortable or anything. Just forget I said anyth-"

He's interrupted by your arms snaking around his neck. "You're hopeless, Sol", you say as you press a light kiss to his lips. "I think it would be nice if we dated, too."

[spaghettiposts]

An Outlaws Christmas

Cowboy!reader x Wanda Maximoff

Summery: Wanda’s father has never liked you, but that won’t stop you from delivering a special gift this season.

Warnings: Mentions of firearms, fluff, Bucky being dramatic.

Words Count: 3.5k

“Bucky I swear to God, you better keep this thing steady.” You muttered between cold breaths, raising your foot to the next step, sensing the ladder tremble beneath you. Your eyes whipped downward, glaring at the cowboy.

He huffed, gripping the ladder tighter. “You just- had to date the rich girl with a four-story mansion didntcha?” He seethed, shifting his weight to support the item. “It’s fucking freezing man.”

Indeed, it was freezing. The middle of December in Fort Worth brought snow gleaming in the streets, covering trails and displeasing the horses. Which you had to use to get here in the first place, Wanda’s house that is. More precisely her fathers house, who wasn’t so keen about you. Why were you here? Simple.

Christmas, the season of giving, in any weather condition. And in any condition you always wanted to visit Wanda, even if Bucky complained about it. Especially tonight, when it was Christmas night. Where family’s would spend their nights together, huddled by the fireplace. Something you wanted to share with Wanda someday.

Something an outlaw like you couldn’t have, but you tried anyway. You tried for her, tried to change your rugged ways. Formerly around this time of year you never would’ve imagined a reason to celebrate this holiday. There was nobody special in your life, no family, and Bucky never liked Christmas ideals.

Now there was Wanda to be that someone. Beautiful, intelligent, amazingly talented Wanda. The girl who went for someone like yourself, a lowlife criminal trying to mend their ways. She saw the good in you, that you failed to see in yourself. And bit by bit she brought it out of you. Blackmail Barnes would constantly use on you, mocking you as the ‘cowboy who got whipped’ or ‘cowboy gone soft’ and his personal favorite ‘Casanova’. Despite the smacks you gave him each time he dared to use those terms, secretly you didn’t mind, it just meant you were closer to change than before. With that in mind, you didn’t let the opportunity to make Wanda your girlfriend pass by you, despite her parents disapproval.

Maybe if you got a better job, in time that would change too.

“Just keep the ladder steady Barnes, I’ll be finished quick.” You hollered over the wind, climbing up with haste. Looking through the windows you recognized them as the third floor, for the servants Wanda had told you. Rich people had rooms for everything nowadays.

“Quick my ass..” He scoffed.

“Was that sarcasm James?”

He let out a groan, pounding his fist on the ladder. “Just get your girl already”

“Alright alright…” You chuckled under your breath, hurrying up the ladder. You didn’t want to risk his impatience, the last thing you wanted was for him to throw you off. Fortunately, with the heavy snowfall, you’d probably only break one rib.

Although Wanda wouldn’t be happy, so you wouldn’t risk it.

Finally, the ladder came to an end, perfectly syncing with Wanda’s bedroom window. You were grateful to Mr. Williamson, your local carpenter, took your request for a 40 foot ladder seriously. Raising up your fist to knock–as you had done so many times before–you found yourself plagued with…hesitancy.

Pulling the poorly wrapped package out of your interior coat pockets, you examined the item. Its contaminants inside were beautiful, even you could admit, but the outside? Poorly wrapped crumbles of brown lunch bag paper with white string holding all the mess together? Was what was on the inside enough for Wanda?

Feeling another shake on the ladder you turned your head down, meeting the eyes of Bucky. He motioned to the window with his head, shooting you a thumbs up. You mouthed a small ‘thanks’ to him, right now wasn’t the time for insecurities. You’re sure Wanda would love the gift, or at least appreciate the gesture.

Clearing your throat, you tapped on the window, announcing yourself, “Wanda! It’s me! Do you mind opening the window?” You asked, waiting for the velvet curtains to part. In all honesty, you weren’t quite sure she was there at the moment. You knew the tendency her parents had of venturing off into parties, dragging her along into them and you assumed Christmas parties were a thing.

A couple of seconds later, you heard shuffling from inside, the curtains opening and your smile widening. Wanda looked through the window, searching for you till her eyes landed on your figure covered in snow. Her eyes widened, her hand lifting up to her chin in shock, “Y/n?”

“Hi Darlin’.” You shot the bewildered woman a toothy grin, lifting your hand to wave at her. Carefully she opened the window slowly, making sure not to knock you over in the process. Her shock eventually subsided into worry, grabbing you by the wrist to pull you inside.

“What are you doing here? It’s cold out, you’ll get sick.” She fretted, patting your forearms to shake off the snow.

“I’ve got my jacket,” You shrugged, her hands staying on your chest. “and I’m here for you. I brought you something for Christmas.” You smiled, digging through your pockets, Wanda tilted her head curiously. Pulling out the paper present you presented it to her.

Her eyes looked down at the gift fondly, she could tell you had wrapped it but thankfully found it endearing. Her fingers ran delicately through the string tying it together, as she turned to look at you with soft eyes and a tender smile tugging at her lips.

“Really?” She whispered, rubbing her hands on your chest before letting them hang on your shoulders. Her smile turned into a small smirk at the way you clearly leaned into her touch. “You didn’t have to Y/n…”

Truthfully you didn’t have to, Wanda had expressed how she was fine with you not celebrating the holiday, knowing how different your childhoods had been. She didn’t expect anything from you, a problem you wanted to change. You were capable enough for her to depend on you.

You blushed, enjoying the feel of Wanda’s fingers caressing the back of your neck. “But I want to, it’s custom to give your loved ones gifts and you’re mine.” You said sheepishly.

Wanda’s face softens at your words, keeping her gaze on you, searching for something more. And you think she’s going to close the distance but instead she moves her gaze to the door, squeezing your shoulders.

“Okay, but I’m afraid this’ll have to be quick.” She sighs “My Fathers due to be back soon, and you know how he feels about our relationship.”

At the mention of her father your expression turns into a slight grimace, the man was a governor, rich beyond belief and trying to get rid of old fashion ways. Including individuals such as yourself, outlaws. He had reason to, but still the thought of him left a bitter distaste in your mouth.

“He’ll learn to love me eventually.”

Wanda lets out a breathy chuckle, shaking her head in denial. “I highly doubt it, he’s very…traditional.”

Traditional. You hated that word.

“I could be traditional.” You tried to reason, even though you were the least bit traditional. It was worth a shot.

“With that rustic drawl of yours I’m not too sure Detka.” Wanda teased, leaning up to place a kiss on the corner of your lips. You wanted to correct her but she continued, “But that’s okay, personally I find it very charming.”

And then she closed the distance between you, savoring the way you let out a small sigh. You missed this, you missed her, you especially missed her touch. The way her hands guided yours down to her waist, encouraging you.

Wanda appreciated your kindness and respect towards boundaries. Making you all the more attractive in her eyes, the way you’d ask before anything, even hand holding, your charming gentleman like behavior. God, she wanted to rip those jeans off you.

You felt Wanda try to deepen the kiss which you eagerly gave into, granting her tongue permission. Her hands slipped inside your shirt, scratching the skin softly, causing your breath to hitch. Pulling away from the kiss with a gasp, resting your forehead against yours, catching your breath.

Wanda snickers between stolen kisses. “Damn it Wands…” You mumble affectedly, “This was ‘post to be about you.”

Pulling her head slightly away she stares up at you, a mischievous grin playing at her lips. “We have a couple minutes to spare, me and you.” Her hold tightened on your neck, pulling you in for another kiss. “I’ve missed you.”

Taking everything in you, you slow down the kiss much to Wanda’s disappointment. You chuckle shyly, remembering how she told you to be quick, ironic. “I’ve missed you too but not- today” You shudder with all seriousness, removing your hands from her hips.

“Mkay, I suppose we could wait for another moment.” She says, releasing her hold on you. “Besides you know I like taking my time with you.” She winks, laughing at your reaction.

“Quit teasin’ me…” You sigh, trying to shake off the blush dusting your cheeks, something that tended to happen with Wanda. The brunette only shrugged, feigning innocence. She took a hold of your wrist pulling you towards her bed, taking a seat and then patting the space beside her. Eagerly you settle in beside her, placing the gift on her lap.

“Open it.” You smile, anticipating the reaction.

Wanda fiddles with the present, tilting her head. “What is it?”

You snort “Well you won’t know until you open it Wands.”

Pursing her lips Wanda tugs on the strings, delicately unwrapping the gift which you didn’t really get, considering it wasn’t some high class material but kept quiet. Once the paper wrapping was off it revealed a rectangular shaped black leather box, it looked rather expensive. Feeling the leather Wanda confirmed her thoughts with widened eyes. Pure rich leather.

Her fingers traced the fabric, turning to stare at you. “Y/n what is this…” She whispered, you urged her to open the lid. And when she did the gasp that left her lips was almost comical. “Oh my gosh.”

“It’s a pendant.” You pointed out, feeling a little uncomfortable under her strong gaze. Did she like it? If only mind readers existed.

“Yes I know but, how?” She questioned, picking up the necklace before frowning. It was beautiful. “Detka…I don’t need you spending this much on me. This looks far too pricy.” Came her response, you sucked your teeth already expecting that answer from her. Wanda was never one to let you spoil her, knowing how much you made, odd considering you made a good amount…with a gun.

“Saving up money isn’t that hard, you’ve just gotta kill the right men to get it.” You smile sheepishly, a poor attempt to lighten the mood.

“Y/n.” Wanda glared, disliking your joke.

“I’m joking! Honest.” You laughed, putting your hands up in surrender. “Actually this jewel wasn’t so hard to find.”

“You found it?”

“Yup, mined it straight from that rock. Me and Barnes were chasing after a guy…” You hesitated, her raised eyebrow challenging you to finish that sentence. “To talk, down in the mines, when I found it. It reminded me of you, just like your eyes. So I plucked it open and took it to a jeweler. All's fair, no shooting involved.” You swore, crossing a finger across your heart.

Wanda just shook her head, rubbing her temple with her hand. You could tell she was upset at the revelation, she never appreciated hearing stories that could’ve killed you. Another thing you were trying to change, this one was more challenging as there were many people who wanted you dead, the difficult part was getting Wanda to understand that.

Both of you were stubborn that way.

“Does that…make it worse?” You asked carefully, debating whether to put a hand on her back, eventually deciding against and placing it back on your side. You didn’t want to overwhelm her. “I could get you one from the store if you’d like. I saw some real pretty ones there too.”

“That makes it all the more special to me, you mined it straight from the rock and fixed it up but you know how I feel about your ‘talks’.” She ended with a slightly twinge of annoyance. “I just worry about you and your job.”

You fiddled with the sheets underneath your fingertips, unsure what to say about that besides an apology. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to worry you.”

Worrying was something no one had ever cared to do for you in your lifetime, not until Wanda. The feeling was strange…and something to get used to. You tried to be more understanding towards Wanda’s feelings, having picked up a book or two on how to maintain a healthy relationship, and Wanda was gladly by your side throughout the process.

“Its fine really, so long as you come back to me alive.” She empathized the last word, giving you a stern look. You nodded your head, agreeing with her. Lifting up her chin, carrying a satisfied look by your response, she trusted you. “If not I’ll come back and kill you myself.”

“Honey, me and you both know that you don’t know your way around a revolver.” You teased, leaning in forward to grasp her hand and place a small peck on the back of it.

“Just like you don’t know your way around the kitchen?” She retorted smugly, causing your eyebrows to furrow.

“I know my way…my meals are cooked with the intent of survival.”

“Clearly taste isn’t a part of your ideologies of ‘survival’.” She sneered, you tried to hide your smile but ultimately failed, laughing along with her.

The atmosphere had shifted, no longer holding that same tension as it did before. Worries and insecurities had left you, laughing along with the girl you had grown to love. You loved moments like these, carefree ones. Ones where you didn’t have to worry about wild snakes or bandits trying something. Ones where you could be happy with the person you loved most.

Admiring your girlfriend you couldn’t help yourself but to lean forward and cup her chin, connecting your lips together. It was a quick kiss, one you pulled away from as quick as it started, not permitting Wanda the chance to kiss back.

Instead she stared at you in shock, cheeks red. You had initiated something. Feeling flustered from the attention you looked down at your lap in embarrassment, which was quickly overtaken by Wanda who threw herself on you in glee, pampering kisses all over your face.

“I love you.” She whispered, kissing your cheeks. “Even if you’re a reckless idiot who climbs up four story mansions, and is a part time bounty hunter.” A kiss to your nose “But you’re my idiot.” A kiss to your forehead “Forever.” And finally your lips.

“Forever?”

“Mhm, mind putting this on me?” She requested, grabbing the necklace chain. You nodded happily, watching her shift in your lap to get a better view. Gently you pushed her hair aside, bringing the jewelry round her neck. It took a couple of frustrating attempts to get inside the clasp but eventually you managed, closing it.

Wanda thanked you with another kiss before moving herself off your lap and standing to get a view of the necklace in the mirror. Pushing yourself off the bed, you followed your girlfriend into her closet, admiring how divine the jewel looked on her.

“You look gorgeous.” You sighed, hearts racing at just the sight of her.

Wanda smiled, toying with the jewel. “It’s very pretty, I love it, thank you.” She reassured, placing a hand on your shoulder and giving you a loving kiss on the cheek. You smile back at her, taking the initiative to bring your lips together this time, sharing a loving kiss. That’s all it was, love.

Wanda smiled happily into the kiss, proud of you for taking initiative again, slotting her arms back on your neck. Tilting her head to deepen the kiss she pulled away, “But you know what would’ve been nicer?”

“What?”

“A ring.”

“A ring?”

“If this was your way of claiming your mark on me, it was a nice attempt but usually people settle for rings.” She replied, playing with the baby hairs on the back of your neck. “Which I’m still waiting for, maybe that way you’ll have a reason to put that gun down for once. A family to come back to.”

A family.

Oh gosh.

Hoping it wasn’t embarrassingly obvious how much you enjoyed that idea, you barely managed to squeak out a small, “But you like the necklace right…?”

“Of course, it’ll be hard to take it off of me now.” Wanda retorted playfully “Unless you’re willing to try?”

“I um.” You swallowed dryly, definitely now you knew your face was looking as ripe as a tomato.

At your expression Wanda let out a hearty laugh, furthering your embarrassment. She slapped an arm at your chest playfully, “I’m just teasing Detka, breathe. Although I’m serious about that, I’ll wear it forever.”

“I’m glad you like it. Like really glad, I wasn’t too sure and Bucky wasn’t much help.” You said, recalling the way Bucky had fallen asleep midway through your shopping session in search of something for the girl.

“I can see that he's never been the romantic type, unless you count that disastrous encounter with Natasha as romance then, maybe.” Both of you cringed at the memory.

Sputters of a car garnered your attention distracting you from the girl in your arms. The noise sounded suspiciously like her fathers new automobile, quickly you removed your hands from Wanda’s body. Wanda too, let you go at impressive speeds, rushing to take a look outside the window. Peering outside she was met with the sight of her father, who was kicking the tire of his car, muttering curses under his breath.

Oh shit her father.

Oh shit Bucky.

“Bucky.” You gasped, collecting your things. “Shit shit shit, Buckys still outside.”

“My fathers here.” Wanda said through gritted teeth, your eyes widened, rushing to get out of there. Before you could get too far Wanda stopped you with a tug at your forearm, smacking a box at your chest.

“What’s this?” You questioned, eyebrows furrowed, pushing the box back to get a better look at it. Quickly Wanda tugged your chin to meet her, placing one last peck on your lips before pulling the window open.

“Christmas gift.” She explained, “I don’t like what you do, and this isn’t me encouraging it, but you’re my girlfriend and I love you. So that’s that, now go before I change my mind.”

You nodded your head dumbly, unsure what she meant by all that, but climbed out anyway, waving her goodbye with the box secured in your hands.

Once you reached the bottom it was only then that you realized what she meant by those words, a new rifle stood in your hands. One of the best models out there. Grinning widely you took no time in ripping it out of the box, oh how you loved this girl.

—

“Fouty fucking minutes.” Bucky snarled, still shaking the snow off his body. There wasn’t a single part of him that wasn’t white from head to toe. “Forty! You left me in the cold for Forty minutes!!” He shook his leather hat violently, slapping it around.

You sighed, taking the hat off your head and dusting yourself as well. In contrast you weren’t so full of snow, which just upset the man more. “I’m sorry Buck, I didn’t mean to take so long, but it was amazing.” The last part came out in awe.

Bucky placed his hat back on firmly, throwing a glare at you. He knew that voice, that puppy love coded tone of yours that only ever arose to haunt him when you were on the verge of an hour talk about Wanda. He debated shooting you right now before you started again.

“Forty minutes…I could’ve gotten frostbite you know, then who’s gonna cover you? Wanda? Like hell.” He muttered, narrowing his eyes at you when you pulled out your new rifle. One of the newest models too, he had to admit he was quite envious.

“She’s so amazing…”

“Are you even listening to me?!” He said exasperated, throwing his hands in the air.

“She gave me a gun…” You sighed dreamily, hugging the firearm to your chest. “Not just any gun Bucky, but a Winchester Model. The expensive good kind too.” You exclaimed, shaking him by the shoulders. His face scrunched up, smacking you away.

Bucky huffed from beside you, continuing to walk since you were too lovesick to lead. The building wasn’t too far from here. “She got me a good revolver too, you ain’t special.”

“Yeah but…mines better.”

“That doesn’t even- whatever you still took too damn long in there.”

“I haven’t seen her in weeks!” You whined, trying to defend yourself.

Bucky let out a grunt, rolling his eyes. “Yeah and you won’t see her in weeks, with all that back pain you’re gonna get.”

“What?”

“I call dibs on the good mattress, you fucked with me too much this time.” He shrugged, opening the door to your shared building.

“That’s not-”

“And by the way, I can still see her lipstick all over you.” He motioned to your face, before pointing down your neck. “You might wanna cover up those hickeys too, Bottom.”

“James!”

[roosterforme]

A Love You Don't Find Everyday Part 21 The Reception | Rooster x Reader

Summary: The parking lot wedding ceremony had been perfect, and Bradley was certain the beach reception would be as well. But he just wanted to take you home. You were his wife now; somehow more precious and yet still everything he already knew he loved.

Warnings: Fluff, smut, and swearing

Length: 5400 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Check out my masterlist for more!

Bradley took you by the hand and led you toward the rocks. Your feet were aching, you were starving, and you'd give anything for one of the little bottles of champagne. You also couldn't wait to cut your wedding cake, which was currently being carried down the rocks by the catering crew.

When you took one step onto the rocks in your wedding dress and sandals, you mumbled, "Most dangerous wedding venue of the year." But Bradley was there right away.

"I'll carry you down," he whispered, and a moment later, he was slowly giving you a piggyback ride in your wedding dress while you kissed the shell of his ear. "And I'll carry you back up later when your belly is full of wedding cake and champagne."

"And Marry Me Rooster," you added with a smile.

"I did marry you, Baby Girl. I also told the caterers that it's called Married Me Rooster, just for today."

You laughed and hugged him tighter around his shoulders. "I love that!"

Bradley turned his head to look back at you. "Someday you can make it for our kids. Maybe someday soon. God, I hope they inherit your cooking skills."

You nuzzled your nose against his cheek. "And I can't wait until you have to carry me, and our kids, and all of our beach gear down these rocks someday."

"I have no problem making multiple trips, Sweetheart."

When he set you down in the sand, he kissed you softly while the small group of wedding guests cheered. Maria handed you and Bradley each a little bottle of pink champagne, and then she started chanting 'Speech! Speech!' while everyone else joined in with their champagne bottles in the air.

Bradley held you close, and you looked up at him before you turned to look at everyone else. The sun was dipping lower in the sky and shimmering off the ocean as you raised your bottle up and said, "Thank you for coming out for the fun afternoon at the beach, also known as our wedding!"

Bradley kissed the top of your head through your veil as the guys all wolf whistled. "If you're here, you're important to us," he told everyone. "There aren't a ton of you, but quality is always better than quantity, right? So thank you, honestly, it means a lot that you came today, even though we lied and schemed to get you here."

"It's a fucking scam!" Jake shouted, and you stuck your tongue out at him while Bradley laughed. "But we wouldn't want to be anywhere else!"

"Cheers!" Nat said, bouncing up and down, and you suspected that she had already dipped into the bottles in the gigantic cooler. 

"Cheers!" everyone else echoed as Bradley took a sip of his champagne before letting you taste it on his lips.

Bradley fumbled with his phone, and started up the playlist the two of you had made, connecting it to the portable speaker he asked Bob to bring. Then as the caterers finished setting up the tables of food, the photographer pulled you and Bradley away from the group. 

As the two of you made your way down the deserted beach toward the water, you took Bradley's hand in yours. The photographer followed you at a bit of a distance, getting some shots of the two of you together. "Just pretend like I'm not even here!" she called to you, scurrying to one side to take a photo.

Bradley wrapped his arms around your waist and kissed your ear, murmuring, "Pretend she's not here? Is she trying to shoot a porno?"

Your head tipped back as you howled with laughter. "Bradley!" you scolded, but he just grinned and shrugged.

"It's a valid question, Baby Girl. My hands might be in some different spots if we were truly alone."

You peppered his face with kisses. "You can put your hands wherever you want later, Roo. And the entire time we're in Hawaii."

"Let me know when we can go home," he groaned. "Nobody would blame me one bit if we just disappeared right now."

"I already told you no," you whispered against his lips. "I still need to give you one of your wedding gifts." Then you pulled him along the surf as the bottom of your dress got wet and sandy. 

"What is it?" he asked, squeezing your butt. "Is it under your dress?" He tipped your chin up with his free hand, and kissed you hard. You moaned into his mouth and clenched around nothing, thinking it actually would be nice to leave now.

The photographer cleared her throat. "Okay, I guess pretend you're a little less alone than that," she said with a laugh. 

"Sorry," Bradley called out to her, moving his hand up your back. "I'll behave."

You just shook your head. "For someone in the military, you have very little self control."

"I have absolutely no self control at all when it comes to my wife," he whispered, and you reached your arms around his neck and kissed him softly. 

"Yes!" The photographer shouted. "That looks perfect!"

"You're perfect," Bradley echoed against your lips.

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

The sun was setting by the time you and Bradley shared a plate of Married Me Rooster, and his original assessment had been correct; nobody could cook this like you did. "Yours is better," Bradley murmured as he fed you a bite. But everyone else was gushing about how delicious it was. 

"Don't tell the others, or they will want to come over for dinner all the time," you told him with a grin as you sipped some pink champagne. 

Bradley finished off a bottle of the beer that you and he had been drinking at the Hard Deck the first night he really talked to you. He tossed it into the recycle bin along with your empty champagne bottle, and asked, "Dance with me?"

As he collected his smiling bride in his arms, Bradley called out to Nat, "Play the song?" And he was already swaying in the sand with you when Everywhere by Fleetwood Mac started playing through the speaker. 

"I love you, Bradley." Your words left his eyes stinging as you let your cheek rest against his shoulder. Then Bradley sang to you while you danced with him to a song that would always remind him of this moment.

Something's happening, happening to me. My friends say I'm acting peculiarly. Come on, baby, we better make a start. You better make it soon, before you break my heart. I wanna be with you Everywhere.  

Then your parents started dancing as well, and Nat took Fanyboy by the hand. Maria and Payback got in on it, too. Bradley could tell Jake was taking a video, and he was thankful for all of them. 

When the song ended, you sighed against Bradley's neck. "The song was too short. We should have picked a longer one."

"We can dance to it whenever we want." He kissed you, but you stayed in his arms for the next song, so he held you and danced until it started to get dark.

"We have to cut the cake!" you said as Bradley and Cam turned on the camping lanterns that Maverick brought and lined them up in the sand. 

"Do it quickly," suggested the photographer as she got the camera ready again. Bradley took your hand in his as you held onto a plastic knife and let it sink into the small, two-tiered cake decorated with red and yellow flowers. 

"Even though it's confetti cake, I still love you, Sweetheart," Bradley told you with a playful glare. At least there were strawberries there as well to mask the sweetness of the cake, otherwise he was afraid nobody would want to eat it.

"The smaller top layer is actually lemon," you said, guiding the knife along and taking the slice between your fingers. "I changed it for you." You held it out to him so he could take a bite. 

"You didn't have to do that." But he was so happy you did. He loved it when you did little things with him in mind.

You took a nibble of the cake as well, licking some of the icing from your lip. "The bigger layer is still confetti, because it's still better, but I knew you'd appreciate this." And then you grinned the most sinister grin at him before smashing the rest of the slice of lemon cake all over his face.

"Seriously?" Bradley asked, in shock as you started laughing. He was sure everyone else was taking photos of him as he scraped cake and icing from his nose and cheeks. His mustache was going to be a lost cause for now. When you tried to escape from him as you cackled, Bradley snatched you up by your waist.

"No!" you screeched as he rubbed his face all over yours. But you weren't really fighting him as your hands came to rest on his shoulders. Bradley kissed you everywhere, leaving icing smudges all over your lips and cheeks, and he figured if he got some in your hair or on the veil, you'd forgive him. 

"I fucking love you," he promised loudly as you tipped your head back and laughed. He rubbed his sugary mustache along your neck and then licked you. And you danced with him to all of your favorite songs as the stars began to shine above the beach. And slowly but surely, everyone started to say their goodbyes, and then Bradley was ready to whine for you if necessary. 

When he opened his mouth to speak, you cut him off. "Yes, Bradley, we can go home now."

"Yes!" he whispered. "I'm so excited."

"We need to clean up all of the stuff that the caterers didn't take," you told him, but meanwhile he was ready to carry you to the Bronco.

"No, we got it. Go," Cam told you, placing a kiss to your cheek. "Maria and I will clean up. And Jake is going to take your parents back to their hotel."

Bradley watched as you hugged everyone and apologized to your parents that you and he were bailing early on the weekend to leave for Hawaii. Your mom just laughed and said she couldn't be happier about it. 

"I'll stop by tomorrow morning and pick up Tramp," Mav said, reaching out to shake hands with Bradley, but he pulled him in for a hug instead.

"Thanks, Mav. Thanks for everything."

"Anytime, kid."

As you drifted back towards Bradley's arms, Jake cut you off. Bradley rolled his eyes as you hugged Jake tight. "Congratulations, Angel. He was a good pick."

"I know," you replied, and Bradley felt bad about rolling his eyes.

"You're sweet for not being mad that he jumped off the carrier to rescue me," Jake added, kissing your forehead before guiding you toward Bradley.

"Wait, what?" you sputtered, eyes wide in the lantern light as you looked up at Bradley.

"Oh, come on, Hangman!" he groaned, reaching around you to shove Jake.

"Shit, you didn't tell her? You told me you'd tell her!"

"Yeah, I was planning on telling her tomorrow during the six hour flight to Honolulu!" Then he turned to you and said, "You can't divorce me yet, Sweetheart. It's only been a few hours."

"You jumped off the side of an aircraft carrier?" you asked softly. "Into the ocean?" Bradley nodded down at you, but he didn't dare to say anything else.

"Angel, he literally saved my life, darling," Jake said, trying his best to reassure you. "I jumped the runway in my Super Hornet and couldn't get the canopy open by myself underwater."

"Jesus, Roo. You could have both been killed," you gasped, taking his sticky face in both of your hands. "That's also kind of hot."

His eyebrows both shot up. "Can we focus on the latter part of that? At least for tonight?"

You nodded. "Yes, but tomorrow you're getting a six hour lecture about Naval safety guidelines. Now take me home."

Bradley shot Jake a scathing look before he shook hands with Cam and gave Maria a hug. Then your parents were all over him as your mom kissed his cheek three times in a row and said, "You can call us mom and dad. If you want to. We would like it if you did." Bradley thought for a moment that he'd probably still want to call them mom and dad even if his parents were still alive. Carole and Nick would have probably insisted you do the same with them. 

"Thanks, mom," he told her, letting her hug him. "Dad," he said, shaking hands with your father. Then you were pulling him away from them.

"We love you!" you called as you led Bradley to the rocks. "Have a safe trip back to Maryland, and we'll facetime you from Hawaii!"

Bradley scooped you up for another piggyback ride to the top of the rocks. "We will most certainly not be facetiming them from Hawaii, Baby Girl. We won't be wearing any clothes for ten days, and my cock will be inside you almost continually."

"Mmm, sounds nice," you hummed next to his ear, and then he had to climb the rocks in the dark with you on his back while he had a boner. But the sight that greeted you when you reached the top of the rocks had you both laughing.

There was an empty pizza box in the back window of the Bronco with Just Married!!! written on it, and someone had tied empty cans of energy drinks to the back fender. 

"Nat!" both of you said in unison.

"This is just her way of cleaning out her disgusting car and making me throw away the trash for her," Bradley said as he set you down.

"I think it's sweet!" you replied. "Now take me home."

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

Your fingers were wound tightly through his hair as Bradley buckled you in the Bronco. "We can come back for your car tomorrow," he promised. "I don't want to be without my wife at all right now." 

And then your lips were on his. He tasted like beer and champagne and lemon cake, and you wanted more. His right hand was gently separating the slit in your dress, coming to rest on your thigh as he kissed you reverently. 

You pulled him closer until his chest was pressed to yours, and Bradley's fingers slipped inside the front of your satin panties. "Roo," you sighed as your head tipped back. "Please, take me home."

He stroked his finger along your slit once, making you cry out his name, and then he was closing your door and walking around to his. You were squeezing your thighs together as he drove with his hand up your dress once again. "I can't wait," he mumbled, checking his mirrors and changing lanes as he sped home. "Can't wait to make love to my wife."

Your moan filled the car, and Bradley muttered a string of obscenities under his breath as he turned down your street. "Bradley," you whined as he parked crooked in the driveway. 

He killed the engine and kissed you. "I'm here, Baby Girl. I'll take care of you." You watched him run around the front of the Bronco as you unbuckled your seatbelt, and then he helped you down. He handed you his keys and scooped you up in his arms. 

"Unlock the door so I can carry you inside," he whispered, and you turned the key, pushing it open. Your husband carried you in and then kicked the door shut. When Tramp ran over to investigate, Bradley told him, "Hey buddy, it's official. Mommy and Daddy are married!"

When you ran your lips along Bradley's scars, Tramp ran to the backyard through his doggie door. "That dog has a lot of sense," you whispered with a smile as Bradley set you down and started pawing at your dress. 

"He really does," Bradley confirmed. "Making himself scarce right now."

"Don't you dare rip my wedding dress, Bradley." You guided his hands to the side of the dress, and Bradley pulled the zipper down gently as you carefully removed the pins holding his mom's vintage veil in place. Bradley kissed along the tops of your breasts as he eased the dress down your body, and when he found you weren't wearing a bra, your nipple was immediately in his mouth. "Oh, god," you moaned, feeling that addicting prickle of his mustache on your soft skin. He teased you, treating both of your breasts to the same pleasure of his lips and tongue.

You dropped the veil gently onto the stairs as Bradley knelt in front of you, sliding your dress down over your hips, letting it pool around your feet. Your dress was a little damp and sandy as were the bottoms of his pant legs. But you didn't care, and Bradley didn't seem to either. 

He wrapped his big hands around the backs of your thighs, and his gaze drifted up your body to meet your eyes after he read the front of your embroidered, satin underwear. "Mrs. Bradshaw. Is this pussy for me?" he growled, rubbing you through the fabric with his nose and pressing his lips to the Mrs. Bradshaw stitching. 

"Yes," you gasped, running your fingers through his hair as he held you against his face. "Just for you."

"I love you," he whispered, squeezing your butt before pulling the panties down a few inches. When his lips met your tattoo, your eyes drifted closed. He traced the line of the rooster with the tip of his tongue while you whined for him. 

When his left hand drifted up to your waist, you reached for him and kissed his palm and his wedding band. Somehow, knowing he was your husband was making both of you a little extra needy. "Roo," you whispered as he kissed your thighs and helped you out of your sandals. Then he was on his feet, peppering kisses all over your face while you unbuttoned his shirt.

"I can't believe we're married," he rasped, holding you close with his hands at your lower back. The soft light filtering in from the kitchen lit his brown eyes and his handsome face. "I've loved you for so long, Baby Girl. Since the beginning. I couldn't help it."

You closed your eyes and pressed your lips together as you worked the last button loose and unzipped his pants. "I want you to take me to bed." 

Bradley toed off his shoes and quickly pulled his pants over his erection, leaving them in the entryway and picking you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist and whispered, "Stop in the bathroom." 

He carried you to the ensuite while you rubbed yourself against his abs, and when he set you down, you grabbed a towel. You quickly wiped your legs and feet followed by Bradley's, leaving a sandy mess on the floor. Then you kissed his lips and ran out of the bathroom. Bradley followed you back into the bedroom and watched you hop up onto the bed on your knees. 

"Mrs. Bradshaw," he groaned, and you giggled as he climbed in bed, guiding you onto your back and stretching out on top of you. "Baby Girl, you're making all my dreams come true."

"Am I?" you asked coyly, raking your fingers through his hair as he kissed your breasts. "What did I do?"

"Everything," he murmured. "You did everything." He kissed all over your belly, and when he got to your underwear he looked up at you. "These are so pretty, baby," he whined as you stroked your fingers through his hair. 

"I'm glad you like them," you whispered. "Since you paid for two thousand dollars worth of lingerie for your wife, Roo."

"Oh fuck. Worth every penny," he moaned, kissing and licking you through the satin until it was wet and you were ready to beg him for more. But he slipped his fingers inside the elastic and eased them down your thighs before he balled them in his fist and pressed them to his nose. 

"Bradley, please!" You used your feet to pull him closer, reaching for the front of his boxer briefs. "I need you. I need my husband."

You ran your fingers along his cock through his underwear, and then he pulled them off before wrapping his arms around your thighs and burying his face in your pussy. As he dragged his tongue across your clit, you eased yourself from your elbows down onto your back, and let yourself melt against him. 

"I love this pussy," he whispered, sucking kisses along your slit and burying his nose in your wetness. He spread you wider as you whined his name. "I love my wife. I fucking love you." You thrust up gently against his face as he told you how much.

"Come here, Bradley." You pulled him up by his hair until his lips were on yours. You always loved tasting yourself on his mustache, and right now you were so turned on by your husband. 

He pulled back and ran his knuckles along your cheek. "I'm gonna take the best care of you. All the time. You know that, right Baby Girl?"

"I know," you told him, gasping as he slid his fingers through your wet pussy and coated his cock. Then he was pushing himself inside you, and you were already clenching with need.

"Oh. You're perfect," he promised, letting you lick his messy fingers while he fucked you. "My perfect wife, and I will love you forever." He kissed your chin, your nose and your ears, and his raspy voice was your undoing as you cleaned him with your tongue.He was fucking you, filling you and stretching you until your back arched off the bed. You were soaking wet for him. "I love you, Roo." He fucked you deeper but kept the same pace, making you crazy. He was so good at giving you what you wanted, but he always had been. Like his body was made just for the purpose of making you feel good. Like his voice and his face were made specifically to turn you on. Like his patience and love were made just to be shared with you. Like his main goal was to make you happy. 

You clenched hard around him as he rubbed his thumb expertly across your clit, and he groaned into your mouth. He pulled his lips away from you, panting. "I wanna watch my wife cum. I wanna watch you cum on my cock, Baby Girl, please?"

"Roo," you groaned softly, lips parted and gasping as your pleasure grew. "Oh god!" you cried out, your hips meeting his with each thrust as you moaned and called out his name. His cheeks were flushed, and you reached up to trace the prominent veins along his neck as he continued to fuck you so good through your orgasm. He was close now, too, and you pulled his lips back to yours, whispering, "Fill me up, Bradley. Make me yours."

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

Bradley wanted to make love to you all night. He could watch you cum a million times in a row and never tire of the way you looked or the broken little sounds you made. But this was something else. 

"Fill me up, Bradley. Make me yours."

You were his wife now; somehow more precious and yet still everything he already knew he loved. He laced his fingers with your left hand and kissed your rings, watching you smile and bite your lip beneath him. You were still fluttering around him when he kissed your lips and then filled you up, chanting your name with his face buried against your neck. 

Bradley fucked his cum into you until his hips slowed down. He collapsed mostly on top of you, his hand still joined with yours as you kissed his fingers. 

"Hey, Bradley?" you asked softly, kissing his neck and sweaty cheek before pressing your lips to his tattoo.

"Hmm, Baby Girl?"

You sighed contentedly. "This was my favorite day."

Bradley inhaled your scent and melted into your touch, still buried inside you. "I think the days are going to just keep getting better and better now."

You laughed softly. "I think you're right."

"Do you want to take a bath with me?" he asked and you nodded right away. "Stay here while I get everything ready."

Bradley was exhausted. It had been a long day, and tomorrow would be another tiring one. But one look at you splayed out on the bed with his cum dribbling out of your pretty pussy had his cock twitching. "Amazing," he murmured as he strode into the master bathroom and started filling the oversized bathtub. Then he pulled all of your scented candles out from under your sink and lit them, setting them around the room to make it glow. 

When Bradley made his way back into the bedroom, you popped up in the bed as he asked, "Want me to open the bottle of champagne in the fridge?"

You smiled as he scooped you up and carried you to the tub. "That's a great idea. I'm not done celebrating yet." He helped you climb in and then dashed to the kitchen and popped the bottle, which scared Tramp enough that he ran into the office. Bradley skipped the flutes and just took the bottle into the bathroom. 

He froze in the doorway as you turned to look at him over your shoulder. Truly, he had never been so mesmerized by any other woman in his life. Your skin was lit by candlelight, and the curve of your cheek drew him closer until he was touching you. "Get in here, Roo." You reached for his hand, and he climbed in so that he was facing you. You knelt between his thighs and pushed him back so you could lounge against his chest.

"Take the first sip," he whispered, and you pressed the bottle to your lips. "From now on, my wife gets the best of everything. I'm removing the word no from my vocabulary."

You snorted and handed him the bottle. "Will you buy me another exact replica of my 2001 model year car?"

"No," he said easily between two long sips of champagne, making you laugh. "Only because I think you already own the last one in existence." He wrapped his free arm around your waist and pulled you closer so that your hands were braced on his shoulders and your tits were smashed against his chest. He ran his fingers up your back until they were tangling with your necklace chain. "But literally anything else you want? It's yours."

You kissed him and whispered, "I just want you."

"Done."

Bradley set the bottle down next to the tub and wrapped both arms around you while you ran your wet fingers through his hair and kissed him. You tipped his head back and devoured his mouth while you rubbed your pussy against his abs and down to his pubes. He was undeniably hard again for you as you eased your ass down to wiggle against him. 

"You feel good," he told you between kisses. "You always do."

You dragged your lips along his scars and laughed, saying, "Something about our wedding night just makes everything a little better, huh?"

Bradley groaned. You were absolutely right. It was already nearing midnight, but he didn't want this day to end. "Hundred percent."

"Fuck," you whispered when Bradley reached one hand down below the water to tease you. "I guess it's called the honeymoon phase for a reason. I feel like I don't want to stop touching you." You dragged your fingers back through his hair.

"Then don't." He stroked your clit softly with his knuckles and leaned back to watch your facial expressions unfold. First your eyes went wide, then they were half lidded. Your lips parted on a soft gasp followed by a louder whimper. 

"Did you really jump into the water and save Jake?" you asked, your voice low and shaky. "Because I'm kind of pissed at you, but that's also really turning me on when I think about it."

"Yeah, I did, Sweetheart," he replied, watching your head tilt to the side as you bit your lip and moaned. "Made sure I came back to you and brought him with me." He circled his thumb around your clit and kissed your rings before adding, "Now stop talking about Jake while I touch your pussy."

You leaned close and whispered, "Okay, Daddy," before pressing your lips to his, and it was too much. You were too much. 

"Daddy loves you, Baby Girl," he promised, guiding you down until he was slipping inside you. Your eyes fluttered closed as he filled up your pussy. You rode him slowly, rubbing your clit against him each time you bottomed out while Bradley sucked on your tits. 

You moved your hips just the right way, slow and steady, until you were both panting. "I'm so close," you whispered, your lips catching on his with each word. You rode him, head tipped back, whining his name to the ceiling in the candle light, and Bradley was helpless to hold back. He came hard, fucking up into you as you squeezed him tight. 

"Fuck," he gasped, leaning back with his eyes closed, trying to catch his breath. When he opened his eyes, you still had his softening cock cradled inside you, and you were sipping the champagne from the bottle. "My god, you are every single fantasy I have ever had, come to life."

You giggled and wiped away some of the bubbles from your chin. "Sure," you said with a shrug.

"I mean it. You really are," he told you with a nod. "And you married me." He knew his grin was huge as you pressed the bottle to his lips.

"Hey, let's just live in the honeymoon phase forever," you told him with a ridiculous expression on your face. 

"You got it."

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

You and Bradley were still talking and touching and kissing well into the night, as if prolonging falling asleep would mean the day wasn't over yet. The only problem with that was the fact that you were still naked and stumbling around the kitchen, trying to make coffee at ten o'clock the next morning, when the doorbell rang. 

"Bradley?" you called, but he was already walking out from the bedroom. At least he was mostly dressed in a pair of jeans and an undershirt.

"It's probably Mav here to pick up Tramp," he said, pausing to kiss you. He squeezed your butt and then smacked you softly. "Go hide in our room."

You ran down the hallway and started to pull on some underwear and leggings when you heard Maverick talking to your husband. "Husband," you whispered, giggling as you got dressed in one of Bradley's old shirts and adjusted your glasses. 

Maverick smiled when he saw you, and Bradley turned toward you with wide eyes, as if you'd just decided to come out here without getting dressed first. 

"Thanks for taking Tramp. And for marrying us. And for keeping our secret." You wrapped your arms around his neck, and he hugged you tight for a beat. 

"Amelia and Tramp are going to have a great time together," he promised. "Do you need anything else while you're gone?"

"No," Bradley replied, clipping the leash to Tramp's collar. "Thank you. Couldn't have done it without you."

Mav shook his head. "It was my pleasure. You have no idea how much that meant to me."

You waved from the door as he took Tramp out, and then Bradley was wrapping his arms around you and kissing you. "It's honeymoon time," he growled. "I'm packing your fancy wedding shoes. I need you to wear those for me again, Sweetheart."

"Any other requests?" you asked, spinning in his arms to face him.

He smirked. "You already packed your two thousand dollars worth of lingerie?"

"Yes, Bradley. It takes up an entire suitcase."

He bit back a moan as he said, "Then I'm all set."

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

Let's follow Roo and BG and the suitcase full of lingerie to Hawaii. Thank you @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls for everything.

PART 22

@mak-32

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@swthxrry

@chassy21

@yaboid19

@solacestyles

@avoirlecoupdefoudre

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@marantha

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[rosellacwrites]

oh, my dreams

(part 1: it’s never quite as it seems)

summary: Your name’s put you in some strange situations before, but this one might win the prize.

pairings: Steven Grant x fem-presenting!Reader**

rating: general audiences

warnings: strangers to…?, administrative fuckups, descriptions of anxiety/anxiety attacks. **I wrote this with a masculine-named AFAB reader in mind, for reasons I’ll explain below, but it could also be read as a transfem reader being deadnamed, so please read with caution if that’s a sensitive issue for you.

word count: 2650

author’s note: Written for the Moon Knight Spring Bingo @moonknight-events — this is entry #5 for “One Bed.” And thanks to @silvernight-m for the encouragement to finish this. 😘

Happy reading! ❤️

dividers by @firefly-graphics

You tap your keycard against the lock, half your mind on the lecture you’d just attended and the other half laser-focused on turning your brain off and some trash TV on. It’s the best way you’ve found to decompress, after a day of the sheer chaotic overwhelm that is more usually known as the academic conference.

Opening the door, you vaguely register someone else’s presence; it’s always irritating, the university’s insistence on saving money by forcing the grad students to share hotel rooms, but there’s nothing to be done for it. Dues must be paid, and someday, you’ll have tenure and you’ll never have to share a room again. But when you emerge from that pleasant daydream, you realize that something’s gone very wrong.

There’s a man in your room, lounging on the bed, tilting his head at you. “Hello,” he says, rather tentatively. “I — I think you might have got the wrong room.”

“Oh God — “ You fumble for the tiny envelope your keycard had come in, and can’t find it. “I’m so sorry — you must be right, let me just… but I swear it said 303, it’s got to be here somewhere…” After what feels like a year, you manage to unearth it, and it’s right there in black and white. You glance back to the still-open door, and those numbers haven’t changed either. Belatedly, it dawns on you: it’s happened again.

“Oh, shit,” you wail, dropping your bag on the floor. “Shit shit shit.”

“Are you all right?” He gets up and pads over to you, peering curiously at your stricken face. He’s British, clearly, from the accent; tousle-haired and dark-eyed and cute in the gentle, nerdy sort of way you like. Far too cute to be tainted by the swirling vortex of bullshit that always seems to follow you around.

“Fuck.” You scrub at your forehead, trying to ease the sudden headache that’s developed, and laugh bitterly. “It’s not personal, I promise — I don’t even know you…”

“Well, I’m Steven. With a V. Steven Grant.” He smiles at you, radiating a careful sort of friendliness, as though you’re a stray dog of uncertain temperament. “So now you know me a little bit, yeah? D’you want to come in and see if we can sort this out?”

You’re too flustered to object, and you step into the room and flop down into the desk chair, because your legs don’t seem to want to hold you up anymore. “Okay. It’s okay,” you repeat softly, trying to calm yourself. “He seems nice. He’s probably not a serial killer...”

“I’m definitely not a serial killer, if that helps.” His eyes are kind, concerned, and you feel oddly safe with him, despite your embarrassment at realizing you’d just said that out loud. “I’m just Steven, perpetually exhausted student. So what’s happened here? Is it something I can help with?”

“It’s my stupid name,” you growl. It happens all the time, no matter what you do to prevent it, and every time it does, it feels like sandpaper on your skin. You’ve put your pronouns in your email signature, you’ve written Ms. before your name, and none of it ever matters because people don’t fucking read. “They see it on the registration forms and just assume I’m a guy, and then something like this always goes wrong.”

“They did tell me I’d have a roommate,” he thinks out loud. “I saw your name on the list and I thought you were this bloke I know from my college, so I didn’t think anything of it…” He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, facing you, and that’s when it hits you.

The bed.

The single, solitary, admittedly large and very comfortable looking, but still only, bed.

“There’s only one bed,” you sigh. “Of fucking course there’s only one bed.” Tipping your head back, you study the ceiling as though it has an answer for you.

“Well, that’s it then,” Steven says. “We’ll have to talk to the organizers — I’m absolutely sure it wouldn’t be a problem for them to move one of us to another room. I’ll go with you and talk with them, if you like.”

“I can’t,” you interrupt. You feel it rising, that itchy, frantic, skin-too-tight feeling, the certain knowledge that when one more thing goes wrong you won’t be able to hold the screaming in. You’re frantically trying to gather up the cracking pieces of your carefully constructed shell, and the tigers in the tall grass will be upon you before you know it. “I can’t, because then I have to admit they’ve put me in the wrong room, and they’ll have to shuffle everyone around and it’ll make a big fuss and I’ll have Pain In The Ass stamped on my forehead when I go to network and I’ll never find a PhD advisor and — “

I don’t need you anymore, you’ve tried to tell it so many times. There aren’t any tigers here — you don’t need to protect me like this. But it doesn’t work that way, and you know it. It’s a bit like a wild animal itself, the anxiety, the way you’ve tried your best to tame it with meds and therapy and other, less doctor-sanctioned remedies, and sometimes it feels like you’re finally learning how to be friends.

And then it turns on you again, vicious claws and teeth sinking deep, and you remember you haven’t learned anything at all.

“I just can’t,” you whisper.

Steven’s hand lands on your shoulder, and you flinch; you hadn’t noticed him getting up to approach you again. “Breathe, love,” he says gently. “Just — take a minute, yeah?” You try, but your brain and heart and lungs don’t want to get with the program, and he sees the panic in every line of you. He half-sits down on the table, never taking his hand off your shoulder, and the other hand finds yours and curls around it comfortingly. “The only good thing about having anxiety attacks,” he says quietly, “is that you know what to do when someone else is having one.”

He breathes, deep and slow, leading by example, and gradually your heart settles into a slower rhythm as though his own is pacing it. His hands are big, and warm, and they ground you, bringing you back to yourself. Tigers in the area, the anxiety whispers, fading, but not here, not right now.

“The way I see it, we’ve got two options,” he says softly, letting go of you and ticking them off on his fingers. “Option one, we go and talk to the organizers and let them sort things out.” You shake your head quickly; he must see the panic rising again, because he switches tracks immediately. “Option two, we, er — don’t do that, and just leave things as they are.”

Your eyes fly wide. You’d been half-ready to just leave, throw your opportunities away and run back to the airport with your tail between your legs, but... “You mean…”

“This isn’t some kind of a — a come-on, or anything!” he assures you quickly, brows furrowed. “I don’t want to be the conference creeper, you know? But it is rather late, and if you’re really sure you don’t want to talk to anyone about it, I don’t mind at all if you stay.”

“Even though there’s only one bed? Doesn’t that bother you?”

He shrugs. “It’s only two nights — I think we can manage to be grown-ups about it for that long, yeah?”

The faceless Many, the Here Be Dragons on the map, versus the gentle sweet-faced One, familiar only by a technicality: it’s an easy choice, after all. It’s probably not your smartest, and even as you make it, your rational brain is pressing you to reconsider. But the anxiety, for once, is silent.

“Okay,” you murmur. “Yeah. I’ll stay.”

*

You stay, and it’s — well, it’s nice. He’s nice.

He’s nothing but cheerful all evening, going out of his way to help you feel more comfortable with him and with this whole clusterfuck of a situation. And he’s funny, with a sassy wit that offers a glimpse of the brain below the messy curls. (You have a momentary thought of gratitude for the opportunity to see Steven Grant with bedhead tomorrow morning. It’s going to be epic.)

“I’m at Cambridge,” he tells you at one point. “About halfway through my PhD in Egyptology. On the linguistics end, mainly, not digging up tombs and things. But I have been on a dig or two.”

“Wow, Ancient Egypt. That’s like — the gateway drug. The thing that makes kids want to be archaeologists in the first place, and here you are doing it.” You smile at him, and he flushes.

“I suppose you’re right — always had a thing about it, as long as I can remember. Probably watched too many old movies as a kid.” He grins back at you, and it’s endearing as hell, warm and a little shy but somehow cheeky, too. “How about you? What’s your field?”

“I’m on the tech side. Mapping, satellite photography, ground-penetrating radar, all the fancy-ass things that tell you folks where to dig.”

“Oh, that’s fascinating!” he exclaims. “I could never — I’m hopeless with technology. Utter disaster.”

“Most of you are,” you retort before you can think better of it. “That’s why you have us.”

He laughs for the first time, and you immediately want to make him do it again. “That’s why we have you,” he acknowledges with a tilt of his head.

You’ve always been prone to crushes. They tend to creep up on you, more subtle than the anxiety, but no less consuming. The first tendrils always wind delicately around your ankles, and by the time you’ve registered their presence you’re already bound up to the knees. No no no no no, you tell yourself, you cannot do this right now. This is Not Allowed. This whole thing is more than weird enough already, without bringing his kindness and his intelligence and his big brown eyes into it.

Oh, no.

It’s already too late, isn’t it? the anxiety taunts.

Sure fuckin’ is, the crush responds.

You shove it down, ruthlessly, burying it as deep as you can. You keep it light, trading fieldwork tales, always the preferred currency at these things but more important than ever now. I’m for real, they say, trustworthy and honest and normal about things. I’m safe to talk to.

Steven ventures out for snacks to give you a chance to get ready for bed in privacy (god, how is he so nice), and when he comes back he nibbles on dark chocolate while he regales you with stories of Egypt. “Most people don’t know this,” he says, “but Cairo’s literally right up next to the pyramids. There’s a bloody Pizza Hut across the street.”

You stare, skeptical. “No. No way. That can’t be true.”

“Have a look at your maps,” he insists, pointing at you with the chocolate bar. “It’s absolutely true. Fastest way to spot the Egyptologist in the room is to show ‘em a movie where someone visits the pyramids and gets ‘lost in the desert.’”

You trade a few more stories, and then you can’t put it off any longer; your commitments tomorrow make a reasonable bedtime imperative. When there’s a lull in the conversation, you stand up and stretch. “I’m just gonna — “ you say awkwardly, gesturing toward the bathroom, and disappear to brush your teeth again (since he’d given you half the chocolate).

When you come out again, he’s rummaging for his own toothbrush, which means you have at least two minutes alone to decide how you want to navigate the inherent absurdity of getting into bed with a stranger. Don’t make it weird, the anxiety cautions. “By the way, do you have any, uh — bad habits I should know about?”

He looks up, startled. “Pardon?”

“I mean, like — do you hog the covers? Or snore?” You shrug as though it’s a perfectly normal question to ask someone you met a couple hours ago, and try to ignore the heat rising in your face.

“My, er, brothers — Marc and Jake — they say I talk in my sleep, sometimes. So I’m sorry in advance if I say anything bonkers.” Steven laughs and rubs the back of his neck. “Still don’t know if I really do, or if they’re just having me on.”

“If I hear anything, I’ll let you know,” I promise. “And if — if I can’t sleep, I’ll try not to keep you up.”

He smiles at that. “Likewise.”

And once he’s brushed his teeth, there’s really no putting it off any longer, and it doesn’t end up being as weird as you’d thought. Just two people climbing into opposite sides of a bed and settling down for the night, nothing weird about that at all. It feels rude to turn your back, somehow, so you curl on your side, facing him, and he clicks off the light and does the same.

You’ve tried to talk yourself out of it, but the apology spills out anyway. “I’m sorry — this is probably the last thing you needed tonight…” Your voice is small in the quiet room. “But — but thank you. For helping me.”

“No, no, it’s no trouble at all! This is good!” Steven protests. “I mean, not that you’ve got anxiety, but this — whole thing.” He waves his hand in a vague circle around the room. “It’s a good distraction. Means I’m not getting in my own head about my lecture tomorrow.”

Okay. That makes a certain amount of sense, and you begin to feel slightly better. “Do these conferences bother you too?”

He pauses for a moment. “Maybe… not quite in the same way as you? I don’t mind talking to people one-on-one and that, but presenting to a crowd always gives me a few fits, beforehand.”

“Do you — “ You swallow hard before continuing; it’s going to sound silly, maybe, but he’s looking at you so gently and like he understands, and you blurt it out. “Do you want to know a trick I have? It might help, if you want it…”

“Yeah?” He’s waiting as calmly as if you’re having this discussion over coffee, in broad daylight, not inches from each other in bed in a darkened hotel room, and it emboldens you.

“If I’m nervous about meeting someone, or — or giving a talk, or whatever, sometimes it helps me to, um — get there first.”

“Get there first,” he repeats, considering.

“Yeah. Get there first. Then it’s like — they’re coming into your territory, and you’re in charge.”

“That’s quite clever, actually.” He begins to smile, a broad grin creeping up like sunrise, and nods happily. “‘Get there first.’ I’ll remember that.”

A tiny glow of satisfaction burns in your chest, and you lie in silence together for a time. It’s a comfortable one, strangely intimate; you could talk, if you wanted, but for once you don’t feel like you need to. It’s enough just to be here, next to him, somehow knowing it’s enough for him, too.

It’s just — nice.

And then he stretches and turns, and for half a second your brain shorts out. “G’night,” he says, his voice already blurred with sleep. “Sweet dreams.” And he’s out like a light before you can even return the wish.

Even as your eyelids grow heavy, you’re convinced you’ll never sleep; how could you, when you’re literally in bed with a complete stranger, kind as he is? But the soft rise and fall of his breath is better than your white-noise machine, and the last thing you remember seeing before drifting off is his strong profile, silhouetted by the moonlight seeping through the space where the curtains don’t quite meet.

If you dream, you don’t remember it.

But it’s the first time you’ve ever been to one of these things and slept through the night.

part 2 coming soon…

@juneknight @spacecowboyhotch

author’s note, again: I got the idea for this fic from something that did, actually, happen to me as a teenager. Only in my case it was a summer music camp, not a conference, and my mother threw an unholy fit and made them change my room immediately.

(Sorry, Andrew. I guess we’ll never know what could have been.)

If your own name doesn’t match your gender presentation, for whatever reason, please know that I am fist-bumping you in solidarity and I love you.