#like…Yeah I’m in California right now | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

millers-girl · 2 months ago

Text

on the line

interconnected standalone/sequel-ish to bitter/sweet and fallout - a Dr. Jack Abbot (The Pitt) fanfic

pairing: Jack Abbot x f!reader

summary: Jack takes a six-week placement across the country. Four specific FaceTime calls—full of banter, longing, and everything unsaid—hold you two together until he comes home.

warnings/tags: grumpy x sunshine, age gap, long-distance relationship, mild language

word count: 5.0k

“What are you wearing?”

You cracked one eye open, squinting against the soft glow of your bedside lamp. Jack was staring at you through the screen of your phone, propped up on your nightstand. His image was bright against the dim lighting, accenting the sharp set of his jaw and the smirk playing at his lips.

“You know what I’m wearing – we’re on FaceTime,” you mumbled into your pillow, voice thick with sleep. Your limbs felt heavy under the familiar weight of your comforter. “When are you coming back?”

“You know when I’m coming back,” he echoed, mimicking your tone. “Why’re you asking – miss me?” His voice dropped an octave, teasing, and you saw his eyes flick down your form as you shifted to get more comfortable beneath the covers.

This had been an ongoing game for the last month – every time you talked, one of you tried to get the other to admit they missed them first. Neither of you had cracked.

Now, that didn’t mean you didn’t miss him. Quite the opposite, actually.

Jack had been gone for three weeks now, having been offered an intensive placement at UCLA Medical Center. You could still remember how he broke the news—quietly, nonchalantly, like he didn’t want to make a big deal out of it—and how you’d smiled widely and pushed him to take it even as something inside you fought every move.

This is UCLA, you told yourself. He has to take it; it’s an incredible opportunity. How many times does something like this come along?

But knowing it was the right decision didn’t make it easier.

Six weeks. Forty-two days. Nearly fifty sunsets without him.

After spending almost every day together, the sudden absence had carved out a hollow space in your chest.

The first week, you felt his absence immensely. But you figured, with time, it’d get easier.

Oh, how wrong you were.

The ache didn’t dull. It sharpened. Everything reminded you of him – how much he’d probably roll his eyes at a joke Eleni told during service, how he’d immediately get to cleaning your apartment if he saw how messy it had gotten, how he’d let you follow him around if he was back at the hospital when you were dropping dinner off for your sister.

Luckily, technology was on your side. While he was in California, you texted him constantly – mostly one-sided updates on your day, the chaos of the kitchen, the new weird thing your landlord did. He replied in his usual charming fashion: a “K” here, a thumbs-up emoji there.

FaceTime was more his speed. Every night, your phone took up its spot on your nightstand while you curled into bed, half-asleep before he even picked up. He was usually just getting ready for his shift – brushing his teeth, dressing in his scrubs, sometimes sitting in the car with one hand on the wheel.

“At least it’s regulating my sleep cycle,” you’d joked during one call, watching him frown in that subtle, concerned way he did.

“You love me doing night shifts,” he’d countered. “Said it keeps you on your toes, guessing.”

“Yeah, guessing how much sleep I’m gonna get that night,” you’d teased back, and he’d huffed a small laugh.

Now here he was, two weeks from coming home, asking you what you were wearing in that low, steady voice of his that always had knots forming in your stomach.

“You already know I’m wearing one of your hundred black tees,” you mumbled, cheek sinking deeper into your pillow.

“No panties?” he asked, a hint of a smirk at his lips as his eyes gleamed with mischief.

With minimal effort, you peeled back the duvet just enough for him to catch a glimpse of his boxers sitting low on your hips.

“You do miss me,” he grinned triumphantly, a quiet chuckle escaping him. You sighed through a small smile, eyes fluttering shut. His voice, even through the phone, grounded you. “Tell me what you did today.”

You took a moment to think, thoughts clouded by sleep and the warmth of your sheets. “Tried out a new truffle recipe,” you murmured.

Sure enough, you peeked an eye open just in time to catch his nose wrinkle in disgust. He hated truffles.

The sight made you smile – even 3,000 miles away, Jack was still so Jack.

“Dinner rush was crazy – some show was going on at the theatre down the block so we were packed. Almost ran into one of the sommeliers rushing out of the kitchen. Nicked my finger on the bottle opener he was holding.”

“Let me see,” he said immediately, and you pulled your hand from under the covers and held it up to the camera, watching his eyes narrow. “Did someone at the Pitt take a look?”

“My sister did,” you said, brushing it off. “It’s fine – just a scrape.”

He frowned that familiar, pinched-brow frown.

“You should keep it wrapped,” he muttered. “Could get infected.”

You mirrored his expression, this time out of something deeper – affection, mingled with longing. “I miss you medically scolding me.”

Jack paused a beat, then offered softly, “I can still do it over the phone. That’s why they invented FaceTime.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not true,” you giggled sleepily, burrowing deeper into your sheets. The weight of him not being there settled over you again, dense and unrelenting.

Silence stretched for a moment before you opened your eyes again. Jack was still looking at you. “What?” you asked, your voice small.

He hesitated. “Nothing… you just look tired.”

But the way he said it—gentle, weighted—made your throat tighten.

You didn’t just look tired.

You missed him. You missed sleeping better when he was beside you, the steady rhythm of his breathing syncing with yours as your limbs tangled together. You missed the safety, the stillness. Without him, everything felt a little bit off.

Your hand drifted across the sheets, reaching for his side of the bed – cold, untouched. Your fingers curled into the empty space as if you could will it to hold his warmth. That familiar ache bloomed in your chest again, pressing hard against your ribs, forcing you to acknowledge it.

And the way he was looking at you right now—gaze just soft enough for you to see the emotion behind it—it made the distance hard to bear.

You wanted to ask him to come back early. Just say it. Just tell him.

But you didn’t.

He was doing something important – teaching residents, working alongside brilliant attendings, contributing to something meaningful. You couldn’t ask him to give that up. So you buried it, like always.

Instead, you asked, “Any exciting cases today?”

Jack blinked at you, then shrugged, his voice returning to that calm, clinical cadence. “Someone said a guy came in with third-degree burns from resting his hand on the grill – didn’t realize his wife had turned it on.”

You winced, turning your face into the pillow. “Ugh, Jack – that’s gross.”

He chuckled softly. “Reminds me of an old army buddy who met the wrong end of a crockpot once.”

You hummed, already drifting. “Tell me about it.”

You tried to stay awake, but the familiar and comforting tone of his low voice began to lull you to sleep. A few minutes into the story, Jack noticed your breathing had slowed.

You looked so peaceful.

He watched for a while, the silence between you warm and heavy, filled with all the things left unsaid.

Then, in a quiet voice that barely crossed the distance, he whispered a sweet good night to you and ended the call.

Four weeks into the placement, when Jack FaceTimed you and you answered with a deep-set frown and red-rimmed eyes, he could already tell it would be one of those days.

The hard days. The days one of you missed the other so much, it was impossible to ignore. The days your heart was three thousand miles away, tucked into the go-bag of your favorite ED attending, somewhere in a cramped locker room in Los Angeles.

“What’s wrong?” he immediately asked, making your frown deepen.

“Nothing,” you promised, setting the phone down on your nightstand as you began to get ready for bed. The camera angle wobbled as you moved – half of your frame disappearing, your voice muffled by distance and steam escaping from the open bathroom door behind you.

This was unusual. Whenever Jack called at this time, you were already tucked in bed, cozy and glowing, hair a little messy, a smile curling at the corners of your lips the moment you saw him.

And, you always showered in the mornings – you said showering at night would intervene with how much time you two got to spend on FaceTime.

Yet, here you were now – hair wet from the shower, curling at the ends as you moved about your room, distracted and quieter than usual. You pulled on a soft t-shirt, then wandered off-screen, brushing your teeth with a kind of mechanical rhythm.

Jack stayed silent, watching.

He could tell something was bothering you.

Your hands shook as you did your skincare – too much toner on the pad, moisturizer forgotten halfway through.

“How was your day?” Jack asked slowly, treading lightly, trying to gauge how you were actually feeling.

“Fine,” you mumbled, disappearing again. The faucet turned on in the background as you washed your hands, cool water grounding your overheated nerves before you slipped into bed wit a heavy sigh.

Jack’s voice came again, cautious, “Anything happen?” He tried to sound casual, but you weren’t in the mood for it now.

You glanced at the screen sharply. “Like what?”

“I don’t know, just… anything good? Or… something bad?”

Your jaw tensed as you looked past the phone, voice bitter. “A critic came in today.”

“Oh?”

You laughed humorlessly. “I didn’t even know who she was, and I told her to fuck off.”

Jack’s brow rose at that. “And why’d you do that?”

“Because she was being an asshole – and I didn’t recognize her and I was rushing and – and I was exhausted. I just snapped and – and it wasn’t even about her. It’s just… I’m tired. I’m so tired of pretending this isn’t hard.”

Jack paused, his face softening, the weight of your words hanging thickly between you.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling like this?”

You shrugged, unwilling to meet his eyes. “Because it’s not your fault,” you finally said. “And I didn’t want to make it your problem.”

“You’re not a problem.”

His voice was quiet, thick with the guilt settling into his stomach.

You immediately noticed the shift in his tone – soft and frayed around the edges.

“I didn’t say it to make you feel guilty,” you said, gaze now locking onto his, unwavering.

“I know,” he replied, tiredly dragging a hand down his face, like he wanted to crawl through the screen and pull you into his arms.

“I just… I miss you.”

There it was.

You’d finally said it.

And yet, it didn’t make you feel like you’d lost the game – at least, not in the way you thought. And, it didn’t make Jack feel like he won, either.

“I miss you every day,” you continued. “I miss you so much I don’t know where to put it anymore. It’s just there. Always. Like a weight on my chest. And every day, you – you pick up the phone and I see your face and you’re fine. Smiling… Happy. And, it’s just – just… Don’t you miss me? Like, even a little?”

The moment you said it, you instantly regretted it.

Jack could tell – the way your eyes squeezed shut in regret, like you wished you could pull the words right back into your chest. It broke his heart even more than hearing the desperation in your voice.

He found himself looking away, swallowing hard. Then, finally, quietly, he said, “Of course I miss you. I miss you all the time. I just – I don’t let myself think about it too long. If I do, I can’t focus.”

You knew he’d never say anything hurtful on purpose but the comment still stung. A sharp pang, like a bruise pressed too hard.

If he missed you so much, how come it felt like you were the only one falling apart? If he missed you so much, why didn’t it seem like he felt it?

Before you could stop yourself, the words spilled out. “Right. Got it. I’m over here crying in the walk-in fridge like a lunatic and you get to compartmentalize.”

His eyes flinched shut, barely perceptible – but you saw it. Instantly regretted your words. And yet, you didn’t take it back.

And he didn’t push back either.

The silence grew too thick, claustrophobic.

After a beat, you shook your head, voice quieter now. “You’re running late – I should let you go. We can just… I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

Your hand reached for the screen, heart already retreating.

“Wait!” Jack’s voice rang out, startling you.

You hesitated, still refusing to meet his eyes, but something in you paused – your ribs tightened at the strain in his voice.

“I think about you all day,” he admitted. “I know I don’t say it enough, but I do. I make a list in my head of all the things to tell you when we finally talk, and then when you pick up and give me that smile, I forget how to say any of it.”

You blinked.

That wasn't what you expected at all.

Still, he kept going. “And I bought you this mug from the UCLA store, in the shape of a smiling sunny face. I keep it in my locker, drink coffee from it before the shift – and all the residents look at me like I’m crazy. But it just… it reminds me of you. Keeps me grounded. Gets me through the shift.

“And your voice notes – I save them all. I listen to one specific one whenever I miss you more than usual – the one where you called me a broody bastard and then basically told me you missed me in the same breath.”

That cracked something open in your chest. Like air rushing into lungs that had been holding their breath too long.

Soft tears lined your eyes. Not the frustrated kind. The aching, full-hearted kind.

You stared at the screen, heart thudding in your chest, throat thick with emotion. His face was still there – steady, honest, eyes staring back at yours, so full of you. Of all the missing he hadn’t said until now.

He missed you. Of course he missed you. Maybe not in the same noisy, unraveling way you did – but in the quiet, deliberate way only Jack could. Through mugs and voice notes. Through saved recordings and mental lists. Through showing up, every night, even when words failed.

Your lip trembled as a tear ran down your cheek.

“Jack…” you breathed, the apology catching somewhere between a sob and a sigh.

“I’m sorry,” you finally said, voice low and thick. “I didn’t mean what I said. I just – God – I feel everything right now, and I don’t know if it’s hormones or just the distance or – ”

That four-letter word was at the tip of your tongue, but it didn’t feel right to tell him over the phone. This deserved to be told in person. He deserved that.

Jack’s face softened, almost imperceptibly, but you caught it – the way his shoulders eased like something fragile in him had finally seemed to settle.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, after a beat, he deadpanned, “It’s both. I checked the app earlier.”

You stared, stunned. Then, your eyes warmed, the corners crinkling as a small, disbelieving, shaky smile touched your lips. “You track my cycle on your phone?”

He shrugged, a little too casual. “Ever since the brownies incident – hell yeah.”

That conversation changed things – in the best way.

It made both you and Jack more intentional about the time apart. More creative, more present. FaceTimes evolved into something more sacred, more playful. You started doing virtual date nights, much to Jack’s technologically-deficient chagrin.

“I can barely work this FaceCall thing, you want me to do what now?”, to which you’d rolled your eyes and corrected, “FaceTime,” while suppressing a grin.

He’d grumbled, but you caught the way he cleared his evenings anyway – made sure he wasn’t on call any earlier than he needed to be, made sure his dinner (mediocre and suspiciously not homemade) was ready on time. Despite the mismatched time zones, you both made space. You’d end up eating hours apart, but “together” nonetheless. And that was what mattered.

Six days before Jack was set to fly home, you had another one of these date nights.

The screen flickered to life and there he was – tousled hair you wished you could run your fingers through, half-zipped hoodie you wished you could burrow into, sitting cross-legged on a too-modern couch that definitely didn’t belong to him. He held up a plastic takeout container like it was an offering.

“Dinner, courtesy of the fine culinary skills I’ve learned from you.”

You raised a brow. “That looks suspiciously like pad Thai.”

He shrugged. “Maybe I cooked. Maybe the DoorDash guy and I are becoming best friends.”

You snorted, curling deeper under your blanket as you reached for the remote. “What’d you do yesterday?”

Jack leaned back with a groan, the kind that said his spine hated him and the previous night had been long. “This guy came in with a ridiculous chest injury. We had to work carefully around the nerve endings in his nipple and – what?”

He paused mid-sentence, catching the grin spreading across your face.

“Should I be jealous by how excited you just got talking about someone else’s nipples?” you teased.

Jack coughed, nearly choking on his water. “Jesus. It was a very complicated procedure. We had to be extremely precise.”

“Oh, I’m sure his nipples were deeply moved by your devotion,” you grinned.

“You’re insufferable.”

“And you miss it.”

“Unfortunately,” he deadpanned, mouth twitching.

You smiled, feeling that familiar warmth settle into your chest. God, you missed his face. You missed his voice, his sarcasm, the way he looked at you like you hung up the moon.

You squinted at the screen. “Is it just me or are you getting a tan?”

Jack glanced down at his arms. “Well, the sun does shockingly exist here. Unlike your vampire den of a kitchen.”

“I work best when the lights are dim, and you know that!”

He smirked. “Sure. That explains why every time you call me from there, you look like you’re in a hostage video.”

You groaned, tossing a throw pillow off your bed. “Well, not all of us can soak up some West Coast rays while also being a nipple whisperer. Guess you’re just built different.”

“I regret telling you anything about that case.”

You smirked as The Bachelor theme started playing faintly from your TV. You both fell quiet for a beat, comfortable. It had become your ritual – playing the show in the background, pretending to care about the drama, when really, it was just an excuse to sit in each other’s orbit for a while.

Midway through the episode, Jack stood up and walked off-screen and came back holding something. You squinted.

“Is that… a bobblehead? Of an avocado… surfing?”

Jack held it up proudly toward the camera like it was fine art. “Picked it up at a roadside stand. Guy said it was hand-painted by his seven-year-old niece.”

“It’s so ugly,” you commented, grinning anyway. “I love it!”

He just laughed, setting it on the table behind him so its little bobblehead eyes stared into your soul for the rest of the call. And, his heart grew every time he caught you staring at it.

Later, you rolled onto your side, shifting your phone as you got more comfortable. The new angle must’ve shown more of the room, because Jack leaned in, eyes narrowing.

“You changed the bedroom.”

You panned the camera, shaking your head. “Just been sleeping on your side lately,” you admitted through flushed cheeks, before cutting him off when he smirked and parted his lips to speak. “Don’t! Don’t ask me why. Just helps me sleep better.”

He didn’t make a joke. Just stared at you with that soft, unreadable look that always made your chest feel like it was going to burst open.

“I missed this view,” he said gently. His voice was low, almost reverent. “That room. That bed. You in it.”

You fiddled with the comforter. “It misses you. The vibe’s been different, though. Less broody. No angry sighs every time the neighbor’s dog barks.”

“That dog is a demon,” Jack said, on instinct.

“You’re just grumpy when you’re tired,” you teased.

“And you’re grumpy when I’m not there for you to stick those frozen toes under my legs to warm them up.”

You opened your mouth to retort, paused, then nodded. “Okay, that’s true.”

Jack laughed.

The show was long forgotten now. All that mattered was the glow of your screens, the way his eyes didn’t leave yours, the way his voice softened like it always did when the night got quieter.

“What do you miss the most?” he asked, almost shy.

You hesitated, then said, “I miss you hogging the blanket.” That made Jack laugh, but you shook your head, insisting, “I’m serious. In like a stockholm syndrome-y way – I miss that. And other stuff, like you leaving all the lights on or waking me up at the stupid hours of dawn when you get back from a shift… The little stuff.”

Jack nodded, smiling in that slow, aching way. “You know what I miss?”

“What?”

“Sitting at the island, watching you test out new recipes – make a mess of the kitchen like you’re on some Food Network competition.”

You smiled, fond and aching. “That’s the only way I cook.”

“I know,” he said. “I miss it. Miss you.”

You let that settle between you. Let it warm you all the way through.

“In six days, I’m gonna be stuck to you like velcro,” you murmured.

He quirked a brow. “Is that so?”

You nodded. “And you’re not allowed to leave again, by the way. And if you do, you’re taking me in your go-bag.” You lifted your pinky finger toward the camera. “Promise.”

Without hesitation, Jack raised his pinky to match yours. “Promise, baby.”

And for a moment, across the glow of two tiny screens, it almost felt like he was already home.

“Are you here yet?” you asked the second you picked up the FaceTime, barely able to contain the grin stretching across your face. The sounds of the kitchen clattered behind you, but your focus remained on the screen. On him.

Today was the day Jack was coming home and you were giddy with anticipation.

“I am,” he replied, voice smooth, teasing, “but where are you?”

You groaned, “A last-minute catering order came in, so I had to stay late. Almost just brought the chef’s knife with me to work in the car and just sprint to Arrivals.”

Jack smirked, familiar and smug. “I don’t know how TSA would’ve taken that.”

“But, I sent a good backup, huh?”

Jack shifted the camera to the driver’s seat, where Robby sat, looking amused as he drove. “You’re lucky I’m easily bribable with food,” he said. “Picking him up on my day off was not part of the plan.”

“Yeah, but you’d do it for the filet mignon these magic hands can make, right?” You wiggled your fingers at the screen, and Jack snorted.

“Oh, any day of the week,” Robby agreed, his grin cracking wider.

Jack turned the camera back to himself. He looked tired from the long travel day, but the way he looked at you—like he’d been waiting all day, or rather, six weeks, to see your face—made your chest ache.

You drank him in. Stubble. Black tee. Soft warmth creeping onto his features as he looked at you.

“How was your flight?” you asked.

“You’re lucky I like you,” he replied, rubbing his jaw. “I just spent six hours sitting in front of a guy who kept stabbing at the screen like it wronged him personally. Kept me up the whole flight.”

From off-screen, Robby piped up, “Is that why you fell asleep on my shoulder in the first five minutes of the drive?”

“Aww, is that true?” you cooed, and Jack immediately frowned, shaking his head. “Liar,” you accused with a knowing smile, before asking, “Are you close?”

“To your place?” You nodded. “I was gonna head home first, shower, sleep for a bit – ”

You were already shaking your head, correcting him, “No. You’re coming here first; not allowed to shower before you see me.”

Robby snorted, and Jack sighed in that over-it-but-not-really way before turning to his friend. “Can you drop me off at hers?”

“Kinda already assumed,” Robby said, tapping the GPS. “Route’s set to her address.”

“How much longer?” you asked Robby, bouncing on your heels with impatient energy.

“Twenty-three minutes.”

You groaned, tugging off your apron. The clock on the wall ticked slowly, teasingly. “Can you be here already?” you whined at Jack, then paused as a mischievous glint sparked behind your eyes. “I’m ovulating and miss you being in my – ”

“Ohhhkay,” Robby cut in, clearly scarred and making your grin widen. Jack’s mouth twitched.

“I was going to say ‘arms.’ Sheesh, Jack, what kind of freaks do you work with?” you teased, grin widening as Jack broke into a full smile and aimed the camera at Robby, who groaned in defeat.

“You’re gonna get me kicked out of this car, trouble,” Jack said, warmth bleeding into his voice at the nickname. Your chest squeezed, missing him.

Eleni walked into the office a moment later, waving at the screen. “Hey, Eleni,” Jack greeted.

“Hey,” she said, squinting. “Was that groaning I heard just now? You guys doing phone sex again or just emotionally scarring Robby?”

“For the record, those things are not mutually exclusive,” Robby chimed in.

Eleni grinned, turning to you. “You heading out now?”

You nodded. “Unless there’s something else – ”

She was already shaking her head. “Go. Get out of here. You’ve already cleaned the walk-in twice just waiting for Jack to land.”

Jack perked up at that. “Aww, is that true?” he mocked, using your tone from earlier.

You glared at him, but before you could deny it, Eleni added, “She reorganized the grain bins, too!”

You were already grabbing your keys as Eleni ushered you toward the door. “Okay, I’ll see you when you get here,” you said to Jack.

In a rare moment of vulnerability, he puckered his lips and blew you a kiss goodbye. You flushed, heart stuttering.

“You’re getting soft on me, Abbot,�� you teased.

“Pretty sure we’re way past that.”

The drive home was a blur; you could barely keep your concentration. Every red light felt like the universe was plotting against you; every slow pedestrian crossing the street made you want to scream.

Your heart was hammering in your ears. You didn’t even remember pulling into the driveway, adrenaline surging. But the moment you caught sight of the front door –

There he was.

Jack.

Standing at your front door in that familiar black tee, suitcase sitting on the porch as he fumbled with the spare key you’d given him. He was so focused on unlocking the door, he didn’t even hear your footsteps approaching.

“You know, for someone who saves lives for a living,” you called out, approaching him, “you’re really struggling with the concept of a lock.”

Jack froze, then turned.

And then, a slow-spreading, lopsided smile that had lived on your phone screen for far too long was finally gracing you in person.

“Well, maybe if someone didn’t have ten million locks on the door, we wouldn’t be in this situation,” he said, voice lower than usual, rougher in a way that made your stomach flip.

You crossed the distance in three strides. The key clattered onto his luggage as he let it fall.

And then you were in his arms.

Not the thought of him. Not his voice through a screen. Not his pixelated smile or sleepy texts or pictures of his takeout. Him. Warm and solid and real.

His arms wrapped so tightly around you, it felt like he wouldn’t ever let go. And you didn’t want him to. You buried your face in his chest, breathing him in.

“I forgot how good you smell,” you mumbled into his shirt. “Like middle seat and recycled plane air.”

He tugged playfully at your ear, leaning back just enough for you to get a good look at him. Sun-kissed skin. Slight scruff that made your fingertips itch to trace it.

“You got more handsome. That’s annoying.”

He raised a brow. “You’re only saying that because you’re ovulating.”

“No,” you promised. “If I did, I would’ve already dragged you inside and ripped your clothes off – ”

He kissed you mid-sentence. Not hurried. Not desperate. Just… steady. Like he had all the time in the world, because now, he did.

When you finally pulled back, breath short, he rested his forehead against yours. “Missed you,” you said softly.

“Yeah,” he whispered, almost like it hurt. “Me too.”

You leaned into him again, arms tightening, greedy now that you finally could be. “You’re never leaving again, right?”

He chuckled, voice cracking just a little. “You going to chain me to the radiator?”

You shrugged. “Tempting. I do own zip ties.”

His laugh was full, unguarded, the sound of it seeping into your skin like sunlight. “Why don’t we save those for the bedroom, huh?”

He leaned down again to kiss your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. And then he whispered, “Let’s go inside.”

But neither of you moved. Not yet.

You’d waited this long.

What was one more minute in each other’s arms?

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violentdelightsandviolentends · 9 months ago

Text

that old cliché.

you swore you’d never give in to the maid of honour and best man cliche. and then you met evan buckley.

evan buckley x female reader

warnings - smut. cursing. alcohol. buck’s a filthy flirt.

word count - 6k

authors note - and so she returns!! thank you all so much for your loveliness on my post about my break - I appreciate it more than you know. this one was so much fun to write. i’ve not written any longer stuff for buck, but he’s a character I feel that I have a really good understanding of - I actually think we’re very alike - so this came so easy. hope you love it as much as I do. <3

masterlist. inbox.

Silvery melodies of laughter clink off the rim of the champagne flute you hold in your freshly manicured hand. As the gentle breeze whips through the material of your dress, you look around you, realising you’ve never seen so many people so happy at once.

The backyard of the Italian villa is packed, dozens of guests milling around - dancing, drinking, chatting and catching up. Family, friends, colleagues; people from every phase of the bride and grooms life, all celebrating together in one place.

A rocks glass is placed down onto the table in front of you with a thud. Looking up, you’re met with the sight of the best man towering over you expectantly with a drink in his hand.

“Evan.”

“Hi gorgeous.”

You scoff, staring up at him through your lashes.

“What’s this?”

“A drink.”

“Yeah. But why?”

“It’s whiskey. I watched you grimace every time you had to drink the champagne, so I thought you’d want something different.”

You swirl the glass, listening to the tinkle of the ice against the sides.

“You were watching me, huh?”

“Of course I was. Can’t take my eyes off you in that dress.”

“Shut up,” you chide, fighting to keep the grin off your face. “I’m not doing this with you.”

“Doing what, exactly?”

“The whole best man and maid of honour thing. It’s just too cliched.”

He laughs all hearty and genuine, and you poignantly ignore the way the butterflies start fluttering in your stomach.

“Then why do you keep looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you want to eat me.”

Now it’s your turn to laugh, shaking your head at him.

“Yeah, right. In your dreams, Evan.”

“Oh, you will be,” he winks, knocking his glass against yours in a quick cheers before walking off to the find the groom.

You watch him go, not completely oblivious to the way his suit fits him just right. Determined to stand your ground, you inhale a deep breath before taking a sip of your drink. The drink that definitely isn’t exactly what you needed. The drink that he’d practically read your mind to figure out. Effortlessly.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

It’s been like this all day.

You met Evan Buckley for the first time last night, at the rehearsal dinner. The bride, your best friend in the world, kept telling you that you’d love the best man.

“He’s from California,” she’d said. “He’s Danny’s friend from when they were kids. He’s a firefighter, babe. He’s hot.”

You’d laughed it off, zipping up the back of her dress while she watched you in the mirror.

“Oh, come on. That’s so cliched. The whole maid of honour and best man thing is so old, Lucy.”

“You’re single, he’s single,” she’d protested. “It’d do you some good to get laid, relieve some stress. And people let their guards down at weddings. Now’s your chance.”

“If I wanted to get laid, I’d get laid,” you scoffed.

“All I’m saying is that Buck is completely your type. He’s gorgeous, he’s funny, he’s sweet. And you’re gonna have to spend a fair bit of time together tonight and tomorrow, so… just keep an open mind.”

“Fine,” you soothed, rolling your eyes. “Mind wide open. Alright?”

“You’re gonna love him.”

“You said that already.”

“Because I really believe it. You’re gonna love him.”

And the problem is… she was kind of right.

No, you don’t love him. You’ve known him for 48 hours. But… there’s something.

Lucy wasn’t lying. He is gorgeous, and funny, and sweet. And hot. So hot. He showed up to the rehearsal dinner in dress pants and a linen shirt, all sun kissed and muscled and tanned and stunning.

The two of you were seated next to each other, planned so carefully by the bride and groom. One minute you were making cautious introductions, shaking hands and smiling gently. The next minute you were crying with laughter, clutching at his bicep as he grabs your thigh, legs intertwined and chairs pulled together.

Lucy and Danny nudge each other occasionally, watching the both of you get along like two old friends that have known each other forever. A look passes between them that says I told you so clear as day.

But you’re stubborn. Too stubborn, some may say. You know you’ll never hear the end of it from your friends if you give into this very alluring temptation, and perhaps your pride means a bit more to you than it should. So you resist, you refuse to give in. Even if you really want to.

And that was just last night. Today has been even worse.

By worse, you mean the connection between you and Evan has grown even stronger. You walked down the aisle with him, arm linked with his, both dressed up to the nines. The maid of honour and the best man, a perfect picture.

You haven’t been able to keep your hands off each other all day. Little touches - his fingers on the small of your back, your grip on his bicep, shoulders brushing and thighs pressed together. Nothing crazy, but nothing meaningless, either. There’s an undeniable electricity buzzing between you, hot and alive.

You’re not sure how much longer you can deny it.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

You’re dancing with Lucy and her little nieces when you hear yelling and commotion coming from the other side of the dance floor. Looking over, you see Danny, Evan and other groomsmen flailing around and fussing.

“What happened?” Lucy’s yelling, making her way over with you in tow.

“Just a drink spillage, Luce! But it’s red wine, and now Buck’s shirt is pink.”

You look at the man in question and can’t help but laugh. His crisp white dress shirt is now a pretty shade of pink across the front, his cheeks a rosy colour to match.

“Stop laughing,” he chides, but he’s grinning at you as he says it. “I need to go and change. I have a spare shirt in my suitcase upstairs.”

He starts to leave, but soon turns around and calls your name.

“I don’t have a key for that big door at the end of the hallway to get to our rooms. Do you?”

“Yeah, it’s in my purse. You want it?”

“Just come with me. It’ll be easier.”

Before you can argue, he’s taken off, big strides across the garden. You have to practically run in your heels to keep up with him, shaking your head in frustration.

“I could have just given you this,” you say when you reach the door, unlocking it for him.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

The smirk he gives you is so cheeky, it’s a wonder you don’t smack it off his face. Cocky bastard.

“You’re so annoying,” you mumble, walking with purpose to his room.

“Come in with me? It’ll only take a minute, then we can walk back together.”

You know you should say no, tell him that you’ll meet him downstairs. But you don’t. Instead, you say,

“Fine. But hurry up. I don’t wanna miss the party.”

“Yes ma’am,” he mock salutes, unlocking the door to his room that’s conveniently directly across from yours.

You take a seat on the edge of the bed, trying to avoid watching him undress. He shrugs off his now pink shirt, taking it with him into the bathroom.

You’re surprised at how tidy everything is. Not that you think Evan would be particularly messy, but he doesn’t strike you as a neat and clean type. His suitcase is unpacked into the closet, bed made, nothing on the floor. It only makes you like him more.

“Can you grab my other shirt from the closet please, gorgeous? The one I wore last night for the rehearsal dinner.”

You swing the two doors open and rifle around, failing to see the linen button up that he’s looking for. Suddenly, you feel a warmth behind you, Buck’s solid form caging you in. He reaches around you, arm brushing yours as he finds what he needs.

“Found it,” he murmurs into your ear, all low and honeyed.

Against your better judgment, you turn around, finding yourself face to face with him. He towers over you, watching your reactions carefully. Your hands reach out and rest on his bare chest, steadying yourself before you either fall over or pass out.

Buck gently traces your bottom lip with his thumb, eyes completely locked on yours. You have to resist every urge to either bite it or suck it into your mouth, reminding yourself that now isn’t the time. The noise from the garden floats up and through the window that’s cracked open slightly, tethering you to the reality that is slowly fading away the longer you hold Evan’s gaze.

He leans in, and to your surprise, doesn’t kiss you immediately. Pressing his forehead to yours, he inhales deeply, as if committing the moment to memory. His thumbs are now tracing gentle circles on your jaw, soft and callous at the same time. You inhale slowly, processing the scent of his cologne mixed with the evening breeze. If you could bottle it up, you think, you’d be a millionaire. This would cure everything.

Buck finally closes down the gap between you, inching towards your lips softly. You shut your eyes, waiting for him to finally kiss you - when there’s deafening knocking on the door. The two of you jump apart, hearts pounding and nerves on a live wire.

Evan strides over to the source of the noise, taking a deep breath to try and compose himself as he goes. You perch on the edge of the bed, smoothing down your dress and attempting to look as inconspicuous as possible.

“Buck? Dude, it’s Jake. Hurry up, yeah? The guys wanna do our dance routine before everyone gets too drunk to remember it.”

He doesn’t bother opening the door, just yells back through the wood.

“Yeah, sure - I’ll be down in a minute!”

You hear Jake’s footsteps retreat, both of you exhaling the breaths you didn’t know you’d been holding. Buck looks at you, worried that the moment’s been ruined, to find you stifling a laugh behind your hand.

“There’s a dance routine?”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, fighting to keep the grin off his face. “We created it years ago. The guys won’t let it die.”

“Oh, I can’t wait to see this.”

You’re cackling, reclining onto the duvet as you laugh.

“Stop,” he groans, jumping over to flop onto his back on the bed next to you. “I did a lot of regrettable things in college… and that routine is definitely the worst of it.”

“I hope you know that you’re never going to live this down, Buckley. I’ll be reminding you of this forever.”

“Oh yeah?” he asks, propping himself up on his elbow so he can look at you. “You really like me, huh?”

“What the hell gave you that impression?”

“You said forever. What’s next, honey? You gonna get down on one knee later?”

You’re suddenly aware of the warmth of the whiskey flowing through your veins, giving you a liquid confidence that stuns both you and the man lying next to you.

“Two knees, maybe. But not one.”

His eyes go wide as you smirk, pulling yourself off the bed and making your way over to the door. Buck watches you carefully, gaze steady and firm.

“You coming? I’m more than ready to see those moves of yours.”

He stands up, slipping on his shoes and shrugging the clean shirt onto his broad shoulders. You grab your purse, leaning against the doorframe as you wait.

Evan reaches past you for the door handle, nose purposely brushing yours as he does it.

“I’ll hold you to what you said before,” he murmurs, moving a strand of hair away from your face softly. “Don’t think I won’t.”

You look up at him with big doe eyes, like butter wouldn’t melt.

“Sure, Evan,” you reply lowly. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Breaking away from him, you swing the door open, strutting down the hallway without looking back. Your confidence has sky rocketed, knowing that he wants this just as badly as you do. You walk back out to the garden and take your earlier seat, ready for the show you’ve been promised.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

The dance routine is spectacular.

It’s cheesy and hilarious and very early 2000s inspired - it’s almost like watching a music video from a boy band you loved when you were a teenager. It should embarrass you, turn you off majorly, but… it doesn’t. It only does the opposite.

Everything Buck does makes you like him more.

You spend the rest of the evening dancing, laughing, and floating on cloud nine. In a garden in Italy, surrounded by your best friends - you can’t think of anywhere else you’d rather be.

As the evening dwindles to an end, everyone slowly begins making their way back to their rooms within the villa. You sit down, unbuckling your heels to finally give your feet a rest. It almost feels like deja vu when a rocks glass is placed down in front of you on the table.

“Hi, Evan.”

“Hi gorgeous.”

“What’s this?”

“A drink.”

“Yes, but why?”

He pulls out the chair in front of you and sits down, looking at you intently.

“Thought we could have a nightcap before we go upstairs.”

You look around to find that mostly everyone has decided to call it a day. You can see Lucy and Danny walking off hand in hand, going for a stroll around the grounds before they let the wedding officially be over. It just leaves you and Buck, sat in your original places.

“Is this Baileys?”

“Yes ma’am. Do you like it? I figured you probably wouldn’t want another whiskey, seeing as you’ve had so many.”

You scoff, trying to fight the grin that threatens to take over your face.

“I’ve had, like, four, thank you very much.”

He holds his hands up in mock surrender, making you chuckle as you shake your head.

“Cheers, Evan,” you toast, clinking your glass against his matching one. “We did it. A wedding without a hitch. Mostly.”

“My shirt will never be white again, but besides that, we did a pretty good job.”

“We make a good team.”

He looks slightly taken aback by your honesty, trying to hide his smirk.

“Yes, we do. A super hot, super funny team.”

“A super hot, super funny team.”

You both laugh, heads thrown back with no cares in the world. Buck shuffles his chair forward so his legs are slotted on either side of you, warm skin radiating into yours. The moonlight is glinting off of his cheekbones, illuminating the light streaks in his hair. You’re a little tipsy and much too tired to fully fight your feelings anymore.

He’s beautiful, and you’re sick of denying it.

The two of you finish off your drinks, sat in a comfortable silence beneath the starry night sky. His hand has found its way onto your thigh, thumb rubbing gentle patterns into your bare skin. You’re sneaking glances at him when he looks away, admiring the way he’s glowing, buzzed off of the alcohol and the excitement of the day. He’s doing the same with you, soft smile etched onto his face as he watches you gaze up at the stars above your heads.

A yawn escapes you, making both of you chuckle.

“I’ll walk you to your room?”

“Well, you better. I’m the only one of us with a key for that big door.”

He laughs even harder, shaking his head.

“Yeah, I forgot about that. If you weren’t here, I’d have slept on the floor in the hallway or something.”

“Probably wouldn’t be the first time,” you mutter, standing up and tucking your chair under the table.

“Sorry, what was that? Say it again? Hmm? Hmm?” he wraps his arms around your middle, spinning you so your feet are no longer on the floor.

“Okay, okay! Put me down before I throw up,” you shriek, giggling like a teenager.

He places you back down, hands on your hips to steady you. You look up at him, keeping your eyes fixed on his to steady yourself from the dizziness. When you feel ready to go, you clear your throat, willing yourself to walk away before you kiss him stupid.

“We should go to bed,” you whisper, afraid to ruin the moment.

“Yeah?”

“Separate beds,” you tell him sternly, chuckling when he cackles.

“Yes ma’am.”

Buck walks you back to your room in a gentlemanly fashion, looping your arm through his to keep you both upright. When you reach your door, your fingers linger on the handle, as if you’re not quite ready to go inside just yet.

Reaching out gently, he moves a strand of hair from your face, fingertips brushing your cheekbone as he does it. You sigh softly, eyes fluttering shut at the sweet contact.

“Goodnight, gorgeous,” he murmurs lowly. “Sweet dreams.”

“Goodnight.”

He takes a step back towards his door when you speak again.

“Evan?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

“For?”

“Everything, today. You’ve been a damn good best man.”

“Well, thank you. For being the best maid of honour.”

You nod, smiling like an idiot as you unlock your door and shut it behind you. You take a deep breath when you’re finally inside, throwing down your heels onto the floor and your purse onto the side table. Reaching behind you, your fingers tug at the zipper on your dress, attempting to pull it down.

It’s only now you realise your dilemma. The zipper is on an awkward place on your back, right where you can’t get to. You think quickly back to this morning - one of the bridesmaids doing the dress up for you, pulling the material taut as she fastened it. You’re not going to be able to get this off yourself.

Finding the purse that you discarded minutes earlier, you aim to find a hair clip. If you can loop a bobby pin into the zipper, you think, you might be able to pull it yourself. You root around in it for a second, before pulling out two phones.

Well, fuck.

You’d completely forgotten that Evan had given it to you earlier in the evening, worried that it was going to get broken if it stayed in his back pocket. You’d tucked it away and not thought about it again.

Until now.

Now, you’re realising that you’re going to have to go and give it back. He probably hasn’t remembered that you have it, otherwise you’re sure he’d be knocking on the door or yelling across the hallway.

You stand in the middle of your room, with two phones and a stuck zipper, wondering if the universe thinks this is funny.

You’re certainly not laughing.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

“Evan?”

He swings the door open, facing you in his suit trousers with no shirt on.

“Hey. You okay?”

“Yeah. I, uh, I have your phone.”

Holding it out to him, his fingertips brush yours as he takes it from you, sending a shiver up your spine.

“Oh, shit. I forgot about this. Thanks, pretty.”

“Of course.”

You stand and look at each other for a second, so much left unsaid.

“Can I ask you for a favour?”

“Anything.”

His instantly willingness has butterflies fluttering in your stomach, flitting and lightweight and undeniable.

“Can you help me get my dress off?”

When he smirks and goes to speak, you cut him off quickly.

“The zipper is stuck, Evan. Alice zipped me up this morning and I can’t undo it by myself.”

“This is a very long winded way of asking me to get you naked, gorgeous.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes.

“If that’s what I wanted, I would just ask you, Buckley.”

“Uh huh. Sure.”

“Can you help me or not?”

He’s laughing, now, head thrown back with it. You hate the way it makes your heart sing.

“You coming in? Or you want me to undress you in the hallway?”

“You’re not undressing- fuck, you’re annoying.”

He’s still chuckling when he ushers you inside, shutting the door firmly behind you both.

“How do you wanna do this? Lights on, lights off? Curtains open or shut? Music? Candles?”

“Undo the damn zipper before I smack you.”

His laughter is rumbling through his chest, contagious in its nature. You want to be angry at him, but you just can’t seem to find it in you.

“Turn around, gorgeous.”

You spin to face the door, taking a deep breath as you anticipate his touch. You feel his warmth behind you, fingertips dancing over the skin of your shoulders before they reach your zipper. You can’t see him, but you can envisage the sight - his broad chest, thick neck, that beautiful sun kissed glow he’s developed over the past few days. Your lungs heave as the room suddenly feels like it’s a thousand degrees.

Buck slides the zipper down your back slowly, with intent and clarity. When it reaches your coccyx, he stops, resting his other hand on your hip to keep you steady.

You know you should step away, maybe throw him a quick thanks as you leave. But you do believe in fate, whether you like to admit it or not - and this entire night has felt like it’s been written in the stars.

Who are you to deny what the universe is so clearly gifting you?

You let your arms relax, sighing as the dress falls off of you and down to the floor. You step out of it, finally turning around to face Buck wearing nothing but your lacy white underwear. Surprisingly, there’s not an ounce of self consciousness in your body. The only thing you feel is desire.

For the first time since you’ve met him, Evan is completely speechless. His eyes rove over you, drinking in the sight in front of him, and he has to remind himself to breathe.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispers in awe, fingers itching to reach out and touch you. “The minute I first saw you, I couldn’t believe you were real.”

“Evan?”

“Yeah?”

“Touch me, please.”

He grins, surging forward to cup your cheek with one hand while the other finds its home on your waist.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Please.”

“Finally.”

Buck leans in and presses his lips to yours surprisingly gently, testing the waters. You tangle your fingers into his hair, pulling him as close as possible. He gets the message, reeling you in and deepening the kiss until you can’t tell where he ends and you begin.

You’re being walked backwards and into the wall, pushed up against it for leverage. You hike a leg up over Bucks hip, groaning when the two of you grind forwards at the same time. His hands are everywhere - your face, tits, ass, waist - anywhere he can reach. It’s like he’s not quite sure where he wants them, as if he’s worried he’ll leave somewhere untouched.

“You’re all I’ve thought about for two days,” he’s muttering into your neck as he leaves open mouthed kisses on your skin. “Driving me crazy.”

“I got myself off last night,” you breathe, eyes fluttering shut when he sucks at the spot under your ear. “Thinking about you.”

“Fuck,” he moans, sinking down to his knees in front of you. “Tell me more. Please.”

It’s almost biblical, the sight of him. On his knees, practically begging, looking up at you like you’re his saviour. You’re dizzy with the power, blood rushing straight to your head.

Buck presses kisses into your leg, starting at your calves and moving up. When he gets to your inner thigh, he gazes up at you, pleading with his eyes for you to continue.

“Tell me more or I’ll stop,” he says sternly, hooking his fingers into your underwear to pull them down and off.

“Okay, okay,” you pant, dropping your head back against the wall. “I, I- I couldn’t stop thinking about your arms in that shirt. The, the, the-”

You’re stuttering as he licks a stripe up your core, diving in with no hesitation. His fingers are gripping your thighs so hard you know it’ll bruise, and you can’t wait to feel the imprints in the morning.

“The?”

He’s pulled away to look at you with his brow quirked, dirty smirk etched across his face.

“Keep going, gorgeous. You haven’t even got to the good part. Neither of us have.”

You scoff at him in defiance, but slide your fingers into his hair to tug him back to where you want him.

“You looked so strong,” you continue, sighing when his tongue finds your core again. “Kept thinking about how easily you could throw me around. Pick me up, sit me on your face…”

Buck groans, all deep and rumbled, and the vibrations have your legs going weak. He doubles down on his efforts, slipping his tongue inside as his nose nudges your clit. He’s a fast learner, taking mental note of the spots and pressures that make your knees buckle.

“Keep going,” he mumbles into your core.

“You keep going,” you retort, pulling at his hair.

He chuckles but obliges your request, sucking your clit into his mouth with purpose. You’re shaking, holding onto him for dear life as you reach your climax. The moan you let out is borderline pornographic, and it has Buck palming himself over his suit trousers with a groan.

“Fuck, Evan,” you pant, chest heaving as you slump into the wall. “You need to grab me before I collapse. My legs are jelly.”

Laughing as he does it, he stands up and wraps his arms around your middle, holding you against him as tightly as he can.

“You okay?” he asks, pressing a kiss into your hair.

“Better than ever.”

He rests his lips on your forehead, both of you breathing each other in for a moment.

“Can’t believe you were right across the hallway from me, trying to be quiet while you were getting yourself off,” he murmurs, fingers running up and down your back. “You should have come over here. I would have helped you.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” you tease, cupping his face in your hands. “I was still acting like I didn’t wanna rip your clothes off back then.”

“Knew you’d crack eventually,” he winks, grinning when you laugh.

You pull him into you for a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue, clearly telling him exactly what you want.

“You gonna fuck me, Evan? Or are we just gonna stand here all night?”

He shakes his head with a smirk before throwing you onto the bed, chuckling when you almost bounce back off. As he starts to crawl over to you, you stop him with a foot on his chest.

“Nuh uh. You’re wearing too many clothes. Strip, Buckley.”

“Yes ma’am.”

He’s standing up immediately, unbuttoning his pants and pulling them off in one fell swoop. His boxers are next, leaving him stood bare and beautiful in front of you.

“Fuck. You’re not real,” you breathe out, eyes dancing over him.

“Oh I am so real,” he’s reassuring, situating himself on top of you.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him down so you can grind your hips into his.

“I’ve been waiting two days for this,” you murmur into his lips. “Make it worth my while, please.”

“Careful what you wish for,” he teases, kissing you again with such a force that you’re dizzy.

Buck sucks a bruise into your collarbone, licking a stripe up your sternum and tasting the salt that sits on your skin. Your patience is wearing thinner and thinner, anticipation bubbling up in your veins.

“How’d you want it?” he whispers into your ear.

“Just- deep. Wanna feel you for the rest of the weekend.”

He groans, a breathless chuckle leaving his lips.

“Anything you want, gorgeous. I’ll give you anything you want. Anything in the world.”

His lust drunk rambling makes you giggle, wiggling your hips into his to hopefully hurry him up. You tug at his hair, pulling his face so it’s level with yours.

“Now, Evan. Can’t wait any longer. Please.”

“Fuck. You’re so pretty when you beg.”

He lines himself up, pressing his forehead to yours as the two of you connect. He’s big and he’s stretching you out just right and you think you might have died and gone to heaven. You both groan, panting into each others mouths.

“Fuck, baby. It’s like you were made for me.”

The baby sends warmth running through both your core and your heart, all the signals setting your nervous system on fire.

“Please,” you whimper, kissing him with desperation as you tangle your fingers in his curls and pull. “Please, Evan.”

“I’ve got you,” he’s mumbling, pulling his hips back and sliding them forwards with clear intent.

Reaching up beside your head, Buck pulls a pillow down and situates it under your hips, putting you where he wants you.

“Want you to feel me as deep as possible,” he murmurs, tucking his head into the crook of your neck. “Won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

You can only moan at the promise, praying he delivers. There’s a shiny sheen of sweat covering his sun kissed skin, making him glow in the moonlight like some sort of angel. Sent just for you.

Buck sets a steady rhythm, not too fast but just fast enough. He clearly knows what he’s doing, and you ignore the pang of jealousy in your chest at the idea of him with another woman, even in the past.

Now that you’ve had a taste of this, you don’t want to let it go.

He’s pressing kisses onto whatever skin he can reach - your neck, your collarbone, underneath your ear. His hips never cease, determined to get you both to where you need to be. When he hitches one of your legs over his waist, you can’t help but drop your head back, eyes fluttering shut at the new angle.

He tilts his hips upwards, and hits a spot that has you keening. Speech has left you, and all you can do now is take it like you were made for it.

“Right there? Yeah? That’s it, isn’t it?”

You nod frantically, sucking in a shuddering breath like you’ve been under water. Your legs have started to shake, and Buck’s grinning when he thinks about how far he can push you before you’re at your limit.

“Come on, pretty girl. Give it to me.”

You’re so close you can taste it, desperate to find this release that’s been building for the last forty eight hours. When Buck moves his hand from your hip to your throat and squeezes just slightly, you snap.

You’re coming with a breathless moan, back arching into him to plaster your fronts together.

“Shit, you look so beautiful when you come. Jesus.”

You manage a soft smile, looking up at him to see those bright eyes staring into yours. He looks entranced, as if he’s staring at a piece in an art gallery. You swipe his hair back from his sweaty forehead, teasing your thumb across his bottom lip. When he sucks it into his mouth, your jaw drops open, mind foggy with arousal.

“Think you can give me another one? Let me see you come all pretty again?” he asks around your digit, tongue laving over your skin.

“Mhmm,” you’re agreeing before you can even process it, eager to please.

“That’s my girl.”

He moves your fingers from his mouth back into his hair as his find your throat once more, applying a little pressure. His hips pick up their pace, faster and harder than before. He’s fucking you into the mattress, strong arms keeping you from sliding off the bed.

He looks breathtaking, on top of you like this. He’s so broad, towering over you like he’ll shield you from the entire world if he has to. It feels like it’s just the two of you in the whole universe, unbothered by anything or anyone else.

“Buck- I… I-”

“I know, baby. Can feel it. Atta girl.”

You pull him down to kiss you as you reach your third climax of the night, arms wrapping around his neck so every inch of you is pressed together.

“There we go, good girl. That’s it, yeah. It’s yours, baby. It’s all yours.”

Buck finally finds his release, triggered by yours. His head drops into your neck, his frantic breath tickling your skin. You murmur sweet nothings into his ear, talking him through it as he shudders and shakes. Eventually, he collapses completely onto you, body weight pinning you down.

You’re both heaving for air, lungs burning as you try to regain an ounce of composure.

He murmurs something into your shoulder, the vibrations of it rumbling through your bones.

“Hmm?”

“You called me Buck.”

A breathless laugh escapes you, silvery and melodic.

“I’ve been trying not to for two days.”

“I know. You thought you were making a point.”

“I was making a point.”

“Sure, honey. Sure.”

“I hate you,” you grumble, but you can’t wipe the grin off your face. “I also hate that we’ve just made Lucy and Danny the happiest people ever.”

“Oh, shit. I hate it when they’re right.”

He pulls his head from your neck to look at you, resting his cheek against your chest so he can gaze up and into your eyes.

“I’m sure we can keep this a secret for a little while.”

“Yeah… we can’t.”

You quirk your brow at him in a silent question.

“I told Danny I was gonna marry you the minute you walked into the rehearsal dinner in that red dress. Can’t hide how I feel about you, gorgeous. It’s physically impossible.”

You can’t help but laugh, running your fingers through his hair to scratch at his scalp.

“Take me on a date first. Then we’ll talk about marriage, okay?”

“You did say forever, earlier.”

“That I did. Maybe my heart knew something my brain didn’t.”

Buck grins up at you, all blinding and giddy.

“The best man and the maid of honour, huh?”

“That old cliche,” you chuckle. “We weren’t the first, and we won’t be the last.”

“You’ll be my last, gorgeous.”

“Real smooth, Buck. Real smooth.”

“Buck,” he whispers, half in amusement, half in awe.

He could get used to this. You both could.

as always, reblogs are like gold to writers. if you enjoyed this, please reblog!! it’s invaluable <3

@peachysink @jjamjamie @alipap3 @spookyysinsanity @sophiah2253 @annaaaaanguyenn

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lynbels · 2 months ago

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TAMED DASH ୨ৎ 박성훈

pairing idol 박성훈 x reader

୨ৎ Your boyfriend returns from Coachella, exhausted, and snaps at you, quickly regretting it 💌 wc. 2043 - genre, fluff, slight angst

📝 what the fuck was enchella. I’m not sane after that shit

The airport was still buzzing, flashes from camera phones and the hum of tired conversations fading behind him as Sunghoon gave one last wave to his members.

“Text us when you’re settled,” Heeseung called out, already sliding into a black van.

Sunghoon just nodded, slinging his bag higher on his shoulder. His limbs ached from the flight, his hoodie felt suffocating in the spring heat, and his head throbbed with every sound. He didn’t even have the energy to pull out his mask as he stepped into the quiet car waiting for him. His driver asked if he wanted anything to eat. He just shook his head, eyes already fluttering closed against the window.

The drive home was a blur. Familiar city lights painted the sky, but Sunghoon could only think about the bed that had been calling his name for days. That, and you. He hadn’t seen you since before they left for California. The two of you had barely gotten used to living together—boxes still shoved in corners, bookshelves half-filled, your toothbrush resting beside his like it had always been there.

He missed you. He did. But right now, exhaustion gnawed at his bones, and the Coachella high had long since crashed into post-tour burnout.

The elevator dinged softly, and he stepped into the hallway of your apartment. The familiar scent of laundry detergent and that vanilla candle you were obsessed with welcomed him home more than anything else. His keys jangled as he pushed open the door quietly.

The living room was dark except for the flicker of the TV playing some random drama rerun. You were curled up on the couch, the oversized hoodie you wore practically swallowing you whole. Your mouth was slightly open, breaths even and soft.

Sunghoon sighed. You’d waited up.

He toed off his shoes with difficulty and set his bag down beside the door, stretching once before padding quietly into the kitchen for a glass of water. But before he could even fill it, a rustle from the couch caught his attention.

You shot up like a zombie resurrected by caffeine, eyes wide, cheeks flushed. “You’re home!”

He blinked. “Yeah…”

“I missed you so much.” You launched yourself off the couch before he could even process it, arms wrapping tightly around his middle. You buried your face in his chest, breathing him in like you were trying to memorize the scent of airport air and whatever cologne he’d used during the trip.

He stood there, frozen. His arms hung awkwardly at his sides, muscles stiff. But then, he relaxed, trying to push down the exhaustion and irritability that had built up over the past two weeks. He knew how sensitive you were, how you could feel the tiniest hint of his frustration. So, despite his body practically begging for rest, he smiled softly.

“I missed you too,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. His hands hesitated for a moment before settling gently around your back, just enough to hold you without feeling overwhelmed. “It’s just… it’s been a long trip.”

You smiled against him, clearly not noticing the slight tension in his shoulders. “I’ve been watching all the fan edits. You looked so good, Sunghoon. Seriously.”

His smile faltered just a little as you continued talking, your words pouring out in a rush—how much you missed him, how great he looked in the videos, how the edits had made you wish you were there, and how you’d barely been able to sleep without him next to you.

“I—” Sunghoon’s words got caught in his throat for a second. He didn’t want to come off as rude. He didn’t want to hurt you. So, he just nodded, trying to keep his patience. His thumb gently traced circles on the back of your hoodie as he focused on keeping his emotions in check.

“Yeah, I know,” he said, his voice quieter now. He was smiling, but the exhaustion in his eyes was becoming harder to hide.

You pulled back slightly, still talking about how you couldn’t wait to catch up on everything, but Sunghoon’s head felt heavy, his body sluggish with the kind of tiredness that was almost painful. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to keep calm as your voice bubbled on, not realizing the way he was barely holding himself together.

It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate how much you cared, it was just… right now, it felt like too much. But he didn’t want to snap. Not when he knew how much you valued the little moments like this.

So, he smiled again, faintly, despite everything. “Let’s talk later, okay? I just… I really need to rest.”

And with that, he gently pulled away, walking past you toward the bedroom, trying to ignore the weight that pressed down on his chest.

You didn’t hear what Sunghoon had said, your excitement still buzzing in your chest as you bounced on your toes, waiting for him to react more to your rambling. When he moved past you toward the bedroom, you were still talking, eager to close the distance between you and him.

“Sunghoon, wait! I swear you looked so—”

You followed him into the room, heart racing with anticipation. “Hey, are you still tired? I just missed you so much. We can go get food or I can make something—whatever you want, I don’t care, I just want to be with you.”

You tried to sit next to him, but he was already sitting on the bed, rubbing his temples like he was trying to hold it all together. He hadn’t even taken off his jacket yet. You could feel the tension in the room—the kind of tension that made you nervous but also desperate to make everything right. You missed him, and you just wanted him to talk to you.

“Sunghoon?” you asked again, your voice softer this time as you sat beside him, nudging his arm with your elbow. “Are you okay?”

He didn’t look at you. He just stared at the floor, his lips pressed together in a thin line. You could tell he was holding something back, probably frustration from the long flight, but you couldn’t help yourself. You needed to talk to him. Needed him to see you.

“Sunghoon, are you mad at me? You’ve barely said anything, and—”

That was when he finally snapped.

“God, can you stop?!” he growled, his voice sharp, like a sudden burst of anger he could no longer contain. He jerked away from you, swearing under his breath. “I’m fucking tired. Why can’t you just give me a second to breathe?!”

His words hit you like a slap, and for a moment, all you could do was freeze, mouth open in shock. Sunghoon had never talked to you like that, never let his anger spill so suddenly.

He sat up straighter, hands gripping the bed, his knuckles white. His eyes, though tired, flashed with frustration.

“I just got off a plane after two weeks, and you won’t stop talking. It’s too much!” he spat, his voice cold and harsh, every word laced with irritation. “I don’t need this right now.”

You pulled back, confusion and hurt twisting in your stomach. You’d never seen him so on edge with you before. His words hung in the air, sharp and cutting, and for a moment, you wondered if you’d said something wrong. If you’d pushed him too far.

But Sunghoon didn’t apologize. Not yet. He just stared at you, waiting for your reaction, chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to collect himself, his gaze hard.

It felt like the room was holding its breath, and you didn’t know whether to keep talking or give him space.

You sat there in stunned silence, your heart pounding in your chest. The air in the room suddenly felt thick, like there was no room left to breathe. Sunghoon hadn’t moved, his gaze still fixed on you, but he wasn’t looking at you like he usually did—not with warmth, not with that soft affection you were so used to. No, right now, his eyes were filled with something else.

Frustration.

You swallowed, trying to steady your breath, but the weight of his words hung heavy in the air between you. It was clear he was tired, but his snap… it hurt. It wasn’t like him.

“Sunghoon…” You whispered, your voice smaller than you intended. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I don’t care if you didn’t mean to,” he interrupted, his tone still biting. “I just want a damn break, okay? I haven’t had a moment to myself in weeks, and now you’re here, talking my ear off and acting like everything’s fine. It’s not. I’m not fine.”

You flinched. His words felt like a punch to the gut, and you could feel the sting of them deep in your chest. The part of you that wanted to defend yourself, to explain that you just missed him, was overwhelmed by the sudden rush of guilt. You hadn’t meant to make him snap, but you had.

He sighed, rubbing his face in frustration as he slumped back against the headboard, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“Just… just give me a minute. Please,” he said, voice softer now but still tinged with irritation. “I don’t want to yell at you, I don’t. But I need you to understand. I’m so fucking exhausted, and I don’t know how to say it without sounding like an asshole.”

You nodded slowly, biting the inside of your lip as you tried to fight back the tears that suddenly stung at the corners of your eyes. You didn’t want to cry. Not in front of him, not like this. But everything inside you felt… heavy. Overwhelmed. All you wanted was to be with him, to make up for the time lost while he was gone.

Instead, you felt like you were pushing him further away.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible now. “I just… I missed you so much. I was excited you were finally home, but I guess I didn’t realize how tired you were.”

Sunghoon didn’t say anything for a long moment. He just sat there, eyes staring ahead as if he was lost in his thoughts. You felt the space between you both growing with every second that passed. His silence was suffocating, but you didn’t want to make it worse by saying the wrong thing.

Finally, he let out another sigh. This one wasn’t as harsh, though it was still filled with exhaustion.

“I know,” he muttered, rubbing his temples. “I know you missed me. I get it. But I didn’t have time to miss you. I was too busy being run into the ground. You know how it is.” His voice softened again, just barely, as he looked over at you. “I don’t want to make you feel bad. I’m just… I just need a minute to breathe. Can you give me that?”

You nodded again, this time more understanding, though your chest still ached.

“Okay,” you said quietly. “I’ll give you space. I’m sorry for… pushing you.”

Sunghoon leaned back against the bed, eyes closed, and you could hear the faint sound of his breath, a little steadier now.

“I’m sorry, too,” he muttered after a beat, his voice still rough but with a touch of sincerity. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. I know you’re not the reason I’m so tired. It’s just… I didn’t know how else to handle it.”

You didn’t respond right away. You simply sat there, letting the tension simmer between you both, but it wasn’t as sharp as it had been a few moments ago. You still felt the sting of his words, but the soft apology was enough to ease the weight, even just a little.

After a long moment of silence, Sunghoon finally shifted in the bed, sitting up straighter. He hesitated before reaching over and pulling you gently toward him. He didn’t say anything, but his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close in a quiet, almost apologetic hug.

You rested your head against his chest, and for the first time since he’d come home, the ache in your chest eased, just a little.

want to read my long fanfics? Check out @shy9-29

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wernerherzogs · 3 months ago

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some of my fave buddie fics for anon in no particular order! please mind all the ratings, tags, and warnings of these works while browsing:

plot-focused:

about the present series by Amiril

The day of the shooting, Eddie got stuck in a time loop. But that was three months ago. He's completely fine now.

boys, when my baby found me by nondz (pinkjook)

Three months later, things are mostly back to normal.

And then there's an accident.

the city is a jungle and i’m a beast by putanauhere (TRUST ME.)

“There are no wolves in Southern California,” Buck states, another bit of trivia. He just doesn’t know it’s a lie.

The Things All Come and Gone by moodlighting

“I didn’t—it’s not that I couldn’t be alone,” Buck explained, pausing to find the right words. “I just. Wanted to be here.”

I Broke What You Gave Me, But You Kept Giving More by rcdwings

Evan Buckley wakes up without eight years of his memories with some guy named Eddie Diaz on his bedside. Which could mean nothing.

lonely little love dog by littleghost

When the 118 is closed for reconstruction after an earthquake, Buck is a floater for different stations around the city. He tries not to let it get to him. Much.

kerosene by mandolare

He doesn’t— need more of Eddie. This is enough. This is plenty. This is more than anyone else has of him; he can deal with the marrow-deep want that’s begun to choke him every once in a while.

all my little words by youbetsya

Eddie: Did you just send me an email??

Buck: yeah lol

Eddie: Why…

I dont think you’ve ever emailed me actual words before. Just stuff to print when your printer is broken

Buck: did you read it?

Eddie: Not yet

Too busy trying to figure out why the fuck you’re emailing me

Buck: just read it dude 🙄

instructions on not giving up by Wildehack (tyleet)

Eddie gave up in July.

Live and (Don't) Let Die by xylodemon

The guy gets straight to the point, asking, "What do you need?" in a dull, bored voice.

"My best friend is going to die. I want that to… not happen."

"No small feat, bringing back the dead. And it comes at a cost."

It's Eddie. Buck says, "Yes," without a second thought.

good pretender by likeshipsonthesea

“Okay, but what are the rules?”

Ravi stares. “The rules for…?”

“Casual sex.”

Ravi continues to stare. It is 5:39 in the morning.

i can tell just what you want (you don't want to be alone) by Talls

In which Eddie keeps secrets and Buck is incredibly normal and rational and even brave about his reaction to this.

here’s my hand, there’s the itch by signetsealed

"I wasn’t kidding when I said I could talk about Chris all night,” Eddie says. His voice is quiet and close in Buck’s ear. “But that’s not why I called.”

been lost for a while by trysetmeonfire

Eddie's wife has been dead for two weeks. There's a firefighter in bed five. These are not necessarily related facts, but Eddie will have a hard time separating them out, later.

Downward Facing Doggy Style by Survivah

Eddie and Buck pick up a new hobby while Chris is in Texas.

slaughterhouse by kithmet

Eddie announces he’s leaving. Buck, naturally, begins a slow descent to madness.

Choosing Joy 'Verse series by ithilien22

In which Eddie mends fences with Chris, starts something new with Buck, and navigates the complex emotions he has around his parents.

the sweetest apparition by hyruling

Eddie moves to Texas. Buck keeps accidentally telling people Eddie's dead. It goes about as well as you'd expect.

pluperfect by unreckless

Buck is always good for a ride to the airport. He’s good at lots of things, like being a good friend and goodbyes.

beating the horse by doitgently

Eddie is moving to Texas. Buck finally figures out what he wants.

Burn a bridge, learn how to swim series by WatermelonShots (AvocadosUnderTheEaves)

In which there is some unexpected making out, some pining, one third of an existential crisis and a lot of unhelpful advice. Not necessarily in that order.

you drew stars around my scars by ladieslunching

Someone at the 118 doesn't know how to leave Buck's clipboard alone. Buck would be a lot more upset about it if it didn't bag him the love of his life.

Hot Ghost Problems by ebjameston

The ghost would prefer to go by Buck, if Eddie wouldn’t mind.

ripples all the way down by iriswests

This is the tumultuous road to finding out what Buck truly wants, paved by pebbles.

throw a bone, i’m finally home by fleetinghearts

“Oh, Buck,” Eddie says softly, torn between unbearable fondness and an ache that threatens to crack his breastbone.

when everything's on fire by beartowns

Eddie and Chris move in with Buck after a fire. Buck breaks up with his boyfriend, buys a house with Eddie, and realizes he's in love. In precisely that order.

ice cream before dinner by cloudydaisies

The problem is—well.

Actually, backtrack for a sec. There were a few problems.

Eddie’s got a whole lot of them, lately, and maybe that was The Problem.

Something in the Air (Is Giving Me Bad Ideas) by paramountie

After Christopher comes back from Texas, Eddie makes an important decision: he is not going to blow up his life anymore.

crossed the muddy line by Anonymous

Eddie Diaz is from El Paso, Texas; a fact which accounts for both more and less than he ever expected it to.

the tortured poets department by colonoscopys

The first time Buck touched him, Eddie blew an ambulance up.

still by brewrosemilk

For the first time, Buck longs for a bullet wound to treat. Dirt to dig at. A door to break through. Something. There’s nothing.

somewhere to stand and stay by teaspoon

“What are you doing right now?” Eddie asks. He sounds distracted; Buck can tell immediately that he’s driving.

authentication by v_greyson (greyson)

"Yeah, Eddie picks the guys so I don't make stupid decisions," Buck says, flicking through menus to pick a new racetrack.

The combination of Hen munching peanuts and looking back and forth between them makes Eddie feel like he's a zoo exhibit. Best Friends, captured in the wild, still feral, exhibiting behaviors heretofore unknown to science.

"Well, good luck with - all that," Hen says pointedly to Eddie. She is definitely not talking about the video game.

keeping score by arcanaphora

After getting dumped, Buck is left with two tickets to a weeklong cruise. Eddie steps in to support a friend in need, but complications arise when his friend becomes his fake husband. All's fair in love, war, and trivia.

if i said you could never touch me by marviless*

Eddie pulls back from him with a half-confused, half-concerned furrow in between his eyebrows. “Buck?”

Buck sags against the wall. “Sorry,” he says, wiping the back of his forearm against his forehead in a mixture of frustration and newfound exhaustion. “Sorry.”

Counting Pulses by tinyydancerr*

Eddie Diaz’s life is going great. He’s in therapy, he’s got a great girlfriend, a great kid, his friend is getting married to the woman of his dreams, and his best friend just came out to him.

Now his best friend is dating their new friend.

Things are going great. He promises.

porn-heavy (only a few of these are straight up pwp though):

Feel You Forever by semperama

“Is this…” Eddie meets his eyes again. “Is this new?”

a mess of my creation by Anonymous

They’re in the fucking bunk room. There’s someone snoring in the bed over by the bathroom, a good twenty feet and two beds away, and Buck doesn’t know if it’s Hen or Chimney or Bobby, but they’re in here, they’re asleep, and this is awful, this is so fucking unprofessional and if they get caught they are going straight to HR.

blood in the highs and count the stars by seachanged

“Go on,” Eddie says, nosing into the soft spot under Buck’s jaw.

Buck laughs, a little hysterically. ”You’re not serious.”

look straight ahead if you like it slow by hattalove

“This gets you going, huh?” Eddie grins, propping himself up on his elbows so he can move higher on the bed, reach the pretty pink bow of Buck’s mouth. “Devotion? You being it for me?” He stretches up toward Buck’s ear, whispers: “Monogamy?”

hang me up on your bedroom wall by eddiegettingshot

“You’re going to be a great father someday,” Eddie says eventually, because he’s worse than he used to be and Buck’s reverent eyes make him feel—they just make him feel.

“Eddie, I—”

“You are,” he repeats, firm. “Don’t you think I’d know better than anyone?

buck and eddie's red hot infidelity summer series by cranberrymoons

He’s not thinking about it. He’s not. He’s definitely not.

the moon like a spotlight by dykeries

Three months after Eddie moves to El Paso, Buck comes to visit.

this ecstasy, this forgetfulness of living by glorious_spoon

"You guess," Eddie repeats under his breath, but he sounds amused. He sets the boxes down and kicks the door shut behind him to wind through the chaos of Buck's half packed away kitchen. "You're insane."

love's not a game by thatbuddie (talktothesky)

“So that goal, huh?”

Buck groans, his hands clawing at the sheets beneath him as his toes curl up, the fire that’s been building up inside him for what feels like hours sizzling and uncontrollable in its path through Buck’s body.

i might kiss you on the back of your neck (because it’s christmas time) by sibylsleaves

Five Times Captain Diaz and Recruit Lieutenant Diaz fail to sleep together and one time they do.

would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses? by brattybuckley

Evan Buckley is currently on cloud nine.

Well–

Honey on the Vine by sirencalls

Buck wakes up to an Eddie with stubble for the first time in months and refuses to let a good opportunity to go waste.

lock me down tonight by lecornergirl

Buck tells everyone Eddie talks him into it, but when it comes to Eddie, he’s never needed much convincing.

Mind Blowing Mess by EtoileGarden

"I’d like to have a threesome. I think.”

“You think?”

“Yeah,” Taylor eyed him for a moment, and then leaned a little further over the table, her chin in her hand. “Have you ever had one before?”

songs and poems and promises by lesbianrobin

“It’s crazy how different sex is with men,” Buck says, and everyone around him groans.

rodeo queen by okanus

“What’s the saying again? Save a horse…hm, y’know, I don't quite remember the rest of it.” Eddie can’t help the smile curving up the corner of his mouth.

“You’re an asshole,” Buck says, scowling. The tips of his ears are pink.

yes god don't speak by detectivemeer

“You’re staring.”

“What.” Eddie says. “No I’m not.”

#sorry that tumblr ate your ask and my og response!#also sorry that this is just a short sample but otherwise i'd never get this done.#buddie #911 fic #911 #fic #fic rec #anonymous #a response #please let me know if any link is broken!#and please appreciate that this took Ages on mobile 😭#like. literally about three hours and i'm not counting the three (3) drafts i'd lost before this 😭#long post #eta: two recs here don't have links bc apparently i'd reached the limit of 100 links per post. fuck. and sorry.#hopefully you can google the links yourself!#those are the fics marked with *. apologies to the authors i didn't know about this limit 😭#buckeddie #oh and also i kept it 1 work per 1 author #but as usual i encourage everyone to check out the authors' other works

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wildehacked · 3 months ago

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for the soft fic meme, 12 for buddie?

A little coda to "Invisible"—set decidedly before "Contagion!" 12. ‘you could say I’m fond of you.’ * Buck fucks it up after, like, a month. He knew he was gonna. It’s just that most of the time the only people he talks on the phone to are Maddie and his parents—like any self-respecting millennial, he texts everyone else. And when you say goodbye to your mom or your sister or your adorable tiny niece, you say something like “okay, bye now, love you.” It’s just habit, honestly. If he talked on the phone more often to more people, it wouldn’t happen at all. He’s talking on the phone a lot now. Eddie started it literally on the drive to El Paso—Buck was still standing on the street, his heart a miserable bruise in his chest, and then his phone chimed and Eddie was FaceTiming him. Buck opened it, all like, hey man, what’d you forget, but Eddie was just grinning at him from behind the wheel, eyes on the road and not the camera. Dude, Eddie said. I know it’s just drizzling, but you’re gonna get soaked if you don’t go inside. So Buck rolled his eyes and wiped the California rain off his face and went inside, and he slowly and inefficiently unpacked a box of silverware while Eddie complained about the price of gas and asked him about Pilot stations vs Loves vs Texacos, and Buck did his best impression of a normal person whose best friend was in the act of leaving him, even though his heart was pulsing in his throat like he’d swallowed one of those Looney Tune ticking time bombs, and surely that wasn’t normal at all.

Anyway, now they’re always on the phone. Eddie calls first, usually—Buck’s eased up on the restriction a bit, but at first he was determined not to be too clingy, so they waited on Eddie’s schedule, whether Eddie needed him, wanted him, or whatever—but it turns out Eddie needs him all the time. Wants him all the time. Wants to talk to him all the time. Whatever. Buck talks to Eddie while he shops for groceries, while he cooks dinner at the firehouse, while he’s cooling off after a run.

He gets access to all these aching pieces of Eddie’s life: a glimpse of the backseat of Eddie’s new car, little flash of Eddie’s local Albertsons, peeling wallpaper in Eddie’s new living room that looks nothing like the pictures. And he hears about conversations with Chris (so much better already,) and conversations with Eddie’s mom (bad, not that Buck can say so,) and Uber rides that went well and Uber rides that went bad, and recipes Eddie tried that went wrong, and recipes Eddie tried that went right, and whether there’s mold in the bathroom and whether Eddie needs to hire someone to put in new windows or whether he can do it himself, and—yeah. It’s almost normal, if Buck and Eddie normally lived their lives on FaceTime.

So Buck’s guard is down, which is why when the bell rings and Eddie’s mid-rant about airport security (loitering in the cell phone lot at the El Paso International Airport waiting for a ride to come in,) he fumbles his coffee cup and says “gotta go, okay, love you, buh-bye.”

He hangs up before he even hears himself, and then feels his ears heat up all the way down to the rig. That was so embarrassing. Like calling the teacher mom. Like calling Cap dad. Ugh. He’ll have to explain to Eddie that it’s just because of the Maddie-Jee-parents phone thing. Later.

But later, after the next three calls, when Eddie calls to complain about people coughing in the Uber without masks again, Buck somehow totally forgets to say anything. And then Eddie gets another ride, and he has to go, and Buck fucking. Does it again. “Be safe, love you, bye.” He hears Eddie’s surprised laugh before he fumbles to the hang-up button, and his stomach goes watery and weird.

It’s not that weird, is the thing! Obviously he loves Eddie, they’re best friends. It’s just one of those dumb things, that he doesn’t usually say it to his friends. Probably a toxic masculinity thing, if Hen’s right about that. He should be telling all his friends he loves them. He just hates the idea that Eddie might, like—get the wrong idea. It’s not stupid to think that. Maddie thought that. Tommy thought that. Buck has to be careful, really careful, or Eddie’s going to get weirded out and stop giving Buck even these little half-real glimpses into his life.

“I love you,” he tells Hen in the rig on their way to an apartment fire.

Her eyebrows raise. “Oh-kay. You know something I don’t know?”

“No,” Buck says with kind of a forced breeziness. “Just telling my friend I love her.”

“Sure,” she says, still sounding doubtful. “I love you too?”

“What about me,” Chim asks, kicking Buck’s chair with the side of his boot. He and Hen give each other one of those best friend looks that Buck is used to but can’t decipher.

“Uh, duh,” Buck says, even though he’s tempted to say Eh, depends whether you name my nephew after me, because he’s trying to prove a point, here. “What about Cap?” Chim prompts, and Bobby raises his eyebrows from the front of the rig.

“Obviously I love Cap,” Buck says, like that isn’t the most awkward sentence to ever come out of his mouth. Bobby sort of winces back at him, but he looks touched, too? It’s a very Midwestern kind of look.

“What about Ravi,” Chim asks, snapping his gum, and Buck’s stomach sinks because, like, he really likes Ravi, he trusts Ravi with his life, he thinks he and Ravi honestly should become better friends, but like, does he love him? Uhh, well—but Ravi immediately shakes his head, not looking up from his phone. “Leave me out of this one,” Ravi says mildly. “Freaks.” “What brought this on?” Hen asks.

“I keep accidentally telling Eddie I love him,” Buck says. “That’s not weird, right?”

He gets laughed at for the rest of the shift.

* The thing is, it does actually bother Buck. Like, he’s into dudes now. He doesn’t want Eddie to think Buck’s into him. That’s important—has been since the beginning. Nothing changes between the two of them. Buck is determined not to change anything between them. Because it would be easy, right? Everybody else thinks so. It would make sense for Buck to be this pathetic loser in love with his straight best friend, haunting his house just like he haunted Abby’s house. And he’s not. He loves Eddie in a totally normal way. He loves Eddie in the way that Eddie could love him back.

So the next time Eddie FaceTimes him, Buck’s determined to make sure Eddie gets it. He doesn’t get his chance right away, though, because before he can open his mouth, Eddie’s putting a finger up to his lips, and Buck’s jaw snaps shut. Eddie flips the camera around, and there’s Eddie’s new living room, and Eddie’s old couch, and there’s Chris, passed out with his Switch in his lap. Buck’s heart clenches like a fist.

Eddie flips the camera back around, and walks quietly out of the living room—he’s not looking at the camera, but Buck gets a glimpse of the small, private smile on his face anyway. See, it’s shit like that—how is Buck supposed to risk that? Eddie slips out the front door, and then settles down on the stoop, the late afternoon Texas sun turning his hair gold around the edges.

“You got him back,” Buck guesses, and Eddie smiles at him, huge and happy like Buck hasn’t seen in months. “I got him back,” Eddie confirms, and Buck whoops and punches the air, which means he also accidentally drops the phone.

“Tell me,” Buck demands, when Eddie stops laughing—not at him, but with him, giddy with his own success. “Tell me everything!”

“You were right,” Eddie says. “I just needed to show up.” Then he tells Buck the rest of the story—how he drove out to Lubbock, how Chris threw up and Eddie stepped up, how Chris hates chess, how it was easy, in the end, to draw a line in the sand with his mom. Buck is so, so happy for him, for them, for his Diaz boys, which makes it so weird that his chest just hurts the whole time Eddie’s telling him the story.

“I knew it,” Buck says when Eddie wraps it up. “I knew he missed you.”

Eddie’s still smiling with all his teeth, looking almost embarrassed about it. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, he did.”

“I love that,” Buck says, or—well, okay. That’s what he means to say. What he actually says is “I love you,” a stupid slip of the tongue followed immediately by a weird hot lurch in his chest. “Wait! No.” “No?” Eddie asks. He’s laughing, thank god. “No,” Buck says firmly. “That’s too bad,” Eddie says. “I’m kinda fond of you.” “I,” Buck says, choking a little on his desire to correct the record. “Eddie! Obviously I—I mean, like—you know what I mean!” “You don’t love me,” Eddie agrees, and dramatically claps the hand not holding the phone to his chest, like he’s been shot through the heart.

“I love Hen,” Buck says, and he knows that’s a miss as soon as it comes out of his mouth.

“Oh sure,” Eddie says, and he’s actually giggling, the phone shaking in his hand. “Me too.”

“Eddiiiie,” Buck says again, stretching out the word in a little bit of a whine. Okay, whatever, time to give explaining his best shot. “You know, I like—most of the time I’m talking to Maddie or Jee on the phone, when I talk on the phone? And it’s, like, it’s habit.”

Eddie’s looking at him like he’s crazy, but also like he’s a cute animal video. “Have you seriously been stressing about this? Over a couple of I love yous?”

Buck’s throat is dry. He swallows and it clicks. “I—I don’t want to make it weird, that’s all.”

“Oh,” Eddie says, and loses the cute animal video face. “It's not weird.”

Buck is going to crawl into a hole and die. He’s gonna find a shovel, dig a hole, and crawl into it. “It’s not?”

“No.” “I, um.” Buck feels weirdly shaky, even though this conversation isn’t a big deal and he knows he should be celebrating Eddie and Christopher right now instead of getting all adrenalized over nothing. “I thought it might be.” “You’re crazy,” Eddie says warmly. “Tell me more about how you love Hen.” “Shut up,” Buck says. “I told everyone I loved them.”

“Wow,” Eddie says. “Even Ravi?”

“I could love Ravi,” Buck says defensively, because he actually probably could! He and Ravi have been hanging out more lately! He’s getting into frisbee golf! “Ravi’s great,” Eddie agrees. “When’s his birthday?” “I don’t know, I’ll have to check your Facebook,” Buck says, and Eddie laughs, and the camera shakes with the movement. When Eddie readjusts, he brings it back closer to his face, and Buck can see the way his eyes are turning a little gold in the sunlight, too.

“Okay,” Buck says, “Enough of that. Tell me more about how Chris is doing.”

Eddie smiles at him. They talk about Chris for a while, then about Eddie’s plans for what he’s gonna make Chris for dinner, then about Buck’s upcoming weekend plans with Maddie and Chim. Eventually the sun starts to go down in El Paso, and Eddie says: “Alright, I should probably let you go.”

“Okay,” Buck says, even though he doesn’t want to hang up. “Don’t over-salt the pasta water.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “I won’t.” Then he gets a sly grin on his face, which is the only warning Buck gets before Eddie says: “Love you, man.”

Buck’s heart somersaults in his chest. “Love you, too,” he gets out, and Eddie’s back to laughing at him as he hangs up.

Buck stares at his dark phone, then taps it anxiously against his knee. It’s not weird. Eddie said it wasn’t weird. If it’s weird, Eddie’s being just as weird as he is.

“I love him,” he says aloud, reassuring himself that it’s fine. No one’s around to hear him; it makes Buck shiver anyway.

#911 #buddie #eddie diaz #evan buck buckley #pining and he doesn't even know he's doing it

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scarletmika · 6 days ago

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Speak Now : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader

Summary: Bob Floyd is madly in love with you, and you're in love with him. The problem? You're getting married...and it's not to Bob.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY (I am not responsible for the media you choose to consume), some angst, some fluff, insane amounts of pining, idiots in love, language, female reader, maybe some incorrect descriptions of the Navy, suggestive and steamy but no actual smut, drunken confessions/moves, moment of cheating, miscommunication, happy ending!

Word Count: 16,268 words

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧

You were twenty-two when you first met Bob Floyd.

Wide-eyed, naïve to the world, you had arrived at Officer Candidate School in Rhode Island with a bright smile, prepared for the future you had chosen for yourself. Your great-grandfather was in the Navy, your grandfather, your father, and now you. But you were determined to be special, to be the first of your family to become a fighter pilot.

It was that thought running through your head that distracted you, causing you to trip over your own two feet when you’d just barely made it inside the doors of the main building. Luckily for you, someone was there to catch your fall.

“Whoa-! Are you good?”

Baby-faced, sandy blonde hair, and glasses that you, frankly, found adorable were staring back at you when you’d finally straightened yourself out. Those blue eyes behind said glasses never left you as you dusted yourself off, taking hold of your suitcase again and giving the guy in front of you a kind smile.

“Just peachy. Lost in my own head,” you couldn’t help but giggle at yourself, the smile on the guy’s face growing as you stuck your hand out and gave your name. “Thanks for the save, there. Can’t already be bumbling around like an idiot before we’ve even gotten started.”

“Bob Floyd, and d-don’t worry, you weren’t,” he paused for a second, tilting his head slightly with a teasing grin this time as he let go of your hand. “W-Well, I can’t lie and say I didn’t see you swatting at that bee outside. Bumblebees and bumbling through doors…sounds like the makings of a pretty good call-”

“If I’ve managed to get a callsign this early on in my career, I’m never letting you forget it,” he only laughed at your pointed look and fell into step beside you.

“Noted, just a personal nickname for now, then. So, uh, where’d you graduate from?”

“Boston University, Bachelor's in Physics. You?”

You both thanked the woman at the front desk who gave you your assignments for your bunks for the rest of the multi-week course.

“University of Montana, Bachelor’s in Mechanical Engineering,”

The two of you came to a stop in front of the hallway before you; your barracks down to the left, and his down to the right.

“Want to grab dinner tonight after we settle in?”

“Yeah, I-I’d love that,” that smile on Bob’s face turned shy as he looked down at his feet for a moment. “I’ll grab you a coffee, how do you like it?”

“Two sugars, a dash of cream,”

“Perfect,”

“Well, Bob Floyd, I guess this is it for now. See you at dinner?”

“See you there, Bumble,”

It was meant to be just a nickname; he was meant to be the only person ever to call you that. But after graduating from officer training together, then attending and graduating flight training in Florida, you’d been shipped off to your different squadrons. Bob was off to Naval Air Station Lemoore in California, and you had been assigned to Naval Air Station Jacksonville in Florida.

The man who had become your best friend, your rock throughout training, was being shipped to the other side of the country. Approximately 2,546 miles away from you, and three hours behind you. That didn’t stop the constant texts or late-night calls to keep one another updated in the way you used to when you lived in the same barracks; if anything, they became a constant in both of your lives.

And when you’d stumbled through the doors of the base on your first day, your squadron was quick to try to give you your callsign for your clumsiness. But you smiled, and said you already had one: Bumble.

It was at Top Gun training where you finally had Bob Floyd back in your life consistently; that is, at least for the duration of your 13-week training. And you’d never forget the smile on his face when he’d pulled away from the first hug you’d shared in years and gotten his first look at your helmet, adorned with your callsign that you had somehow managed to keep a secret for so long.

“Bumble,” he’d said it so adoringly, in a way that had you trying to ignore the strange feeling that bubbled up in your chest at the way he smiled and admired the yellow and black stripes along your helmet. “I really did give you your callsign, didn’t I? Bet they think it’s actually because of the bee and not the tripping.”

“Eh, let them decide. We know where it really came from. But I think we should focus on how the hell ‘Bob’ became not just your name, but your callsign, too,”

Leaving the program was hard, because leaving your best friend was hard. So, when just a few years later you had been called back to Top Gun for a specialized mission that took the best of the best, you couldn’t have been happier to be back with Bob. Then, with how quickly your new squad had taken to each other, it didn’t take any of you long to say ‘yes’ when you’d been offered a permanent position in San Diego as an elite squadron.

That’s how you found yourself here, seated in the same back-corner table of the Hard Deck on a Friday night as you always were, surrounded by the team that had become your family just a year-and-a-half after that special detachment became permanent.

Natasha laughed at your side, recounting some story for Fanboy and Payback about how Rooster had hit on a woman while the two of them were seeing a show downtown the night before. Hangman is instantly arguing back that Rooster ‘isn’t slick enough’ to pull that off, and Coyote is backing him up as he typically is. Maverick is at the other end of the table, simply shaking his head at you all as he thanks Penny for his next beer with a kiss on her cheek, something that quirks the corners of your lips up just slightly.

Bob sat right across from you, at the far end of the table from Maverick, and you can’t help but find yourself watching him. He’s dressed down, as you all are for once besides Mav, in a white t-shirt clinging to his skin with a blue flannel hanging haphazardly around him. You recognize it, since you’d bought it for him for his birthday three years ago. He’s laughing at Hangman and Rooster’s petty argument, sipping gingerly on a Diet Coke. You’d only ever seen him drink three times over the decade you had known him, so it wasn’t surprising. Neither was the cup of peanuts he was snacking on.

His eyes drifted to meet yours, and his smile grew wider the second he did. You swallowed the lump in your throat, shoving that flutter in your chest away into the locked compartment you always kept it in, and smiled back at him. Your best friend, your rock. One of the only people you could never imagine life without, and you never wanted to find out what life without him would be like. You weren’t even sure at this point how you’d survived your entire childhood without him by your side, because life didn’t make sense without Bob Floyd.

Lips suddenly pressed into the right side of your head, your body instinctively shifting over as the body next to you finally sat down, arm thrown around the back of your chair and fingertips ghosting over your bare shoulder for just a moment.

“Sorry, couldn’t decide on a drink! Figured you’d want another vodka cranberry, babe,”

Your reply was quiet, just a simple thank you, as you took the drink from your fiancée’s outstretched hand.

Austin Fletcher was what some called the perfect man. At least, that’s how your old squadmates back in Jacksonville described him. A Senior Financial Analyst in the company named for his own family, working his way within the next 5 years to take over as CEO from his father after his retirement. Chocolate brown eyes, perfect vision that he could thank his laser-eye surgery from 5 years ago for, forever tanned skin from too many days spent in the San Diego sun, and jet black hair that always seemed to be perfectly combed back. Combined with the expensive taste in outfits, given the watches that would cost an entire month of your Naval salary, he always looked like he walked straight off a magazine cover.

And he was yours, and you were his. And in just a month and a half’s time, now, you’d be Mrs. Fletcher. The wife of who was once considered San Diego’s most eligible bachelor.

Active, ambitious, efficient, a true entrepreneur. Everyone’s dream man.

“Couldn’t even bring us some refills, Austy?” Hangman teased the man from down the table. There were light snickers from your team at the comment, everyone knowing how much he hated that nickname. You could feel him tense slightly beside you, and didn’t hesitate to send Hangman a pleading look, begging him to stop.

“You’ve got the barmaid at your beck and call, didn’t think I had to!” Austin had joked, gesturing in the direction of Penny with his own beer bottle as he laughed at his own comment. No one else laughed, though, not that he seemed to care. Penny’s glare was obvious from down the table, as you averted your eyes to take a larger swig of your drink than necessary.

Austin…definitely had his faults. Callous was probably the best way to describe it when he made comments like that. Conceited might even be a good word for it. If you thought too long about it, there were probably a hundred other synonyms that you could dream up.

Your eyes caught Bob’s, already looking at you, and that easy smile he wore before was pitched down now. It was easy to track the movement of his eyes, the way they flickered to the hand holding your drink, to the shining silver diamond ring on your finger that would cost you at least six months of your salary, before they flicked away. That hand was quickly back below the table, lying in your lap where no one could see it before you even had a chance to really think about it.

“What we should really be focusing on is that drill from earlier today, and that insane move that you pulled off, Bumble,” it was Coyote speaking up, pointing down the table to you with a smirk as your friends whistled, getting a small laugh out of you. “Pulling off a fucking Herbst maneuver? I may have to finally concede and call you the best damn pilot I’ve ever seen.”

“Well, let’s not go that far,” Hangman cut in, as he usually did, with a wink sent your way that had you rolling your eyes playfully. “Still no confirmed air-to-air kills like me, so I think I still have an edge.”

“Yeah, yeah, we know. I bet those two kills are what you use to entice the ladies every night, instead of those two inches downstairs,” Natasha practically choked on her drink at your comment, a smirk etched into your lips. Payback and Fanboy were slamming on the table in laughter while you watched Bob shake his head with a grin out of the corner of your eye. “Wasn’t that hard of a maneuver, Mav has been trying to teach us it for weeks-”

“Sometimes I don’t fully understand what it is you guys get paid to do,” Austin had cut in, cutting you off mid-sentence with another laugh and swig of his beer. “I mean, if you aren’t out there fighting any wars, then what are our tax dollars paying you guys to do? Play around in the air?”

Apathetic. Yeah, that was another word you could use for Austin. He never cared to hear about work, or really anything that happened between you and the rest of the squad. Apathetic, hedonistic, ignorant…yeah, that list really did go on.

“Non sibi sed patriae…means not for self, but for country,” it was Maverick who spoke up this time, and just the sound of his voice had each member of his team sitting up just the slightest bit straighter. When Mav put on his serious voice, you listened, even at the Hard Deck. “Means we spend our days preparing to protect this country at a moment’s notice…I’m sure you do something similar as a financial analyst, though.”

Another snicker ran through the entire team, and Rooster was the one this time having trouble keeping his laughter in. Even you were trying not to shake with laughter. Austin bristled next to you again before he recovered, shifting the conversation elsewhere. You caught Mav’s eye, though, mouthing a quick ‘thank you’ in his direction. His only response was a cool smile and a wink.

There were only so many of Austin’s stories from work, from meetings with clients, that you could stand, and you quickly found yourself grabbing your drink and leaving the table for the bar.

Many of the locals up around the bar nodded in your direction, knowing you and the squad from your usual nights out here, sliding off to the side to let you walk up and place your drink on the bar. Penny was on you in a second, an eyebrow raised.

“Let me guess; he started talking about market data and economic indicators again?”

“Just like he does every night,” you shot back with a laugh, though Penny looked less than impressed. You simply refilled your glass again, this time going heavier on the vodka than the cranberry without you even having to ask. “You’re the best, Pen.”

She’s left you alone in your thoughts, which, granted, was the last place you wanted to be. Your eyes simply stayed locked on your drink, staring down into the reddish-pink liquid, and every once in a while glancing back at that diamond that weighed heavily on your hand.

“Looks like you’re thinking hard over here, bee,”

Even if you hadn’t recognized the voice, you’d recognize the nickname anywhere. The Navy had stolen the nickname of Bumble from Bob Floyd, so he’d made it his mission to find another one. It wasn’t that hard to settle on bee, given that first conversation you had together.

You glanced over to him. He was leaning against the bar, giving you a tiny smile as Penny passed by and passed him another Diet Coke without a word.

“Well, I’m not thinking about market data, if that’s what you mean,” he’d laughed at that, and you held your glass out to clink against his Diet Coke can. “Here’s to the longest month and a half I’m about to have.”

You watched him, like you always did, even when you didn’t mean to. It wasn’t hard to see the way his smile dropped just slightly as he turned, leaning back against the bartop and looking in the direction of your table in the distance. You mirrored his actions.

“The future Mrs. Fletcher,” he’d let out a sigh, but you kept your eyes trained on your friends instead of looking at him. “I-I know Rooster was pestering you the other day, and you refused to say, but I have to know…how much did that damn venue in Del Mar cost?”

“After vendors…somewhere close to $70 grand, if I remember correctly,” Bob’s cough that sounded a lot like choking got you to finally look over at him, laughing lightly as you patted him on the back. The second he found his breath, his wide eyes turned to look at you, and you could only nod embarrassingly, your hand never straying from his back. “Trust me, I’m not happy about it. I wanted 50 guests, now it’s somewhere near 200. I wanted a vanilla cake, now it’s red velvet–hell, did you know my dress was fucking $8 thousand dollars?”

Bob, still wide-eyed, shook his head with a tiny smile back on his lips.

“$8 thousand for fabric i-is…insane. I hope you plan to wear it every day for the rest of your life,”

With a quick shove to his shoulder and a roll of your eyes, Bob laughed, and you couldn’t help but laugh with him.

“No, trust me, I know. Almost an entire month’s salary for me, just so it can sit in my closet until the end of time,”

There was silence between you both for a moment as you really thought it all over. A venue you didn’t want, a guest count way too high for what you wanted, a cake you didn’t want, a dress you were terrified to wear given the price tag…it was, in fact, insane. It was just making this month and a half until you walked down the aisle even more exhausting. You just wanted it all to be over.

“You always wanted to get married at that country club, that one back home in Boston. Never near the beach,” Bob’s voice was soft when he spoke up again, just barely able to be heard in the rowdiness of the Hard Deck. But you heard him loud and clear, and you were listening. “Indoor or outdoor, whatever you preferred or whatever the New England weather allowed at the time. The perfect mix of rustic and modern. Perfect view of the city skyline in the distance. The fall, too, not the summer. You wanted to make sure you could see the changing colors in the leaves in the photos, and because you just love fall.”

When he finished speaking and turned to look at you, you were already looking at him. Your jaw was slack, lips just barely parted, and eyes wide as you stared at him in what you could only describe as wonder. Marveling at the way Bob Floyd, out of thin air, had just described to you everything you’d ever dreamt of for your wedding since you were a little girl.

“The same place my aunt got remarried when I was eight,” your head tilted as you spoke, a smile creeping up your lips. “I told you that, like, once back in officer training, when we were both on night duty. You…you remembered all that?”

“I remember everything about you,” was the only answer he gave back, combined with a tiny shrug of his shoulders. “You…you deserve the wedding you’ve always dreamed of.”

There it was again: that tug. That tug on your heart, on your very soul, that had happened sporadically throughout the last decade of knowing Bob Floyd. That tug that sent your stomach into your throat, as if you’d just been tossed over the hump of a roller coaster. It didn’t help when he looked at you like that, like the moon itself was forged by the very breath that left your chest.

He was the first to look away, clearing his throat as a flush crawled its way up his neck. You weren’t any better, tugging at the neckline of the halter top you wore to give yourself room to breathe, as if it was suffocating you.

“So, uh…you’re coming with Nat and me tomorrow, right? To my final dress fitting?”

“...wouldn’t miss it for the world,”

He didn’t. You knew where he was that next afternoon, standing out by that little black couch with Natasha, waiting for you to emerge from the boutique dressing room and stand on the platform before them. To twirl, to don your veil, to smile…like the perfect bride they’d dressed you to be.

The worker with you, Sasha, finished lacing off the back of your dress, exclaiming in excitement as she clapped her hands. You wanted her from the mirror in front of you as she fussed over the dress.

“Oh, you are just the most perfect bride!” Sasha exclaimed, swinging the door open and holding out her hand for you to take. “Most people might say that you’re a lucky woman to bag Austin Fletcher, but I’d say it’s the other way around!”

You’d laughed at her comment, taking her hand, but even you knew it was a pitiful laugh, your smile not meeting your eyes.

She’d paraded you out into the showroom, and you kept your eyes on the floor in front of you as she announced your presence to Natasha and Bob, placing you up on the little platform in front of the full-length mirror. You still didn’t look up as she bent you down to her slightly, draping the extravagant veil picked out by your future mother-in-law over your head. Only then did you finally look up.

Your eyes skipped right over Natasha and settled on Bob.

He wore a tiny smile, and even through the mirror, you could see the red blush to his skin, from his neck to his cheeks, dipping right under where his glasses lay. His hands were both in the pockets of his jeans as his foot tapped on the ground, a telltale sign that he was anxious. You knew him, you knew him too well. You knew that smile didn’t reach his eyes. You knew that little twinkle in his eyes wasn’t as bright as it could be.

“You are…” you could tell Natasha was trying not to get choked up, gladly taking a tissue from Sasha as you giggled lightly at her actions. “God, Bumble, you’re truly the most beautiful bride.”

“Well, let’s let our bride fully take it all in for a moment,” Sasha placed a hand on Natasha’s shoulder, guiding her off toward the room adjacent to your own. “The bridesmaid dresses just came in, and I think you’re going to love the way they look after those alterations.”

It wasn’t until they had fully left the room that you’d spun around on the platform to face Bob, throwing out your hands to the side gently with a little shrug of your shoulders.

“Well…what’s the verdict here, baby-on-board?”

He seemed to swallow most of his laugh and shook his head, taking a few steps toward you until he stood just a few feet from you. His eyes trailed from the veil, down to the edges of the skirt, and back up to the veil.

“I’m going to go out on a limb here and say this dress definitely wasn’t your mother’s pick,”

That had gotten a hearty laugh out of you and a genuine smile, as you spun back to the mirror. Bob had met your family plenty of times over the years, at every graduation event, just as you had met his. They adored him, thought of him as part of the family, like his own family thought of you as one of their own, too. Of course, he could clock that your mother hated this dress.

The skirts of the dress billowed with the movements, swinging with you as you examined your own reflection. A full princess ball gown, adorned with lace from head to toe. The fabric was heavy, the skirts thick, and the lace continued down the sleeves that came to rest at your wrists. The veil itself was more of that same lace, its length trailing down the train of the dress that was much too long for your liking.

“No, not at all,” was your response after a moment, your hands gliding over the lace of the dress. “This was a Mrs. Fletcher pick. With the way she cried, and his sister Melissa cried, it…was hard to say no. It really is a beautiful dress.”

“It's kind of hideous,” Bob put bluntly, taking another step toward you, but there was a tiny smile playing at his lips, a hint of teasing laced through his voice. “I think you’re the only thing saving it.”

You rolled your eyes at his comment, but couldn’t deny the smile that quirked up on your lips, or that tug in your chest once again. You eyed the dress again, eyes trailing over the lace along the sleeves.

“It’s not hideous, it's just… It's not-”

“It’s not you,”

In the mirror, your eyes found him again. The second he said it, that statement that you’d been begging someone to say since you’d first tried on the dress, had a weight visibly lifting off your shoulders as you let out a sigh.

“No…no, it's not me,”

You could see it, the way Bob hesitated for just a second, before he stepped up beside you at the platform. Even with that extra inch the platform gave, he was still taller than you, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him in the mirror.

“I’ve seen it, y-your dream dress. You showed it to me before,” his voice was light, not a whisper, but just light. As if the moment itself was delicate, and he wasn’t sure how to navigate it without shattering the glass. “A-line, not a ball gown. You always hated having too much fabric, found it too heavy. You wanted something freeing, flowy…something that reminded you of the feeling of flying your F-18, your favorite thing in the world to do. The lace is good, but…too much. Same with the veil, you always hated those things.”

There was another brief moment of hesitation, behind his hand came up, fingertips just barely ghosting over your arm. Your breath caught, eyes following him, as his followed the length of your arm.

“Sleeves…you hated these, too, at least like this. You wanted them shorter, flowy again. A v-neck neckline, too, not these sweetheart ones. You always said the sweetheart necklines made you think of your high school prom dress, which made you think of your asshole ex-boyfriend, which in turn landed them on your ‘banned forever’ list.”

A breathy laugh managed to escape you at the memory, your eyes still following him in the mirror.

“You describe my dream dress as if you’ve pictured me in it before…”

His eyes finally found yours again in the mirror. You weren’t sure what emotion it was you saw, what was crawling in his gaze as he looked at you, mouth slightly parted and tongue dipping out to wet his lips in a way that brought that tug back in full force. Whatever it was in his eyes, it was heavy, like it was holding the weight of a thousand words never said before.

And suddenly, when you pictured yourself walking down the aisle, you were in the dress that Bob had described. Flowy, light, and walking down the aisle in that rustic country club overlooking the skyline of the city you’d called home for so many years. But when you were handed off to the groom, your hand placed in his, it wasn’t Austin you were standing across from, that you were about to become the wife of. You weren’t standing there to become Mrs. Fletcher…you were standing there to become Mrs. Floyd.

“Hey…” you and Bob jumped away from one another, as if you were both suddenly a blazing fire that the other was trying to run from. Natasha was leaning in the doorway of the other room. Her eyes flickered back and forth between you both for just a moment before she nodded her head toward the room she’d just left. “Come on, Sasha wants you to take another look at these bridesmaid dresses before I give the okay on them.”

Wordlessly, you nodded and followed after her, never once glancing back at Bob. You refused to meet Nat’s eyes, even as they followed and watched you.

They kept watching you, too. You knew Natasha; she was observant. If she caught wind of something, she wasn’t going to let it go.

You were three weeks out from the wedding. Your dress was hung carefully in the spare bedroom of your apartment, alongside the bridesmaid dresses in their own bags. Everything was confirmed, vendors were a go, and everyone on the guest list on both sides had RSVP’d. Your mother and brother were in town for the month, staying in a hotel right on North Island. Austin’s family and extended family were all in town. You were in the homestretch, the finish line of what had become the most stressful time of your life in sight.

While Nat was your maid of honor, Austin’s sister Melissa had taken it upon herself to plan your entire bachelorette. Given the hectic work schedules that both you and Nat had, neither of you objected. Truthfully, she’d done well. An Airbnb, a gorgeous cabin, nestled right outside of Lake Isabella, north of Los Angeles, for the weekend. Relaxation, nature, and no stress of being in the city, just as you knew Austin was doing for his bachelor party with his friends.

Melissa and Terri, or ‘Dove’ as you knew her during your time in Jacksonville, were swimming together in the little alcove of the lake you’d all found during your hike after lunch. You and Natasha had taken to the man-made hot springs right on the edge of the lake, relaxing in the water and just watching the two women swim and converse from a distance.

“I can’t believe you convinced Maverick to walk you down the aisle and give you away,”

You laughed wholeheartedly at Nat’s comment. With your head thrown back against the rocks, you maneuvered your sunglasses to the top of your head to fully look at her.

“The second I told him that my dad has been out of the picture for me since I was 16 when he divorced my mom and remarried his comically young new wife, he didn’t hesitate. Besides, he knows he practically adopted us all as kids when he took us on as his full-time squadron,”

“True, I think he secretly loves it,” you hummed in agreement, turning your head back to the sky to soak in the sun. Nat was quiet for only a moment before speaking again. “I’ve been meaning to ask…how have you been, with everything?”

A complicated question. A loaded one, honestly.

“Doing the best I can,” you answered honestly, shifting in the warm pool of water surrounding you. “It’s just…stressful. Can’t wait until it’s all over.”

“Mhm…and you’re having no second thoughts?”

You hesitated for just a moment.

“Might have some issues with the fundamentals of the venue, my dress, and such, but…no, not at all,”

“Really? So the fact that you’re madly in love with Bob Floyd isn’t making you second-guess your wedding?”

Even in the warmth of the hot spring, your blood went cold. The water splashed as you fully sat up, now leaning back against the rocks. Your nervous gaze shot out to Melissa and Dove, but neither seemed to have heard the comment. Your gaze drifted back to Natasha, but all you found was an easy smile on her face. Not a single ounce of judgment.

That alone was enough to pull a simple sigh from you. There was no use in lying.

“How’d you put it together?”

“Always had a hunch,” she answered easily, sitting up as well and tossing her own sunglasses off to the side. “A few weeks ago, in the dress shop. I don’t know…I could just finally see it. More importantly, how long have you felt like this?”

“I’m not sure when it happened. He was just my best friend for a long time, even if I could always admit to myself that he was objectively attractive,” you shook your head with a slight laugh. Truthfully, you couldn’t believe you were finally admitting this out loud. “I hadn’t seen him for years, it was just texts and calls. Then, we both got into Top Gun, and the second I was back with him…there was this tug in my chest, and it’s just never gone away. I’ve…never told anyone this before.”

Natasha moved, the water around you both jostling, as she turned fully on the stone seating to look at you. You kept your eyes trained on the two in the water, terrified that one of them would overhear you.

“Bumble…why did you never tell him?”

“God, I tried to. Once,” you laughed incredulously at yourself, shaking your head as you willed the tears not to appear at the mere thought of the memory. “After we had become a permanent squad, we were at Hangman’s celebrating his new apartment. Somehow, we started talking about dating, and then we just went around in a circle giving an update on our dating lives.”

You tore your gaze from the girls in the lake, turning to Natasha now as those tears threatened to spill despite your push to keep them at bay.

“You spoke, and then it was my turn. And I looked at him, sitting beside me, and I thought…fuck it, what do I have to lose? You guys had put a few drinks in me, and lord knows I get a confidence kick when I’m drunk. So I confessed that I had a crush on a guy. Bradley asked if you guys knew him, and I said yes. I talked about how he was kind of nerdy, a little shy, but once you got to know him he was a sarcastic little shit just like they all were. That he was the perfect gentleman, the most chivalrous man I’d ever met, and objectively the most attractive man I’d ever laid eyes on. Mickey asked how long I’d known him for, and I said it felt like I’d known him my entire life. Even asked how often I would see him, and I said every damn day.”

“Oh god,” realization seemed to finally dawn on Natasha’s face, her hand coming up to cover her mouth as it dropped open. “Oh god, we were all too drunk to realize…you were talking about Bob.”

“Yup. Maybe I was just too drunk, but I thought I was being painfully obvious. So then it’s Bob’s turn, and what does he say?” you scoffed, furiously wiping at your cheek to rid yourself of the tears that managed to escape. “He says he’s been talking to some girl, and met her on an app. All this time–I’d spent years overanalyzing every moment between us–thinking there was a chance he felt the same. Instead, I laid my heart on the line to find out that my love had always been unrequited. So, while you were all passed out that night, I decided that I needed to move on. I downloaded those apps for myself, and a week later, I was on a date with Austin.”

The first time you had let yourself cry over Bob Floyd had been that night, when everyone was drunk and passed out around the living room. This moment, in a fucking hot spring on your bachelorette trip, you finally let yourself cry again over the man you’d been in love with for years.

Natasha let you, didn’t say a word. She only scooted in close, curling up into your side and letting your head rest on her shoulder, holding you as you finally cried, keeping her eyes on the other two girls, blissfully unaware of what was occurring on the edges of the lake. She didn’t speak up again until minutes later, when your silent sobs had finally subsided.

“Bumble…if you’re crying, then you still love him. Why are you getting married?”

“Because I have to,” your voice was broken, thick and hoarse from your own tears. “You know what my mother said when I told her I was engaged? ‘Good, your biological clock is ticking.’ And, fuck, I know she meant it as a joke, but she wasn’t wrong. We’re not getting any younger. Then, Dove and the rest of my fucking old squad, I told them and all they could do was make comments about how I ‘can’t fumble this man’ or how I’m ‘the luckiest girl in the world.’ Everyone just…expects this of me, and I can’t disappoint them. Plus...I can’t spend my entire life in love with someone who will only ever love me as his best friend.”

“What if you’re wrong, though?” Nat’s voice was gentle, reassuring, her arms squeezing you in the most comforting hug she could muster. “Babe, I see the way he looks at you. There isn’t a single one of us who doesn’t see it. He looks at you like you’re the sun, the moon, and every star in the damn sky combined. You got on those apps, you met Austin, to get over him. What if he was just doing the same?”

“He had plenty of time to tell me, then, if he felt the same, which I guarantee he doesn’t. He kept his secrets, just like I did,” was all the answer you could muster. You drew in a deep breath, trying to steel your nerves and bring a semblance of calm back to your inner self. “Maybe I don’t love Austin the way I love Bob, maybe I never will…I don’t think I’ll ever love someone the way I love him. Maybe he’s not my soulmate, not Mr. Right, but he’s safe. He has a job, he has goals, he has plans for the future…I can’t keep living in a world of what-ifs, Nattie, I can’t keep loving someone who doesn’t love me back. I need stability, I need someone sure of me. He put a ring on my finger; he wouldn’t do that if he weren’t sure of it.”

There was silence for a few moments after that, and you weren’t sure if you were trying to convince Natasha of this marriage…or yourself. Finally, you felt her sigh, and she just wrapped you up in an even tighter hug.

“I love you, Bumble, and I will always support you. We all will, no matter what you do, because it’s your life and in the end, it’s your choice. But, in the interest of being honest…you aren’t yourself when you’re with Austin. This entire wedding…it isn’t you. I don’t want to see you lose yourself to be with someone you feel you have to be with. If you marry the wrong person, the man you don’t love…you’re going to kill yourself trying to be the right person.”

Natasha couldn’t see it, nor could you, but you could feel it; the weight of those words, as they settled into your heart, and sowed the seeds of doubt into your brain.

❤︎

“Look, I’m just going to be the one to say it…we all fucking hate Austin, right?”

There was a chorus of laughter throughout Hangman’s apartment from each of the men sitting around, multiple boxes of pizza and cases of beer littering the coffee table of the living room. The ‘Real Bachelor’ party, as Hangman called it, since none of them had been invited to Austin Fletcher’s bachelor party in Las Vegas…not that any of them would’ve said yes.

“Hate him? More like loathe, detest, despise…must I go on?” there was a chorus of agreement around the room to Rooster’s comment, the man taking another swig of his beer. The Padres game was playing on TV, the volume so low you could barely hear anything, but no one was paying attention. “If he makes another comment about how he ‘doesn’t know what we do all day’ or ‘this is what my tax dollars pay for?’ I’m going to strap him to the wing of my fucking jet and do a couple hundred barrel rolls.”

Bob couldn’t fight his smirk, hiding it behind the neck of his own beer bottle from his place at the island counter overlooking Hangman’s living room. It wasn’t often that he drank, but being a month out from your wedding…yeah, he deserved at least one beer.

“You know, my cousin did some digging months ago when they flew home for my birthday,” it was Elijah who spoke up, your older brother. Already in town for the month for his baby sister’s wedding, he’d known Bob for years because of you, so it was natural for him to become friendly with the rest of the Dagger Squad and to be invited to the fake bachelor party. “That little degree he got, the prestigious one from Yale? Yeah…apparently daddy made a nice donation to the library, and by nice, I mean a heavily substantial one.”

There was another chorus of laughter from the men in the room. Payback laughed so hard Fanboy was beating him on the back, trying to keep him from choking on the bite of pizza he’d just inhaled.

“I’d say I’m surprised, but I’m not,” Coyote chimed in, shaking his head at the thought. “Dad’s company, I think we all knew he wasn’t earning the position of CEO in a few years, it was being given to him. No surprise there that a hefty check managed to get him through college.”

“You know, Eli, we might not know one another well,” Fanboy gestured toward your brother. “But honestly…I’m shocked that you’re okay with this whole marriage, given that you seem to hate the guy as much as we do.”

Bob swung off his seat, rounding himself into the kitchen to look out through the window into the living room, grabbing another cold beer for himself after finishing off the final swig of his. The night literally revolved around talking about your wedding after all; he was going to need some alcohol in his system to fight his way through it.

“I’m not okay with it, but you guys know my sister. Once she’s made up her mind, it would take a lot to talk her out of something,” Elijah shrugged, groans echoing throughout the boys in the room. “She talks about Maverick, your Captain, if I remember right, like some surrogate father-figure for our own. Why not ask him to talk to her?”

“Maverick once got busted in his early days for taking Penny Benjamin on a joyride in a fighter jet, and struck out with the ladies plenty of times before reuniting with Pen,” Rooster chimed in with a scoff of his own, a smirk on his lips. “That man should be the last person giving relationship advice.”

“Fair enough. Honestly, I’m surprised Robert over there didn’t put a stop to this before it got this far,”

Bob’s head shot up, and every eye in the living room was on him. And not a single man wasn’t slightly smirking in his direction, Hangman was even tilting his beer toward him in agreement with your brother. The WSO only shook his head with a short, clipped laugh, nerves already dancing through him.

“W-Why would I do that?”

Elijah cocked an eyebrow in his direction, casting a glance around the room, before his gaze settled back on him.

“Uh, because you’ve been in love with my sister since Rhode Island?”

Bob Floyd was caught, frozen like a deer in headlights, in the kitchen. Eyes wide, glasses almost slipping off the bridge of his nose, and he wasn’t sure if the beer bottle in his hand was just slippery from condensation or because he was suddenly sweating.

“You know, I have been wondering the same thing, too,” Hangman spoke up, taking a glance around at the group of men. “I mean, he only worships the ground that she walks on. How do you fumble a woman like Bumble?”

There was a chorus of agreement to Hangman’s statement, as Bob found himself back on the other side of the island counter and seated on his barstool once again. His eyes were trained on the beer bottle in his hands, fingers gliding over the glass and tracing patterns in the built-up condensation. After a moment, he looked back at your brother, who was just watching him with a tiny, almost knowing smile.

Bob let out a deep sigh.

“...was I that obvious?”

“Dude, when you guys graduated Officer Candidate School, your parents and sisters rushed up to hug you,” Elijah was laughing fondly at the memory, pointing his index finger in Bob’s direction. “But you? You never once stopped looking at her. This sea of Navy men and women, and you couldn’t stop looking at her. I remember watching you. You’d just graduated and officially joined the Navy; the rest of your life was about to begin with that graduation…but you were looking at her as if she were the rest of your life. If that wasn’t the most blatant depiction of love, then I don’t believe in it.”

“That look never left him, just so you know,” Fanboy hopped in, speaking straight to Elijah as if Bob wasn’t in the room. “The second we all got here and they saw each other at the Hard Deck, this man was out of his shell in seconds. The quiet, reserved Bob we’d been talking to was gone as he, like, lifted her and spun her around the room. It looked like a scene out of a damn Hallmark movie, we all legit thought they were already together.”

A tiny smile made its way to Bob’s face, his eyes just staring out into the corner of the living room as he relived those moments. Decked out in your Navy dress blues, greeting your mother and brother with tears in your eyes, laughing at something your brother had said. His mother was hugging him, talking about how proud she was, his father comforting his sisters who cried over how proud they were, but…he never looked away from you. It was the first time he’d seen you in dress blues, and the only thing he could think was how the color navy must’ve been designed specifically for you.

That day at the Hard Deck, his first time meeting his new team for the special detachment mission. He’d been so quiet, reserved, stumbling over his words as his friends had asked for his callsign, as he’d met his new front-seater. He was never good at meeting new people…and then, you walked in. Every nerve in his body dissipated in seconds, and he’d never shot up so fast to tug you into a hug, afraid if he let go, you’d be back in Florida before he could blink, and he’d lose you all over again.

“Bob,” it was Rooster who broke him out of his daze, his gaze trailing back over the expectant looks of all his friends, before settling on the man he considered one of his best friends. “Why did you never tell her?”

“Because how are you supposed to tell your best friend you’re in love with her? Especially after a decade?” Bob laughed at himself, adjusting his glasses and rubbing his jaw. “I-I don’t know what life looks like without her, and I didn’t want to get rejected. I’d rather have her in my life than push her away because I ruined it all.”

“I think you’re getting ahead of yourself there, Bob,” Payback jumped in, and Fanboy nodded along with him. “You never even tried. How can you just assume she doesn’t feel the same?”

“I tried to. Once…I was going to tell her, once,”

The room looked at him expectantly as Bob sighed to himself, resigning to finally getting all of this weight off his chest. Hangman and Rooster immediately moved the pizza boxes off the coffee table, giving Bob room to plop himself down on top so that he sat right in the middle of all his friends.

“We’d just moved you into this apartment,” Bob pointed at Hangman, then to the couch he, Rooster, and Elijah were sitting on. “We were sitting right here: me, my bee, and then Nat. You guys got drunk, it was a long day of moving, and somehow we started talking about dating. We were trying to update one another on our dating lives, little ‘team bonding’ I think Coyote called it. A-And I thought to myself…okay, I’m going to do it. We’re having fun, we’re a permanent squad now, and she’s not going to get ripped away from me and sent back to Florida, so I’m going to tell her. Then it got to her…and she started gushing about Austin. With every little compliment she gave him, I realized that if I ever had a chance, I’d lost it. So when it got to me, I said I was talking to a girl off an app, and I told myself I’d just never tell her. It could be my little secret, forever.”

The weight was finally off Bob’s shoulders, and it felt like he could finally breathe again. Everything he’d ever felt, he’d kept bottled up inside for so long, and it was finally out in the open.

But every face around the room looked confused. Payback and Fanboy were quietly conversing to themselves, faces twisted in confusion. Coyote and Rooster were having a short, staggered conversation that Bob could barely make out as they tried to loop Elijah in on everything. Hangman? He just stared at Bob as if he had three heads.

“Hold up,” Rooster finally spoke up, drawing the attention of the room, as he pointed down to Jake at the far end of the couch. “Didn’t we move you in here the day after your birthday?”

“Yeah, because we were kicking ourselves for staying out all night at the restaurant downtown the next morning because of the move,” Jake snapped his fingers, eyes going wide as Rooster nodded along with him, both boys seeming to be on the same wavelength in seconds. “Shit! That’s right, we ran into that girl–Megan–the one I hooked up with on Tinder, like, a month before.”

“Bingo, bagman,”

Both men turned to look at Bob, smiling like they’d just guessed the winning lottery numbers on a whim. Bob, though, was more confused than he thought he ever had been.

“I’m sorry…w-what does that have to do with anything?”

“Because Bumble was complaining about Jake being a manwhore,” Mickey jumped in with the explanation, and Hangman snapped in his direction in agreement. “Hangman then made a stupid comment about how maybe he should try the app named after her callsign, and she told him not to use ANY of the apps because they’re dumb.”

“I remember asking if she was ever tempted to download the apps, and she said no. Even showed me her phone, she didn’t have them,” Coyote tacked on.

Bob was…so utterly confused by the direction that this conversation had gone, he didn’t know what to do with it.

“Again, what does this-?”

“Bob, your little bee hated those apps; she’d never had them, and proved it to us, and that was just a night before you thought about confessing,” Rooster explained to him, trying to lay it out for him as simply as he could. “When she first introduced us to Austin, she said they’d met on Hinge…so whoever she was talking about that night, it couldn’t have been him.”

Once again, Bob was frozen in place, trying to fully comprehend what the guys were all explaining to him at that moment.

“Bob, we were all plastered that night. Hell, I barely remember setting this place up that day,” Hangman leaned forward toward him, elbows resting on his knees, and his intense gaze never straying from Bob. “Tell us exactly what she’d said that night.”

Truthfully, Bob wished he didn’t know what you had said. He wanted to forget it, the way you gushed with that love-struck look on your face for a man who wasn’t him. But unfortunately for him, he remembered every word.

“S-She had a crush, said it was someone you guys knew,” Bob explained, eyes cast down to the beer bottle in his hands once again. “He was kinda nerdy, a smart dude. Shy at first, but once you got to know him, he was sarcastic. A gentleman, chivalrous, and it felt like she had known him her entire life. She…she said h-he was the most attractive man she’d ever laid eyes on, and that she spent almost every day with him.”

There was a beat of silence. Every man in the room seemed to look around at one another, before all chaos let loose.

Payback and Fanboy practically threw themselves off the loveseat, jumping around and high-fiving, fist bumping, chest bumping with yells that could be considered victory screeches. Hangman had gotten off the couch, grabbing himself another beer and almost chugging half of it as he paced around the room behind the couch, muttering ‘wow’ to himself over and over again. Rooster was almost in total hysterics, along with Coyote, while Elijah sat among the chaos, simply shaking his head with a smile.

Bob? He sat on top of that coffee table in pure disbelief of whatever the fuck was happening around him.

“Could she have been more obvious-?”

“No, honestly! How did we not clock it?”

“I FEEL LIKE WE JUST WON THE LOTTERY!”

“Maybe we all need to borrow Bob’s glasses, I think we all might be blind-”

“Baby-on-board, I’m so sorry,” Hangman was the one to apologize, running a hand through his hair with an incredulous laugh as he looked at the WSO sitting in the middle of the room. “I think we should all be banned from drinking after this information. If we hadn’t been drunk, we would’ve realized what she said–maybe we could’ve saved this disaster. My god, she poured her heart out, and you lied about a girl on a dating app and probably broke her heart! Bobby boy…she was talking about you.”

That alone was enough to stop Bob’s heart, to make him pause, to drop his jaw open and pop his eyes open a fraction wider than they had been.

That…that wasn’t possible. This was you they were talking about; his bee. His Bumble, who’d stumbled through the doors like the adorable idiot you sometimes were. The girl who’d stuck to his side like glue, who had been there for every major moment in his life. You were the girl who’d flown home with him for his older sister’s wedding, who spent a week with his family on a ranch in Montana as if you belonged there. The person who held him for hours, for days, after the bird strike, who had listened to every fear he’d voiced about what it felt like knowing he was going down, not knowing if he and Nat would make it.

This was you. Vivacious, patient, dependable, graceful, utterly perfect…you. Everything he could ever want, ever dream of, wrapped up into the human being he couldn’t dare live without. You couldn’t, there was no way-

“You’re wrong,” was what Bob finally said, his voice low and quiet. The noise of the room settled, and everyone noticed the shift in Bob. It was written clearly on his face, his own insecurities that were creeping in and eating away at him. “S-She…she’d never think of me like that. Maybe it wasn’t Austin she was talking about, but it couldn’t have been me.”

“It was,” Bradley chimed in, but Bob only shook his head immediately,

“No, it can’t be, because I’m me. She was top of the class, and everyone loved her everywhere we went. She was the light in every room, the best part of everyone’s day…and I-I was her shadow. My bee…she deserves better than me, she deserves everything that Austin can give her-”

“Austin’s pretentious self can go fuck off,” Fanboy practically shouted out from across the room, cutting Bob’s sentence off. “He’ll never amount to half the man you are, Bob. Bumble loves you, we all know you know that.”

“She loves me because I’m her best friend, and I always will be,” Bob choked out a laugh. His throat was constricting, and he could feel the pool of tears welling up behind his eyes. “If she loved me in any other way…she would’ve told me.”

“Unless she was scared, just like you,”

It was the first thing Elijah had said in a while, and Bob’s eyes drifted back to the older man. He leaned forward, with the softest smile on his face, and it brought a smile to Bob’s for just a moment; it looked so much like your smile.

“She once called you the best thing in her life to me, made me swear to never tell you that. It became pretty obvious to me that you were the one thing in this world she was terrified to lose. So…take the leap, because it’s going to have to be you, Bob. Forget Austin, forget the ring, forget the wedding, and tell her. If we’re wrong, so be it, but at least you won’t spend the rest of your life wondering what might’ve happened if you had just tried. Tell her before you lose the chance to, before you spend the rest of your life regretting it.”

❤︎

Natasha’s words hadn’t left your head, but you kept silent. You let them sit, marinate, stir up your emotions in the back of your head, deep within your heart. Each time they managed to flicker back to the front of your mind, invade your thoughts, you wanted to throw up.

You’re going to kill yourself trying to be the right person.

That simple phrase had taken hold of you again, that little timer in your head slowly counting down: two weeks. Two weeks until you’d be married, until you’d be Mrs. Fletcher. Those thoughts wouldn’t leave even as Maverick stood at the end of the Hard Deck table, raising his beer in toast to you where you sat at the other end.

“To our Bumble…you stumbled through the doors of North Island into our lives, and now you get to stumble through life’s next greatest challenge: marriage. They say love comes easy when you choose to love your best friend…and I’m happy that the pilot I consider my own kid has found that kind of love,”

The rest of the table raised their drinks in toast to you. Your entire squad, Penny and Amelia, your mother, your brother, even your old squadmates from Florida. Everyone who would sit on your side of the aisle, to marry you off, huddled together in the closed Hard Deck for a special, intimate celebration in your honor, moving tables throughout the bar all together to sit with one another. All for you.

Maverick held your eyes for a moment after his words, even as the rest of the group devolved into laughter and stories, or moved off to play pool or darts. You held his gaze. Your Captain’s eyes were intense, but soft, as if he was trying to instill something into you that he hadn’t quite spoken aloud. A moment later, he finally broke away, and that queasy feeling deep in your stomach was back in full force.

“Another glass?”

It was Natasha who asked, holding out another glass of wine to you, your first having been downed before Maverick had even given his speech. You could see it in her eyes, the concern floating there, like she was waiting for you to break. Honestly, you were waiting for yourself to break, too. You eyed the glass for just a second before your eyes found Bob sitting right next to her, and you were back in your head once again.

You were back in the moment you realized you’d fallen in love with Bob Floyd.

“How in the world did you get the callsign of Bumble?”

You groaned, shaking your head as the rest of your Top Gun classmates laughed at the question from Diver, another new classmate of yours now that you were officially in Top Gun. Bob laughed from beside you, too, his arm resting over the back of your chair in the mess hall of Naval Air Station North Island.

“She was swatting at a bee back when we first got to officer training in Rhode Island, then stumbled straight through the door past me,” Bob was grinning as you lightly slapped him on the chest, shaking your head with a grin of your own as you thought back on that day. “She called herself a-a bumbling idiot, so…it wasn’t hard to figure it out.”

“Oh, so you got your callsign a long time ago,” it was Rogue, another aviator, who laughed with a shake of her head. “Damn, so you guys have been friends for years then?”

“Since that day,” your reply came easily, leaning into Bob’s side more than you realized you were. “Officer training, flight school, even stayed in contact when we got assigned to different squadrons.”

“She’s my bee, can’t go anywhere without my bee,”

Then, he looked down at you with that grin. That little smile, full of warmth and fondness that had just grown over the years, and that underlying mirth that was always present in him since you’d worked your way past that awkward exterior. And there it was–the tug–pulling at your heart and your soul like it had been for years.

“Bee? Might have to steal that nickname-”

“Nope,” Bob jumped in, an air of confidence to him that wasn’t typically present around people he didn’t know, shaking his head. “That nickname belongs to me only.”

And that tug just got more intense as you looked at him. His smile, his blue eyes, those smile lines that creased around his nose and mouth every time he smiled, those glasses that only made him more and more adorable every time you looked at him-

Then, it finally hit you. That feeling sank in, the feeling that little tug on your heart had been trying to tell you for years: love. You were in love with Bob Floyd.

It terrified you to look at Bob now, after all that had happened, after all that you knew lay on the

horizon, and know that you still loved him. That you never stopped, and that every fiber of your being was sure that it was truly never going to go away.

So, you took that glass of wine and downed it faster than you’d ever drunk alcohol before. Then, you stalked off to the bar to pour another glass, ignoring the look of concern that Natasha sent your way, or the one she shot Bob as he chugged his own beer.

Without even realizing it, you had managed to avoid Bob for most of the night, as if your body was forcing you to avoid him. Every time you locked eyes across the bar, that queasy feeling was back, and you forced yourself to down yet another glass of red wine.

You weren’t sure of the time, but you knew you were on your fifth glass of wine; a desperate ploy on your part to keep the thoughts swirling around your head out of the way. Rooster was engaged in a game of pool with your brother Elijah, both conversing with your mother as she stood at the opposite end of the table from you.

“Thank you for always keeping my girl safe in the skies,” your mother directed her comment toward Rooster, who shot her that award-winning smile.

“Your girl doesn’t need anyone to keep her safe; she’s one hell of a pilot on her own. Though she does some of her best flying with Bob and Phoenix with her,” Rooster shot you a wink, and you responded with a playful roll of your eyes.

“No way, my sister loves flying with Bob?” Elijah quickly avoided the swift kick you attempted to land to his shins, bumping his shoulder with Rooster’s as they laughed together, as if they knew something you didn’t. “That’s only been, like, common knowledge for well over a decade.”

“Alright, there’s no need-”

“Well, I’m just glad she’s found someone she can depend on in life the way she can with Bob in the sky,” your words were cut off by your mother, her laughter light as she sipped on her champagne. “Now I’ve just got to wait around with my fingers crossed for some grandbabies!”

She laughed, but neither Rooster nor Elijah did. Their concerned looks turned to you, and you were frozen once again.

The air felt heavy, as if all the oxygen in the room was tugged out of the room, and pure panic settled deep within your bones. Your hands started to shake, the little bit of your wine left in your glass swirling around the cup. With a small ‘I need some air,’ you were out the door onto the back deck of the bar, shoes discarded on the wood as you took the stairs two at a time and stepped into the cool, nighttime sand.

Even in the cool of the night, that sea breeze carrying that salty scent straight to your nose and your feet dug into the sand, you still felt you couldn’t breathe. Your back hit the wooden post that stood over ten feet tall, from the sand and up over the deck of the Hard Deck to hold up the string of warm yellow lights that illuminated the seating. The second your back rested against something solid, your breath rushed back into your lungs, the wine glass fell from your hands, and you finally cried.

Honestly, you weren’t sure why you were crying at this point. Maybe you were crying over the fact that you hated your wedding venue, or that you hated your dress, or now that Natasha had brought it up, you realized that you did, in fact, act like a different person around Austin. A person you didn’t recognize.

Or, maybe you were crying because you were drunk on a beach, at a party meant to celebrate your wedding in two weeks, and you were still hopelessly in love with your best friend. The man you were not marrying.

Speak of the devil: there Bob Floyd was, in all his glory. Stumbling off the steps of the deck, clearly drunk. His skin flushed red, that same stupid blue flannel billowing around him in the nighttime breeze, and you were cursing the fact that he looked gorgeous like this: drunk, a hazy look in his eyes, glasses barely hanging onto his face, illuminated by the light of the moon that shone down on him and the ocean.

“I-I thought I saw you stumble out here-” he was giggling, the most adorable thing you’d ever heard in your life, as he turned to look at you. Even in his drunken state, you could almost see him sober up just slightly the second he caught sight of you. “Bee- Bee, baby, w-what’s wrong?”

You knew you looked like a mess. Tears were still streaming down your face, makeup running down your cheeks, which you knew had to be splotched red from your sobs. There was a stain of red wine against the edge of your white sundress, the liquid splashing against you when you dropped the glass to the ground.

It only took looking at him for a second for your sobs to resurface. You took two steps forward before Bob was on you, tugging you into his arms as you buried your head into his shoulder and just cried your heart out.

Bob did nothing but quiet you, whispering ‘you’re okay’ into your ear. His fingers tangled through your hair, nails scratching at your scalp in his own comforting way. And he just held you, just let you cry in the dead of night. The only sounds were your own crying, the rolling of the waves in the distance against the shore, and the faint sound of the music inside the bar reverberating through the walls.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Bob whispered after a few minutes, when your tears had finally subsided. You shook your head, backing away just slightly as you wiped at your eyes to rid yourself of the stray tears and running makeup.

“No,” your voice was hoarse from the crying, and when you finally looked at those concerned blue eyes watching you intently, that stupid fucking tug was back, and the copious amounts of alcohol surging through your body weren’t helping keep the filter on your mouth. “I…I just want to be here with you.”

He smiled, that shy boy-ish smile, the one that reminded you of the day you had first met and asked him to dinner, and you couldn’t help the little smile that crossed your own lips at the sight of it.

“No arguments from me,” he’d laughed, his hands still ghosting over your elbows and fingers lightly tracing patterns into your skin, a shiver running up your spine at the slightest touch. “Last time I saw you cry was my sister’s wedding.”

You laughed, leaning toward him just the slightest bit as his hands fully enveloped your arms, properly holding you as fire almost spread through your skin at the slight touch.

“It’s not my fault they had the sweetest vows!” you’d managed through your hazy laughter, hiccuping as the full weight of the alcohol in your system hit you.

“Don’t forget my brother-in-law’s best man,” Bob shot back with a wide, teasing grin, the grip he had on your arms tugging you just a bit closer in his own hazy, drunk state. “I remember you calling him hot.”

“He was, but he wasn’t you,” you commented unfiltered, and Bob gave another one of those shy shakes of his head.

“You don’t have to flatter me, bee,”

That tug was back, and the words were flowing out of your mouth before your brain could fully catch up with what you were saying.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Bob Floyd…you’re the most attractive man I’ve ever laid eyes on,”

The most innocent little statement, such a little off-handed comment, but the effect it had on Bob was visible in an instant.

He paused, his smile dropped, and he hesitated for just a moment, as if those words had ignited something deep within his soul. An unknown emotion was swimming around in his eyes before he shoved you back against the wooden pole behind you, cupped your cheeks in his hands, and kissed the breath straight out of your lungs.

Bob Floyd didn’t kiss like the sweet, innocent, awkward boy that everyone chalked him up to be. At least, not when he was kissing you. The gasp in your throat died in his own mouth, swallowed by his lips and replaced with a groan, and there wasn’t a single moment of hesitation in you as your hands ran their way up his arms, his broad shoulders, and into that sandy blonde hair that was always so perfectly styled. The intensity could be felt in your bones, the heat trickling through your skin.

The large, way too large, calloused hands slid down your neck from where they cradled your face. Another gasp left your throat as his fingers ghosted down your collarbones, right over the curve of your breasts, before wrapping around your body. One hand pressed between your shoulders, the other to the small of your back, as Bob brought you as close to his body as humanly possible, molding your body to his own until it felt as if you were one and the same.

You weren’t sure whose tongue dipped in first, but they met together in the middle in a dance. You could taste the hints of the bitter beer he’d been drinking the entire night along his tongue, throughout his entire mouth, as you let yourself explore. His kiss became harder, more desperate, more heated, his mouth almost completely devouring and overpowering your own as his hips pressed forward into your own, the presence of the bulge outlining his jeans so prevalent against you that yet another delicious moan spilt through your lips and into his own, swallowed by his kiss.

The second your hips pressed back against his own, Bob didn’t waste a second. His hands trailed down, cupping your ass in those large hands of his as he lifted you up with ease, your body aching with need at the pure show of strength he showed in that move. The edges of your dress slid up your thighs, bunching up around your waist as your legs locked around his back as lust blinded you, your body almost begging for the touch you’d been dreaming of for years as he grinded himself into you absentmindedly.

His lips left yours, allowing you a breath, finally, until they found themselves attached to your neck. His tongue dipped out, swiping along your skin as his lips followed the same trail/ From your jaw, down your neck and over your pulse, to your collarbone and below. The softest moan slipped back your lips, your hands still curled into his hair, and nails scratched at his scalp. One of those stupid sexy hands left your ass, but just as quickly as it had left it was curled around your breast, squeezing in a way that shot both a bolt of pain of pleasure through your body as his lips ghosted right over the swell of your breasts. His hips dipped into yours again, the little lacy panties that were the only barrier left on your body, positively soaked from just this moment alone.

With a single tug, you brought his lips back to yours, this kiss softer, sweeter, but still just as heated and passionate as it had been since the start. That tug in your heart, on your soul, was gone, as if it was an ailment you lived with your entire life, and this kiss was the sole antidote.

“Bob…” his name was the first word out of your mouth since he’d kissed you. It was the only word you could say, the only name you cared to have falling from your lips. He looked at you finally, those blue eyes that you loved so much.

The second that your eyes met, it was like the world finally came rushing back to you both, and the bubble you’d been existing in shattered in an instant as you both sobered up to a certain degree.

His hands dropped from you like you were heated metal, and yours left his in a second. Your legs dropped back to the ground, toes digging into the sand as if to ground yourself, your hands folded over your abdomen as you wrung your fingers together. Eyes blown wide, lips puffy and red, and every ounce of breath in your body gone as you stared at Bob.

He’d taken a few steps back, his own eyes blown wide before those glasses that were slanted across his face now. That sandy blonde hair was tussled, sticking up in different directions, and his white t-shirt was ruffled up on his chest, flannel barely hanging onto his shoulders. You tried not to look at his pants, at the wet spot clearly left behind against the bulge that was still ever present.

The weight of it all came crashing down on you as you brought your trembling hand to your lips, covering your mouth, as you tried not to look at that shimmering diamond glinting in the moonlight.

“I…I’m sorry,” Bob’s voice broke you. He sounded broken, he looked broken, like he’d just taken something so precious and fragile and thrown it on the ground and shattered it into a thousand pieces. “I’m…fuck, bee, I-I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you managed to barely get out, your voice barely above a whisper as the wind whistled around you, picking up slightly in the nighttime air. “Bob, i-it’s okay-”

“It’s not,” he quickly shook his head, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. “It’s not okay. I-I shouldn’t have done that, that…that wasn’t fair to you.”

“Bob-”

“I wish I hadn’t done that,” his voice broke as he said it, and your heart broke with it.

Wish. That one single word had tears stinging your eyes once more.

“So you…you regret it?”

“No–I just–I meant…” he stumbled over his words, before he simply stopped. Time almost stopped for a moment as you both just looked at one another, that salty sea breeze flowing past you both, tears in both of your eyes. “...I’m sorry, bee. I’m so sorry.”

Then, he was gone, through the sand and up onto the deck and back into the bar before you could say another word. And when minutes later Natasha came outside and found you pressed against that wooden pole still, silent tears streaming down your cheeks as you stared out over the ocean, you shook your head and told her it was nothing. You were just drunk and emotional, that’s all.

You were on autopilot, and everything felt numb.

It continued to feel that way for days. Every day at work, when you avoided his gaze, that was, if he was even looking at you. The silence on the comms when you were in the air, when typically you’d both be jesting back and forth while in the air every chance you’d get. The team saw it, Maverick saw it, hell, you were all sure Cyclone even saw it.

Austin? He never noticed a thing. To him, you were fine, you were your usual self. He never even questioned it when you sat down for dinner together, 72 hours on the clock, and he informed you that Bob had sent him a text and said he could no longer attend.

You covered for him, simply saying there had been a family emergency back in Montana he needed to attend to, and Austin didn’t bat an eye. He broke your heart, and you were still covering for him, still defending him, still protecting him.

Because that’s what he had done that night on the beach, under the light of the moon: Bob Floyd had broken your heart without even realizing he held it in the palm of his hand. He’d always held it, long before even you realized it.

“Alright people, look alive! We are on the clock, and pretty soon I’m about to have a sister-in-law!”

There were cheers in the bridal suite, somewhere behind you, but your eyes were locked on your reflection. The makeup was too heavy, and your hair was too hardened by the hairspray, your dress was all wrong and was too heavy, the lace was itching at your skin-

Wrong. It was all wrong.

Your gaze flickered to Natasha in the mirror behind you, donning that soft pink bridesmaid dress just like Melissa and Dove were–god, even the bridesmaid dress color wasn’t what you wanted–and understanding seemed to pass through her eyes in an instant.

“Hey, let’s celebrate after the ceremony. Why don’t you two go find Maverick for me so we can get this rolling?”

The pair didn’t argue, simply left the room, still laughing and conversing. The second the door of the suite shut, Natasha stepped up to your side as a shaky breath fell from your lips.

“Nat, I can’t do this,” you were already shaking your head in the mirror as Nat’s hand came to rest on your back.

“Bumble, it’s okay-”

“Bob kissed me,” the words tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop them, spinning to face Nat with a wild look in your eyes as you continued to spew everything out to her before she could respond. “O-Or I kissed him, I don’t even know. But we kissed that night, on the beach behind the Hard Deck–fuck, I think I was seconds from fucking him in the sand, I was so drunk. And so was he.”

Natasha just watched you for a moment in silence as you finally took in a deep breath, the words hanging heavy in the air.

“Bumble…I know,”

Your eyes shot open wider, if it was even possible.

“You…you know?”

“Bradley and I came outside to find you, he said you’d looked kind of spooked after something your mom had said. We saw you. We just…went back inside,” she laughed lightly to herself, reaching out to take your hand in hers. You let out a shaky breath.

“He…he said he wished it didn’t happen, Nat. He regretted it. He’s not even coming anymore,”

“I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t want to watch the woman I love get married either. He’s scared,” Nat tried to reason with you. “Drunk words and actions are sober thoughts and wishes. Honey, he wouldn’t have kissed you if he didn’t love you too. You can still walk away from this…I will unlace this dress right now, and you can walk out those doors. You don’t have to do this.”

You wanted to believe her; every part of you was screaming to run. But your family was out there, Austin’s entire family was out there, and they were waiting. There was a ring on your finger…you’d made a promise, you’d said yes. People expected this.

“I do, though,” was all you could say, as a single tear managed to drip down your cheek.

There was a knock at the door, and there Maverick stood in his dress blues.

It was time.

Natasha gave you one last pleading look, but your eyes shifted away to hide your tears. Her hand gave yours one last squeeze before she was out the door, leaving you alone with Maverick.

You took in a few deep breaths, trying to find it in yourself, and finally moved toward the door. Maverick didn’t say a word, simply took out a little tissue from his pocket and wiped the tears from your eyes as you gave him a watery smile. Then, he held out his arm, and you looped yours through his.

The walk through the hallway was silent for a bit, a heavy silence that hung in the air, before Maverick broke it.

“I hear tears are typical before a wedding, the wedding jitters and whatnot…but this doesn’t seem like that,”

You laughed, but there was really no amusement in your tone.

“It’s not,”

Melissa, Dove, and Natasha were lined up outside the doors, prepared to walk as you and Maverick arrived, taking your places. Two of them were smiling, but Natasha couldn’t bring herself to smile. You gave them a wordless nod, and they opened the doors. The music kicked in, and they walked.

“The other night, at the Hard Deck,” your breath caught at the mention of that night, those moments on the beach playing out in your head like a movie on repeat. The doors shut behind the final bridesmaid, and you and Maverick took your places behind them. “I told you that love comes easy when you choose to love your best friend…”

The music began to change, and the staff were mumbling around you, preparing to open the doors so that you could walk.

“...I wasn’t talking about Austin,”

Your head turned to him, eyes wide. Maverick only looked at you with a tiny smile, the kind a father would give to comfort their daughter.

“You don’t have to choose all of them. You can choose yourself…you can choose him,”

Then, the doors opened, and the music kicked in.

❤︎

Bob Floyd was pacing. Honestly, he was surprised he hadn’t burned a pathway into his bedroom carpet from the pacing he had been doing back and forth for the last hour.

His dress blues hung on the door of his closet, mocking him. The invitation to your wedding lay on the dresser right beside it, that same wedding he’d texted days ago to cancel on, even though there had been a pit in his stomach as he did it. A nagging voice was in the back of his head screaming at him that this wasn’t right.

He should be wearing those dress blues. He should be sitting in the stupid, uncomfortable chair laid out in that fancy resort. He should be watching you walk down the aisle, watching Maverick hand you away, and watching you, his best friend, marry your new husband.

Instead, he was in the same t-shirt and flannel from that night at the Hard Deck, the flannel you’d bought him so long ago. It still held a hint of the scent of your red wine that had spilled against your dress and pressed into his own clothing. Your perfume, sweet like cherries, lingered on the fabric. He had to wear it; he had to relive those moments with you wrapped around him, pressed against him, where you felt like his.

Bob Floyd wasn’t at the wedding, sitting in the chair reserved for him, because he was selfish.

He couldn’t watch you get married. Not when he wanted–no, needed–to be the one you were marrying.

The clock on his bedside table read 6:42 p.m.; barely 20 minutes until you’d walk down that aisle at 7 on the dot and become Mrs. Fletcher, wearing the fancy lace ballgown that you hated, in the venue that you hated, with the man you shouldn’t be marrying.

His feet were itching to run, so instead he grabbed his phone and dialed the number he knew by heart, shakily bringing it to his ear. It only rang for a moment but his call was picked up.

“Bob-?”

“Mom, I-I need you to talk me out of getting in my truck, speeding down the highway, and interrupting a wedding right now,”

Bob’s mother was silent for just a moment before she laughed lightly. Not mockingly, but almost knowingly, on the other end of the call.

“Mhm, so you’ve finally accepted that you’re in love with her, huh?”

“Mom, I really just need you to stop me from doing something really stupid right now,”

“It’s not stupid, Robbie. It’s fighting for the woman you love,” there was a shuffle on the other end, before his mother let out a sigh. Bob was still pacing the room. “I remember meeting her at every graduation, seeing how happy you were with her. I remember when you brought her home for your sister’s wedding. I got to spend a week with the girl you called your best friend, and the only thing I could think was…wow, I can’t wait until the day she’s my daughter-in-law.”

Bob paused for a second before letting out a laugh of disbelief.

“I-I never told you I loved her,”

“You didn’t have to, Robbie, I could see it. And if you can’t see that she loves you too, then we need to up the prescription on those glasses of yours,” there was another shared laugh, before silence fell again. Bob finally stopped pacing. “I don’t know what has all gone down, but if you feel the need to stop this wedding, then somewhere inside you, you know she loves you too. Go get your girl before you spend the rest of your life wishing you had.”

You know what they say: mothers know best.

The only time Bob Floyd was speeding was when he was in a jet, pulling g’s in the air with Natasha that no normal person was doing. But the second he was behind the wheel of his truck, caution was to the wind, and he was speeding up the highway toward Del Mar without a care in the world.

Nothing mattered but you.

He’d haphazardly parked his truck in some spot outside of the resort, pushing past the workers who shouted out for him to ‘stop running’ or that this was a ‘private event’ as he raced down the halls of the resort. None of that matters.

He skidded to a stop right between the open doors, right in the middle of the aisle still lined with petals. There were people still inside, huddled together in groups. There was one group, closer to the altar, huddled up in a group. But workers were prevalent, moving throughout the room, bunching up linens or grabbing empty chairs and carting them away. He pushed the sleeve of his flannel up, not even changing before he rushed out the door, to look at his watch: 7:34 p.m.

“I missed it,” he mumbled to himself. Disbelief, pain, anger, Bob wasn’t sure what he was feeling. He was too late.

“Bob?”

He glanced up to his right, and there the squad was. All dressed in their dress blues, standing together with Maverick and Penny. It was Bradley who questioned him, Natasha standing at his side in her bridesmaid dress.

“...I’m too late, aren’t I?”

There was silence for a moment before everyone looked around at one another with small smiles. His gaze flickered to Elijah, who wore a smirk, leaning down to whisper to your mother as realization seemed to cross the older woman’s face.

“She didn’t walk down the aisle, baby-on-board,” Hangman spoke up.

Bob’s breath seemed to catch as he looked around at his friends, before he glanced back to the altar area. And there he was: Austin Fletcher, in the flesh. He was surrounded by his friends, and what looked to be his father and mother, and Bob couldn’t tell if he was pissed or upset, where his feelings ended or began as his family and friends tried to calm him down. Austin’s eyes met Bob’s for just a moment, and realization seemed to pass through every feature of his face. His glare hardened as he simply shook his head, shrugging off his friends and family and stalking out of the room without another word.

“She…she didn’t get married?”

“Never even made it down the aisle,” Nat spoke up, giving her best friend the brightest of smiles. “We’ve all waited a long time for this, Bob. Better late than never. She’s in the bridal suite…go get your girl.”

❤︎

They’d tried to stop you, tried to talk to you, tried to talk you back into it. Austin’s sister, your old squad from Florida, Austin’s family, and even Austin himself. But there was no changing your mind. Your squad knew that, your brother knew that.

Maverick was right. You wanted to choose yourself…you wanted to choose Bob. You needed to.

You’d wiped off every ounce of makeup piled on your face. It had taken way too long to brush out every single ounce of hairspray sticking to your hair. It was almost impossible to unlace your dress yourself, but you had managed, tossing it onto the floor in a heap and leaving it there. The sight of it made you sick.

The second you were back in your robe, standing on the balcony of the suite and watching the sun set out over the horizon on the ocean just two streets away, the weight of everything finally felt like it was off your shoulders. You felt free, and for the first time in weeks, you didn’t feel sick to your stomach.

“Hey bee…”

That voice sent a shock down your spine, and you spun on your heels. And there Bob Floyd stood, like he’d just blown in from a hurricane, standing in the sliding glass doorway to the balcony. That stupid white shirt, that stupid flannel, an exact image of the man who’d ruined you forever that night on the beach.

“Well…” your voice broke just slightly, tone low and soft, as you pulled your robe tighter around you. “I bet I look like a mess.”

He’d laughed, and it was enough to make you smile, something you hadn’t done since that night. Since the last time you were with him.

“Maybe…” his own voice was soft, his eyes trailing up and down you with a sincerity and a genuine adoration in them that you had never once seen in Austin’s eyes. “Most attractive mess that I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”

You’d laughed this time, your hand resting on your lips to shield your smile, and those tears burned hot behind your eyes. He was here, he was really here.

“Bob…what are you doing here?”

“Well…I came here to tell you not to get married,”

You hummed, jutting your thumb in the direction of your wedding dress, thrown haphazardly into a pile in the corner of the room.

“I beat you to it,”

“Yeah, I see that now,”

He took a step out onto the balcony, leaning against the railing. Your eyes danced over his features, lit up in shades of red, pink, and orange in the setting sun. You turned to face him.

“I don’t know when it really happened, or started, maybe when we met…but I know when I realized I was in love with you,” you could see his breath catch as you laughed lightly at yourself. “And it’s terrified me, for years, because I didn’t want to confess and lose you. I couldn’t lose you. Life without you doesn’t make sense. But we moved Jake into his apartment, we all talked about dating, and I decided it was time to confess…and you said you were talking to some girl. You broke my heart.”

“I know,” was his answer immediately. Bob sighed, glancing at his shoes as he pushed his glasses back up his face, before looking back at you. “I was scared. I hated the thought of you liking someone else-”

“I was talking about you-”

“I know that now,” he was quick to interject, taking in a deep breath. “I’m late…but I know that now.”

“Then you kissed me…you finally kissed me. Then you said you wished it didn’t happen,”

“I know,”

“You broke my heart again,”

“I know,” his words came out in a whisper. He took another step toward you, his hands cupping your cheeks, and you leaned into the feeling on instinct. “I know I did. So I came here today to selfishly ask you not to marry that prick. Not just because you shouldn’t…but because I love you, too.”

It was all you’d ever wanted to hear, and having those words spoken was like the missing piece of a puzzle that had gone unsolved for years. You shut your eyes, letting a tear slip, as you turned your head and pressed a kiss to the palm of his hand.

“Selfish, huh?”

“Yeah, because I’m so incredibly late,” Bob laughed at himself, and you laughed at him too. You finally understood what that was shining in his eyes, that emotion you could never quite decipher: love. “I have loved you since Rhode Island. I tried to be happy for you and Austin, I wanted you to be in love and be happy, but you weren’t with him. He’d never be able to love you like me. So, yeah, I came here to be selfish and ask if I-I’m not too late…and if I can have the chance to love you the way I’ve dreamed about for the last ten years.”

The smile that crossed your lips as you spoke was the most genuine smile you’d worn in weeks. It was stitched to your lips, and you weren’t sure it would ever leave.

“And how would you love me?” you responded, taking just another step closer to him, closing that distance as he still cradled you in his hands. “How has Bob Floyd dreamed of loving me?”

“Catching you every time you stumble, whether it’s on the tarmac walking to our jets or on a sidewalk or beach. Getting you your coffee every morning, just the way you’ve always loved it: two sugars, and just a dash of cream,” you laughed, and his thumb swiped away the tear that slipped down your cheek. “Waking you up every morning, tangled in my sheets, wearing my old University of Montana t-shirt that you stole the night before after you tore it off me. Holding your hand, your waist, just holding you close to me in every moment that I possibly can, because I never want to not be around you. Kissing you, every inch of you, like I do in the dreams that have plagued me night after night for a decade. Holding you when you cry. Having your back in the sky. Buying you flowers. Staying up late at night, talking about anything and everything, like we did all through our lives in training. Fucking you–lord knows I’ve dreamed about that enough. Then…proposing to you, with the ring I know is saved on your wedding Pinterest board. Marrying you, in the venue you’ve always dreamed of, while you’re wearing the dress of your dreams-”

You didn’t let him say another word. Your hand bunched up in his t-shirt, tugging him in, and kissing him with all the love and passion that had been sitting dormant in you both for years. And with every moment that his lips moved against yours, that his hands slid down your body like they had that night on the beach and rested against your hips like they were meant to be there, everything fell into place. For the first time, life felt like it made sense because your heart had only ever belonged to Bob Floyd.

“You have me. I’m all yours, I’m only yours. I’ve been yours since the day we met,”

The next time you walk down an aisle, it will be the fall. The leaves will be changing colors, and the air will be crisp. You’ll be wearing a light and loose dress that billows in the fall wind, and Bob Floyd will be waiting for you at the end of the aisle. It was only ever going to be Bob Floyd waiting for you at the altar.

You were twenty-two when you first met Bob Floyd, but you were also twenty-two when you fell in love with Bob Floyd. There was never going to be anyone else for you but him.

Taglist: @venuslayla23-blog @bluegardenn @fandomxo

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stars-inthe-sky · 1 month ago

Text

if there's solid ground below

It's been five years, but I wrote a whole fic this week thanks in no small part to the singular @iphyslitterator!

[Cross-posted to AO3]

“H—hey, Tommy?”

Tommy startles and bangs his head on the hood of his truck, recovering fast enough that none of the oil he was nearly done changing spilled but not so fast that it would have escaped Evan’s notice. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just surprised,” he says, grabbing for a spare rag to wipe his hands on. “Hi.”

“Got a sec?” Evan rocks onto the balls of his feet and back again, hands shoved deep in the pockets of a hoodie that, in southern California in May, it should really be too warm for. But he runs cold, and the layers always have the added bonus of making Tommy want to rip them off in some kind of Pavlovian response.

Had. Last summer, they’d had that effect. This summer was shaping up differently.

Evan tilts his head, a little quizzical, and Tommy realizes he’s been frozen in place for a few beats too long, dazedly dragging the rag between his fingers.

“Sorry, yeah, go ahead.” He glances down at the car, which hasn’t moved, then back at Evan, who’s still rocking but who looks, Tommy’s now realizing, noticeably lighter than he has in a while—certainly since the funeral, but maybe even more so than that night in the bar all those weeks ago. His smile is far too small, but it’s there. “Although if you need another helicopter, I’m gonna have to start charging you at some point.”

“That’s okay, I heard your fees are competitive,” he chirps, and if his grin isn’t yet lethal, it’s shifted to shit-eating. Which, for Tommy, is lethal anyway, and Evan knows it. “But no, I just…just wanted to talk this time. For real, for once.”

Oh. “Okay…?”

“You can keep doing whatever you were doing; I know you like to have something to do with your hands.”

“Uh, thanks.” He stuffs the rag in the back pocket of his jeans and fishes the oil canister out of his car’s innards. This might be easier without eye contact. “What’s up?”

“I’m taking a sabbatical from the LAFD,” Evan says. Tommy freezes again, more of a twitch than a full stop, and makes himself continue the actual task at hand. “Three months. Mostly thanks to an insane amount of unused PTO, because I realized I kinda haven’t taken a vacation that wasn’t just medical leave in like…ever. And I need a break, you know, after everything? Like, I spent a bunch of my twenties driving around, odd jobs and stuff, and the world is—is so much bigger than the firehouse, or this city, and…yeah. I think I need that space for a bit. Just got it approved today. And then I came here.”

He pauses for breath, and Tommy stares unseeing at some perfectly intact wiring he could reconnect by touch alone if asked. “That’s great they’re letting you do that, Evan. I’m sure it’ll be good for you. How’d the others take it?”

There’s a little sigh. “I haven’t told them yet. Battalion chief said I’d always have a job to come back to, but they couldn’t hold my spot indefinitely. Depends on the new captain and how they want to staff up. Makes sense, obviously, so.” His sniffle is nearly inaudible, but Tommy’s never been able to tune out Evan’s frequency.

He gives up on the car, closing the hood with a quiet click and resuming with the rag, even though his hands aren’t especially dirty. “Never thought you’d voluntarily leave the 118.”

“I know, right?” Evan’s mouth twitches, and it’s not quite a smile now, but there’s something genuine growing back. “I mean, I guess I might not be, but. Things change, and it’s…time, maybe. I’m doing this, in any case. I—I—I just need to clear my head for a while. Go visit Minnesota, never been there, but then…I don’t know, maybe touch the Atlantic Ocean again. Camp out in some national parks. Go see the sky in Montana—it’s so big, Tommy, I’ve never seen anything like it, not since those years, and the last couple of months…it’s like the smog is just in everything right now, you know?”

Tommy nods. He can relate, despite how often he gets to soar above the chokehold of Los Angeles; smoke is smoke, and heat still rises. “I get it. So…this is goodbye, then?” He swallows, bites his lip, stares down at his fingers and the rag still entwined in them.

“No!” Evan leans forward for a breath, arm lifting, but he seems to stop himself, like he’s remembering they don’t know where they stand with each other, if he’s allowed to grab Tommy’s shoulder. “No, no, I’m coming back. LA is still home, my—my stuff’s going into a storage unit next week, my sister and my niece are here, and the new baby—the job—no, yeah, I’m coming back.”

“That’s good,” Tommy muses. “So…”

“So, I wanted to ask—I—I—I’m asking if you’d maybe be up for thinking about coming with me.”

Tommy freezes so suddenly, and so thoroughly, that the rag drops to the ground. “You—you’re going on a three-month road trip to get away from it all, and you want me to come with you?”

“Yeah, I do,” Evan says softly, surely, ducking his head in that bashful way he pretends not to know is so damn effective. “I need a break from everything, and everyone—but you, you’re not everyone. I meant what I said about being together, before. I still mean it.” Tommy feels both arms drop to his sides, heavy and limp like emptied hoses, and the air jerks out of his lungs as his throat closes tight.

Evan plows ahead. “I—if—if you don’t want to, or you can’t swing it with work, or whatever—I get it, that’s why I’m asking and not—not telling you what to do. I don’t—even if you don’t come, I’d wait. And, and text or call, maybe? If you wanted to? Even if it’s just as friends, my life is always better when you’re in it. Kinda hoping that goes both ways here.”

Tommy croaks, “And when you get tired of me before we hit Reno?”

“I won’t,” he says, no hesitation. Tommy’s slack face must do something, because he repeats, “Tommy, I won’t. I won’t. I just want time with you, more time, all the time. I want to try again, so, so bad. And if we fight, we can talk, and not just think the worst, and keep going, be—because I want to eat crappy gas station food with you and not think about the inside of a gym for weeks. I want to drive out somewhere where it feels like we’re the only people on the planet, and fuck in the back of your truck, and then figure out a map that’s older than either of us because there’s no cell service. Maybe rent a chopper in Montana so we can see that sky up close—there’s, there’s so many stars, and you’re the only person I’d want to see them with like that. I want to be locked in a moving vehicle with you all day, except for bathroom stops, and see your face when you realize it’s been 16 hours and we still have more to talk about, and we’ll just keep going, because I’m never gonna get tired of you.”

He pauses and swallows thickly, and Tommy can’t look away. For all that Evan Buckley wears his heart on his sleeve so easily for anyone to see, actually opening it up and offering to hand it over to someone else—that’s still work. “So—that’s what I came to say. That’s what I want. J—just think about it. No rush, I’m not—I’ll wait. If it’s what you want. You…you get to want things, too. So. Yeah.”

Evan nods to himself, rubs the back of his neck, and turns to walk back to his car, parked on the street. Tommy has to move, has to say something, but the soles of his boots are melting, fused to the cement of the driveway, his throat is still closed, and Evan—Evan is walking away.

Tommy wants things, too.

He forces a breath, in and out, on a four-count, licks his lips, and asks, “When do we leave?”

Evan radiates a warmth that scatters out, tangible and visible like a sunrise before he even turns around, beaming. “I was thinking a few weeks after the baby comes, but—but—yeah?”

“Yeah, I, uh, I could chase some stars over the Rockies. With you.” Tommy’s insides unknot, and the life rushes back into his limbs. “And the rest, too. I noticed it’s my truck in this scenario?”

Suddenly Evan is in front of him, closer than they’d managed even that morning after, pressed gently against him from chest to knees, arms winding around his waist. “Much more cargo space. Very practical. And I kinda thought you might be in the same boat, you know, with the unused vacation. Maybe enough seniority to hang onto your spot.”

“Probably, yeah, they generally…” He doesn’t even know how that sentence might have ended, has rarely thought about anything more than a long weekend away, but then Evan’s kissing him, deep and slow and sweet like they might already be the only people on the planet. His warmth flashes over through Tommy, nerve by nerve, until he’s lit up and burning, flammable in places he’d spent months trying to forget this man could expose.

When Evan pulls back, it’s with Tommy’s face between his hands, his relief and hope palpable. Like life might go on, like the world might really be bigger, could even be better, sometimes, than it had been.

“Let’s go,” he whispers, so close and so quiet that Tommy can feel each syllable rumble against his skin, tires steady on a gravel road away from this scene and toward the next.

#911 #911 tv #911 abc #911abc #911 fic #911 show #bucktommy #911 bucktommy #buck x tommy #buck/tommy #this fic brought to you by the time my now-spouse and i went to the canyonlands in january and didn't see another human all day #and danny concannon's intonation on 'i want us to talk like we're gonna figure it out together'#and also tommy's emotional support rag #author knows nothing about car maintenance or lafd leave policies *and* heroically resisted the urge to fall down a google rabbit hole #¯\_(ツ)_/¯#for real though it's been half a decade how do you tag for visibility in a huge-ass fandom with multiple stylings?#on a website where the tag system has never accommodated hyphens very well?#anyway i wrote a fic for the first time in half a decade! please clap.

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cherrylibby · 3 months ago

Text

Only You

You weren’t the jealous type. Not usually. Not when it came to him.

Bradley Bradshaw was your best friend. Your ride or die. The person who knew your coffee order, your favorite movies, your most embarrassing middle school stories, and the exact way you liked your burgers. You’d known him for years now, and despite the way he looked at you sometimes—like you hung the stars—you told yourself it was nothing. He was flirty with everyone. He was Bradley.

But tonight, something was different.

The Hard Deck was packed, music humming low under the buzz of conversation and laughter. You were sitting at the bar with a drink in your hand and a quiet ache in your chest. Across the room, Bradley was laughing—really laughing—with a pretty blonde who kept touching his arm and twirling her hair.

You shouldn’t have been staring. You shouldn’t have cared.

But the sight of him leaning in close, his smile warm and easy, made something twist inside you. Something insecure and ugly. You could feel it bubbling up even as you looked away, heart sinking.

You weren't her. Not effortlessly flirty or smooth or shiny. You were his best friend. The girl who wore sweatpants to movie night and cried at commercials. The one he called “dude” and “trouble” with a grin and a wink. Not the girl who got that look.

“Y/N?” Natasha’s voice broke through your thoughts. “You okay?”

You nodded too quickly. “Yeah, just tired. I think I’m gonna head out.”

She looked like she didn’t believe you, but let you go with a quiet, “Text me when you get home.”

You slipped out the back, the warm California air brushing your skin as you walked toward your car, heart heavy and eyes burning.

You didn’t see Bradley’s eyes darting across the bar looking for you. You didn’t see the way his smile dropped the second he realized you were gone. He excused himself mid-conversation, didn’t even notice the girl’s disappointed sigh as he beelined out the door.

“Y/N!”

You froze. He was jogging after you, chest rising and falling, brow furrowed with worry. “Where are you going?”

You gave him a small shrug. “Just tired.”

He stared at you for a second too long, eyes scanning your face like he could see every unspoken word, every thought in your head. “Did I do something?”

“No,” you said quickly, then softer, “No, you didn’t.”

His brows drew tighter. “Then why won’t you look at me?”

“I am looking at you,” you said, your voice wobbling even as you tried to play it cool. “Go back inside, Bradley. She’s probably waiting.”

He blinked. “She who?”

“The girl you were talking to. The one who looked like she was ready to climb you like a tree.” You meant it as a joke, but it cracked as it left your mouth.

Bradley was quiet for a second. Then he took a slow step forward.

“You think I wanted her?” His voice was soft. Barely above a whisper.

You looked down. “Didn’t look like you didn’t.”

He exhaled like it physically hurt, running a hand through his curls. “Jesus, Y/N.”

When you didn’t say anything, he took another step until he was right in front of you. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

You swallowed. “Get what?”

“That I don’t see anyone else. That it’s always you.” His voice cracked. “I’m in love with you.”

Your breath caught.

Bradley took your face in his hands, eyes locked onto yours with the kind of softness that made your knees weak. “You’re it for me. Have been for a long time. Every time you laugh, every time you say my name, every time you wear that stupid hoodie you stole from me—I fall harder. You’re the only one I want.”

Your eyes welled with tears. “Then why were you—?”

“I was being polite,” he said, smiling like it hurt. “I was trying to not stare at you across the bar like I always do.”

Your voice was small. “You stare at me?”

“All the damn time.” He laughed, forehead leaning against yours. “You just never notice because you’re too busy not noticing how perfect you are.”

Your heart flipped so hard it felt like it stalled in midair.

“Bradley,” you whispered.

“Yeah?”

“I’m in love with you too.”

His smile bloomed so wide and soft it made your whole chest ache. And then he kissed you. Slow and sure, like he had all the time in the world to show you just how much he meant it.

And when he pulled back, he didn’t stop looking at you.

Not once.

#bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradsaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x female reader #top gun maverick #top gun #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun x reader

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burrowswomen · 3 months ago

Text

❥ SO AMERICAN ━━━━━ JOE BURROW

: ̗̀➛ word count: 5.6k

: ̗̀➛ warnings: nothing

: ̗̀➛ noor speaks: this took me over a month to write.. so i hope you guys all enjoy!!! (i recommended reading this in ur best british accent to truly get in character)

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

you moved from london to the bay area when you were seventeen.

back home, in london you had never thought much about your ‘accent’—it was just how you spoke, how the people in the uk spoke. but in high school, it became the first thing people noticed about you. the moment you opened your mouth, the teasing started. the way you pronounced words, the slight differences in your vocabulary—it was all fair game for mockery.

so you stopped talking as much. it was easier that way.

but in college, things changed. your accent had softened a bit by then, and instead of being something people laughed at, it became something they found interesting. you had decided to major in journalism, hoping to get a career in digital content creation. by the time you graduated, you landed a job with the los angeles chargers before applying with and getting the job with the cincinnati bengals’ social media team.

you thought you were past the days of people being caught off guard by how you spoke.

but california was one thing. ohio? the middle of basically nowhere? yeah, your accent stuck out again.

whenever you had to interview players for tiktok, there were always multiple takes—not because you messed up, but because the guys needed a second to adjust. they never meant anything by it, but it was obvious that your voice wasn’t what they expected. ja'marr and tee would always end up joking around, slipping into their own exaggerated british accents, making you roll your eyes but laugh anyway.

but joe?

he hated social media. he understood it was part of the job, but if he could avoid it, he would. he’d rather hide behind his helmet than have a mini mic shoved in his face. getting him to agree to even one short clip was nearly impossible.

but today, you had finally gotten him to say yes. just one question. ten seconds, max.

you weren’t about to waste the opportunity.

you hit record, holding up the mic as joe stood in front of you, hands on his hips, already looking like he regretted saying yes.

"so the question of the day is—"

you didn’t even get to finish before joe burst out laughing.

you sighed. you were used to this by now.

“joe.”

“i’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “let’s try again.”

you gave him a look but restarted. “so, what is your favorite—”

before you could finish, joe stepped out of the frame, laughing again.

“joe!”

“i’m sorry!”

“my accent is barely there! i don’t know what you’re laughing at!”

joe shook his head, still grinning. “nope. it’s still very much there.”

you rolled your eyes. “joe, you’re literally the most american person ever, so don’t.”

he smirked. “yeah, whatever.”

after the tenth try, y/n didn’t even bother continuing. she just sighed, shaking her head as joe continued to smirk at her, clearly amused.

"i can't work under these conditions," you muttered, wrapping the mic cord as you stopped the video. "this is why i just stick to ja'marr and tee."

joe huffed out a laugh, still standing with his hands on his hips. "yeah, because they don’t make fun of you at all, right?"

you shot him a look. "oh, they absolutely do. but at least they answer the question before they start acting like i just walked out of a sherlock holmes novel."

joe grinned, but he was still trying to hide his laughter. she could tell.

she glanced down at her phone, debating if she should attempt one more take or just give up entirely. she was pretty sure if she tried again, joe would just find another excuse to laugh. it was rare to even get him in front of the camera like this, but now she was realizing that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as opposed to it as he let on.

"alright, burrow," you said, stuffing her phone into her pocket. "you win this round."

joe lifted an eyebrow. "i didn’t know this was a competition."

"everything is a competition," you shot back, before turning on your heel to leave.

"so you’re just gonna give up?"

you glanced back at him, smirking. "oh, i’ll get you on camera again. just you wait."

joe just shook his head, still grinning as he walked away.

but after that, something changed.

he stopped avoiding the social media team so much. he still wasn’t exactly eager to be in videos, but he didn’t disappear the moment he saw her coming towards him, either. he didn’t roll his eyes when she approached him with a mic. if anything, he almost seemed like he was waiting for it.

you noticed the way his teammates looked at him whenever you came around, smirking like they knew something you didn’t.

and maybe they did.

but it was safe to say, you did not get that ten-second clip.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

a few days passed before y/n attempted to interview joe again. she wasn’t in a rush—if there was one thing she had learned since working with the team, it was that patience was key.

so when she spotted him on the field during practice, standing near the sideline with his helmet tucked under his arm, she decided it was time.

"alright, burrow," she called as she approached, phone in hand, mic already clipped onto it. "rematch."

joe turned, squinting against the sunlight. "rematch?"

"last time, you didn’t even let me get the question out without laughing," she said, stopping in front of him. "so, we’re trying again."

he huffed out a small laugh, shaking his head. "i didn’t laugh on purpose."

"yeah, yeah, tell that to the footage i have," she said, unlocking her phone. "so, can i get a serious answer this time?"

joe sighed, as if this was the biggest inconvenience of his day, but she could see the slight smirk pulling at his lips. "fine. one question."

y/n grinned, lifting her phone. "okay. If there were an alien on the team, who on the team would it be?"

she barely got the words out before joe pressed his lips together, his shoulders shaking.

"joe," she warned.

he exhaled, trying to compose himself, nodding. "okay, okay. i got it."

"Who on the team might be an alie—"

joe broke again, tilting his head back as he laughed, completely stepping out of frame.

y/n groaned, stopping the recording. "you’re impossible."

joe wiped his hand down his face, still grinning. "i’m sorry, i really am. it’s just—i don’t know, it catches me off guard every time."

"my accent is barely even there anymore!" she argued, shoving her phone into her pocket.

joe raised an eyebrow. "it’s very much still there."

she rolled her eyes. "you’re just so american, that’s why."

"yeah, whatever," he muttered, shaking his head.

she let out a dramatic sigh. "safe to say, i’m never getting this done, huh?"

joe shrugged. "maybe next time."

"so there’s a next time?" she asked, tilting her head.

he paused for a second before smirking. "we’ll see."

as he walked away, y/n just stood there, watching him go.

and despite failing yet again, she couldn’t help but smile.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

it became a thing after that.

y/n wasn’t sure when exactly, but somehow, joe burrow—the man who avoided social media at all costs—had become her biggest challenge and, oddly, her most entertaining subject.

he never outright agreed to being filmed, but he also never walked away when she approached him, phone in hand, mic ready. instead, he’d give her the same exasperated look, like he was dealing with the biggest inconvenience of his life, before sighing and saying, “one question.”

and every single time, without fail, she never got her answer.

if it wasn’t joe laughing at her accent, it was him making some dry remark that threw her off completely, or worse, making her laugh instead.

one afternoon, after practice, she found him near the bench, towel slung over his shoulder, sweat still clinging to his skin. prime time for a quick interview.

"joe, what’s your go-to hype song before a game?" she asked, phone up, recording already rolling.

joe took a sip from his water bottle, considering. "hmm. probably something really good."

"like?"

"i don’t know, taylor swift or something."

she blinked putting her camera and mic down. "you’re lying."

he shrugged. "am i?"

y/n narrowed her eyes. "name one taylor swift song."

joe paused for a beat, then smirked. "that’s classified."

"oh, you so listen to her," she accused, pointing at him. "swiftie joe is real."

"never said that," he said, amused.

"never denied it either."

he just grinned before walking off, towel draped over his shoulder.

y/n sighed, but she wasn’t even annoyed.

she had a feeling their little game was just getting good.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

joe adjusted his helmet, ready to run the next play, when something in his peripheral caught his attention.

you.

you were standing on the sideline, laughing at something justin—one of the social media guys—was saying. the two of you were standing close, heads tilted toward each other as you scrolled through something on your phone. joe didn’t know why he was paying attention to it, but he was.

"what’s happening over there?" joe asked, nodding in your direction.

ja'marr followed his gaze, then snorted. "looks like they’re tryna decide which ugly picture of us to post."

joe glanced at him, then back at you. you were still laughing, your head tilting back slightly. justin was grinning, clearly proud of whatever he’d just said.

joe didn’t know why, but it bothered him. just a little.

"his name’s justin, right?" joe asked, keeping his tone casual.

"yeah," ja'marr said, stretching his arms over his head. "j something.."

joe hummed in response, eyes still on you. he wasn’t sure what it was—maybe it was how close you were standing. or the way justin kept leaning in slightly when he talked. or maybe it was the fact that he’d never seen you laugh like that at something he said.

"bro, why you acting like that?" ja'marr asked, smirking.

joe frowned. "acting like what?"

"like you care."

"i don’t," joe said quickly. too quickly.

ja'marr just laughed, jogging to his position. "yeah, aight."

joe rolled his eyes, shaking his head. he didn’t care. he really didn’t.

but when the next play started, his focus was slightly off. and he definitely wasn’t looking at the sideline again.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

after practice wrapped up, you were still on the field, scrolling through clips on your phone while justin stood next to you, pointing out which ones would do best on tiktok.

"this one's solid," he said, tapping the screen. "ja’marr’s gonna hate you for it, though."

you rolled your eyes. "when does he not?"

justin chuckled before checking his watch. "i gotta go edit some stuff. you good here?"

you nodded. "yeah, i’ll be in shortly."

he jogged off, leaving you standing there, still reviewing footage. you were so focused you didn’t notice joe walking up until his shadow crossed over your screen.

"what’s so funny?"

you looked up, surprised to see him. "huh?"

"earlier. you and justin," joe said, nodding toward the facility where justin had disappeared. "what were you laughing at?"

you raised a brow, confused at the random question. "oh. he was just showing me some clips of ja’marr messing up his words. it was funny."

joe nodded slowly, like he was considering something. "you two seem close."

you blinked at him. was he… making conversation? joe burrow?

"i mean, we work together," you said, studying his expression. "same as me and you."

joe scoffed. "not the same."

your brows furrowed. "how is it not the same?"

joe shrugged, glancing away like he didn’t want to answer that.

you tilted your head slightly, then smirked. "wait a minute…"

his eyes snapped back to yours, slightly guarded. "what?"

"are you jealous?"

joe’s face stayed neutral, but his ears—clear as day—turned red. "no."

you grinned. "oh my god, you are jealous."

"i’m not," he insisted, but the way he shifted uncomfortably told you otherwise.

"joe," you teased, stepping just a little closer. "if you wanted me to laugh at your jokes, you could’ve just said that."

joe huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. "i don’t care if you laugh at my jokes."

"mhmm."

"i don’t."

you stared at him for a second before sighing dramatically. "well, that’s a shame, ‘cause i was gonna say you’re actually kinda funny sometimes."

joe smirked. "only sometimes?"

"don’t push it, burrow."

he chuckled, shaking his head as he started walking off. "see you inside, london."

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that lingered even after he was gone.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

later that afternoon, you were back in the media room, editing clips from the day’s practice. the familiar sound of pads hitting the turf and players yelling filled your headphones as you sifted through footage, piecing together something that would do well hopefully.

justin leaned back in his chair next to you, watching over your shoulder. "so, you and burrow, huh?"

you froze for half a second before playing it off. "what about me and burrow?"

justin smirked. "you tell me."

you turned to give him a look. "there's nothing to tell."

"right," he said, dragging out the word. "so he wasn’t all weird earlier when he saw us talking?"

you scoffed. "he wasn’t weird."

justin shot you a knowing look. "so he was something."

you exhaled sharply, shaking your head. "i don't know what he was. probably just bored. or nosy. or both."

justin hummed, unconvinced. "uh-huh. i don’t think i’ve ever seen him ask about what you’re talking about before."

"maybe ‘cause we were laughing kinda loudly," you pointed out.

"i mean, he did call you ‘london’ on his way out," justin said, raising his eyebrows. "don’t act like that’s normal."

you rolled your eyes. "he's called me that before." lie

"he really hasn't."

you opened your mouth to argue but realized… justin was kinda right. joe didn’t really use nicknames for people, —especially for you.

justin grinned at your silence. "see? i knew it."

"there's nothing to know," you insisted, turning back to your laptop.

"mhmm. we’ll see about that," justin said, leaning back with a smug look on his face.

you ignored him and focused on your work, but the thought lingered—was joe acting different around you? and if he was… why did it make your heart race just a little?

you quickly composed yourself before, you shook your head, trying to shake off justin’s teasing. "either way, it doesn’t matter. staff and players aren’t even allowed to be involved with each other outside of work. it’s in the contract."

justin leaned forward, a smug look crossing his face. "ahh, see, that’s where you’re wrong."

your brows furrowed as you watched him click around on his computer. a few seconds later, he pulled up a digital copy of the social media team’s contract. he scrolled for a moment before stopping and turning the screen toward you. "go ahead. read it."

you hesitated before leaning in, eyes scanning the document carefully. you searched for the part you were sure existed—the rule that prohibited any kind of relationship between players and staff.

but it wasn’t there.

your eyes narrowed as you read the section over again, then a third time just to be sure.

"wait," you muttered, your finger tracing the lines of text. "so… there’s actually no rule against it?"

justin leaned back in his chair, arms crossed with a satisfied smirk. "nope. nowhere in the contract does it say staff and players can’t date. it just says you have to remain professional in the workplace."

you blinked, still rereading the section as if the words would suddenly change. "that… doesn’t make sense. i thought it was a rule."

"nah, it’s just an unspoken thing. probably to avoid drama or whatever. but technically? totally allowed," justin said, watching your reaction closely. "why? thinking about breaking a nonexistent rule, london?"

you immediately rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t ignore the way your heart had started beating a little faster. "no, i was just—i don’t know, i thought it was a thing."

justin grinned. "yeah, well, now you know it’s not."

you shook your head, sitting back in your chair. "well, doesn’t matter. not like it applies to me anyway."

justin raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. "uh-huh. sure it doesn’t."

you ignored him, turning your focus back to your work. but now, the thought lingered. there’s no actual rule.

you weren’t sure why that information sat so heavily in your chest. maybe it shouldn’t have changed anything.

but somehow, it did.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

over the next couple of months, things started to shift—not in an obvious way, but in the little things. joe was still the same guy, still hated social media, still keeping his distance from the cameras when he could. but he didn’t avoid you anymore.

he was still a challenge to get on camera, but sometimes, if you caught him at the right moment, he’d answer a question. nothing long, nothing groundbreaking, but it was progress. and then there were the other moments.

like when you’d make a joke, and he’d actually laugh. not just a small chuckle, but an actual laugh, the kind that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. or when he’d linger a little longer after practice, standing just close enough to the media team that you knew he was listening, even if he pretended he wasn’t.

and then there was today.

you were standing on the sideline during practice, waiting for the right moment to grab a quick clip for social media. the team was running drills, and you were half-watching, half-scrolling through your phone when joe walked up beside you.

“you waiting for someone?” he asked, nodding toward your phone.

you looked up at him. “yeah, actually. waiting for you to agree to be in a tiktok longer then 15 seconds.”

he scoffed, shaking his head. “not happening.”

you smirked. “figured as much.”

there was a comfortable silence for a moment before joe glanced at you. “so… do british people really drive on the left side of the road?”

you looked at him, raising a brow. “no, joe, that’s just a myth. we actually drive upside down.”

he rolled his eyes, but you could see the corner of his mouth twitch like he was fighting a smile. “i’m serious.”

“yes, we drive on the left,” you said. “the same way you americans drive on the right.”

he gave you a look. “why do you say ‘americans’ like that?”

you blinked. “like what?”

“like—i don’t know,” he shrugged. “like you’re separating yourself from us.”

you tilted your head. “are you not american?”

“no, i am,” he said slowly.

you grinned. “exactly. you’re so american.”

joe frowned. “what does that even mean?”

“oh, you want a list?” you teased. “fine. one, you love football more than anything. two, you are from ohio. three, you’re obsessed with your—”

joe held up a hand, cutting you off. “first of all, i play football. i kinda have to love it.”

you laughed. “see? proving my point.”

he shook his head, but he was smiling now, and for a split second, you forgot this was the same guy who used to avoid you and the cameras at all costs.

“you’re ridiculous,” he muttered.

“and you’re american.”

he rolled his eyes again, but he didn’t walk away. and that? that made you feel something.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

as much as you loved your job, today had drained you. between filming, editing, and keeping up with the constant content demands, you were exhausted. so when practice finally wrapped up and most of the staff started heading home, you packed up your equipment as quickly as you could, ready to do the same.

the hallways were mostly empty as you walked toward the parking lot, the sounds of your footsteps echoing against the walls. the air smelled faintly of turf and sweat, a reminder of the hours spent on the field earlier.

your mind had already started drifting—thinking about how good it would feel to collapse into bed—when you heard footsteps behind you. you didn’t think much of it at first. plenty of people left around this time. but then—

“y/n.”

the familiar voice made you pause mid-step. you turned, your eyes landing on joe burrow a few feet away. he was out of his usual practice gear, now in a hoodie and sweats, his hands tucked into his pockets.

“you leaving?” he asked, nodding toward your bag.

you raised a brow. “no, i’m actually planning to sleep here tonight.”

joe’s face scrunched in confusion. “really? why?”

you stared at him.

his lips parted slightly, realization dawning on his face. “oh.”

“yeah, joe,” you said, amused. “i’m leaving.”

he exhaled through his nose, shaking his head at himself. “right.” he hesitated for a second, then shifted his weight. “i’ll, uh… i’ll walk you to��uhm, your car.”

you stopped, looking at him.

“okay…” you said slowly, trying to figure him out.

he just nodded, stepping into place beside you as you both started toward the parking lot.

for the first few moments, neither of you spoke. the air was cool, the last remnants of daylight stretching long shadows across the pavement.

“so,” you said, breaking the silence, “do you always offer to walk staff to their cars, or am i just special?”

joe huffed out a laugh. “nah. just you.”

you glanced at him. “hmm.”

another pause.

“you’re quieter than usual,” you observed.

he shrugged. “long day.”

“tell me about it.”

“yeah?” he asked, glancing at you.

“yeah,” you sighed. “i swear, i spent half my time just trying to get tee to answer one question without him messing around. and don’t even get me started on ja’marr.”

joe smirked. “sounds about right.”

you rolled your eyes. “sometimes i think you guys make our job harder just for fun.”

he didn’t even try to deny it.

by the time you reached your car, the parking lot was almost empty. you stopped beside your driver’s side door, unlocking the door with your keys, just as you were about to reach forward to open it, joe reached forward and pulled the handle open for you.

you hesitated, your eyes flicking up to him. “thanks.”

joe shifted slightly, his fingers tapping against the edge of his hoodie pocket. “uhm.”

you stilled, waiting.

he took a breath. “would you wanna get coffee someday?” he asked, then quickly added, “or tea. i know british people like tea.”

your brows raised slightly.

joe burrow was asking you to coffee. or tea.

you crossed your arms, leaning against the car. “you're asking me?”

his jaw tightened. “yeah.”

you let him sit in his lie for a moment before smiling.

“yeah, sure.”

his eyes met yours. “yeah?”

you nodded. “yeah.”

he exhaled, something almost like relief flashing across his face.

“alright,” he said, stepping back.

you slid into your car, still half in shock at what had just happened.

“goodnight, joe.”

“goodnight, y/n.”

he shut your door gently, gave you a small nod, and turned back toward the facility.

you sat there for a second, gripping the steering wheel. then, finally, you shook your head, a grin creeping across your face as you started the engine.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

you weren’t exactly sure what you were expecting when joe asked you to coffee, but it wasn’t this.

it wasn’t him actually following through with it, texting you the next morning with a time and place already picked out. it wasn’t him choosing a quiet, locally owned café instead of some big-name chain. and it definitely wasn’t you sitting across from him now, in a corner of the shop, feeling surprisingly… comfortable.

it had been a while since you’d been on anything that remotely resembled a date. not that this was a date. you didn’t think it was, anyway.

joe had been waiting for you when you arrived, standing outside with his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, glancing down at his phone before looking up when he saw you approach. he gave you a small nod, the corners of his mouth twitching up into the hint of a smile.

“you actually showed up,” you said, half-joking, half-surprised.

joe let out a small chuckle. “you thought i was gonna bail?”

“i mean, you don’t even like social media. why would i think you’d voluntarily spend time with someone from the social media team?”

“touché,” he said, pulling the door open for you.

and now here you were, sitting across from him, your fingers wrapped around the warmth of your tea as you watched him take a sip of his coffee.

“so, do you always drink tea, or is that just something you have to do because you’re british?” joe asked, tilting his head slightly.

you rolled your eyes, setting your cup down. “yes, joe. it’s a legal requirement. we sign a contract at birth.”

his lips curled into a smirk. “figured as much.”

“but no,” you said. “i just like it. coffee’s fine, but tea’s better.”

joe scoffed. “wrong.”

you gave him a pointed look. “so american.”

joe raised an eyebrow. “you always say that. like it’s a bad thing.”

“it’s not bad,” you said. “you’re just… very american.”

joe leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “explain.”

a smirk played on your lips as you leaned forward slightly. “first of all, you guys think everything is better when it’s bigger. portions, cars, houses—”

“because it is,” joe interjected.

“second,” you continued, ignoring him, “you’re all obsessed with football. and no, before you say it, i don’t mean actual football. i mean whatever you guys are playing.”

joe scoffed. “whatever we’re playing?”

“yeah, the one where you barely use your foot,” you teased.

joe shook his head, taking another sip of his coffee. “anything else?”

“oh, plenty,” you said. “but i don’t wanna hurt your feelings.”

joe narrowed his eyes, shaking his head with an amused expression. “you talk a lot more when it’s just us.”

you paused for a moment. he wasn’t wrong.

for most of your life, you’d been the quiet one. the one who held back, who let other people lead the conversation while you carefully picked your moments to speak. but around joe? it was easy.

“guess i do,” you admitted, stirring your tea absentmindedly.

joe didn’t say anything right away. he just watched you, his blue eyes studying you in a way that made your face feel a little too warm.

you cleared your throat, shifting the conversation. “so, why’d you ask me to coffee?”

joe shrugged. “felt like it.”

you narrowed your eyes. “that’s not an answer.”

“sure it is.”

“joe.”

he exhaled through his nose, his fingers tapping lightly against the table. “i don’t know,” he finally said. “i just wanted to.”

for some reason, that answer felt more honest than anything else he could’ve said.

you held his gaze for a moment, then looked down at your cup, a small smile tugging at your lips.

maybe this was just coffee. maybe it was nothing more than two coworkers grabbing a drink.

but deep down, you had a feeling this wasn’t the last time you and joe burrow would be sitting across from each other like this.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

it all happened so naturally that you hadn’t even realized it was happening.

one coffee date turned into two. then three. then, one day, instead of coffee, joe texted:

"you eat dinner, right?"

you had laughed at the message, typing back: "no, i survive solely on tea and biscuits."

and that’s how coffee turned into dinner. dinner at small restaurants tucked away from the city, where the waitstaff knew joe by name but treated him like any other customer. dinner that turned into longer nights spent together, conversation flowing as easily as the wine you sometimes shared.

then, somehow, dinner at restaurants turned into dinner at his house. or yours.

at first, it was a casual suggestion. joe had an off day and didn’t feel like going out, so he said, "why don’t we just cook something?" and you agreed, not thinking much of it.

but one night, as you stood in his kitchen, chopping vegetables while he stood behind you, looking over your shoulder, something shifted.

"you’re doing that wrong," he muttered, reaching past you to grab the knife from your hand.

"oh, i’m sorry, gordon ramsay," you said, rolling your eyes. "by all means, enlighten me."

joe chuckled, shaking his head as he took over. "just watch."

you crossed your arms, leaning against the counter, watching as he cut the vegetables with precise, practiced movements. "you do this often?"

"cooking?" he asked, glancing at you. "yeah. gotta eat."

"right," you said, biting back a smile. "good observation."

he smirked, nudging you lightly with his elbow before continuing to chop.

you watched him in silence for a moment, taking in the way his jaw tensed in concentration, the way his hands moved with confidence.

and before you could even think twice about it, you said, "you know, i like this."

joe paused, glancing at you again. "like what?"

"this," you said, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. "cooking together. just… us."

for a split second, something flashed in joe’s eyes. something softer, something unreadable.

"yeah," he said after a moment. "me too."

then, before you could process it, he was leaning in.

his lips brushed against yours so lightly at first that you almost thought you imagined it. but then he kissed you, his hands settling on your waist as he pulled you closer.

your breath hitched, fingers gripping the fabric of his hoodie as you kissed him back.

the knife clattered onto the cutting board, long forgotten.

dinner could wait.

—

one kiss turned into more.

more nights spent together. more stolen moments between work and practice, more teasing remarks that carried an undertone of something deeper.

until, one night, as you were curled up on his couch, your head resting against his chest while some movie played in the background, joe murmured, "be my girlfriend."

it wasn’t a question. it wasn’t even hesitant. it was just… fact. like he had already decided and was simply waiting for you to confirm it.

you tilted your head up, meeting his gaze. "was that your way of asking?"

joe smirked. "was i supposed to get down on one knee?"

"well, it would’ve been more romantic," you teased.

"next time," he said.

"next time?"

"yeah," he said, his fingers tracing absentminded circles on your arm. "like when i ask you to marry me."

your breath caught in your throat. "bold of you to assume i’d say yes."

joe just shrugged, completely unfazed. "you will."

and, well… yeah. he wasn’t wrong.

—

being joe burrow’s girlfriend came with a lot of things. attention, sure. but also late-night drives, laughter-filled mornings, and the kind of quiet moments that made you realize just how much you loved someone.

meeting his parents was another thing entirely.

you had been nervous, of course. but his mom had welcomed you with open arms, his dad had given joe a look that very clearly said, "you better not screw this up," and by the end of the night, his parents were treating you like you had always been a part of their family.

which led to now—where you basically lived at joe’s house.

you still had your own apartment, technically. but considering that the majority of your clothes, your toiletries, and even your favorite tea were now at joe’s place… yeah, you weren’t there very often.

"you know you live here now, right?" joe said one evening, as you stood in his bathroom, brushing your teeth with your toothbrush you had kept in his bathroom.

"i do not," you said, words muffled by the toothbrush.

"you do," he insisted.

"just because i spend a lot of time here doesn’t mean i live here."

joe gave you a look. "you have more clothes in my closet than i do."

you shrugged, spitting into the sink before looking at him. "so?"

"so," he said, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. "just move in already."

you stared at joe, toothbrush still in hand, as his words settled over you. "just move in already." like it was the easiest decision in the world. like he had already decided it was going to happen, and he was just waiting for you to catch up.

his eyes were steady, watching you for any sign of hesitation, but all you could do was laugh, shaking your head as you set the toothbrush down on the counter.

"what?" joe asked, his smirk turning into something softer, more curious.

you leaned against the sink, arms crossed. "you didn’t even ask. you just told me to move in."

joe tilted his head slightly, like he was thinking it over. then he shrugged. "so?"

"so," you repeated, mimicking his tone. "that’s not how it works."

"okay," he said, straightening up. "will you move in with me?"

you let the question linger for a second, enjoying the way joe was watching you like he already knew the answer. because of course he did.

finally, you sighed dramatically, shaking your head as you walked past him, brushing your fingers against his arm.

"gosh, you’re so american."

joe turned, following you as you headed toward the bedroom. "what does that even mean?"

you threw him a grin over your shoulder. "figure it out, burrow."

and, judging by the way he was smiling as he chased after you, he already had.

#joe burrow #joe burrow bengals #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x y/n #joe burrow fluff #joe burrow fanfiction #joe burrow imagines #joe burrow smut #joe burrow angst

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motorsportbarbie13 · 3 months ago

Text

Post It - Part 7 - LN4

when lando stumbles upon a random tiktok of a pretty american influencer, he can't stop himself from sliding into her DMs. what happens next is more than both of them ever bargained for.

|| - Part 1 || - Part 2 || - Part 3 || - Part 4 || - Part 5 || - Part 6 || Master List

warnings & notes: lil bit of smut at the end. swearing. As always, thanks to @lestapiastrisgirl for the external validation, even if she does forget about me sometimes. 😁 pairing: lando norris x influencer!reader word count: 4.6k words

The blistering Miami heat beat down on the paddock early Friday morning, the humidity hanging in the air thick and heavy. It clung to everything like a damp blanket, even this early. Outside the air-conditioned haven of McLaren’s hospitably, the sun was already blazing hot overhead and you were regretting your choice of spots for breakfast.

You and Lando sit at a small shaded table just outside the doors of building, half eaten breakfast of fruit and whatever else your boyfriend had chosen sits scattered between you. The air buzzes with the low hum of generators and the distant roar of engines being prepped for the first and only practice session of the weekend. Lando sits across from you, a mix of nervous energy and focused calm radiating off of him as he scrolls through his phone, occasionally glancing up at you as if he’s checking to make sure you’re still there. The moment you two had been reunited yesterday, it had felt like a giant weight lifted right off his shoulders. He’d slept so well last night, better than he had in what felt like weeks, with you tucked up against him, limbs tangled together and his arms curled securely around your middle.

He felt focused as he sat watching the replay of the weekend warmup show from his phone, prepped after a win in Saudi Arabia and confident from his maiden win here last year. You were just happy to have today off to a better start compared to yesterday, despite the fact that the heavy humidity was already making your skin prickle in protest.

Just as a comfortable silence settles over the table, punctuated by the clink of cutlery and the distant shout of an engineer, Hannah breezes over, a whirlwind of energy. You hadn’t seen her for a few weeks either, as she had needed to go home to California for a bit but with the race being state-side this weekend, she was able to make it.

“If it isn’t my two favorite love birds.” Hannah teases as she pulls out a chair before plopping down beside you. “I heard you guys caused quite the PR nightmare yesterday.”

You scoff, looking pointedly at Lando. “Hey now, that wasn’t my fault!”

Lando rolls his eyes, dismissing Hannah’s teasing with a wave of his hand. “It’s fine. I made it up to her last night, didn’t I baby?”

The smug look on his face has Hannah choking on her water and you reaching over to swat at his arm while you shout, “Lando Norris!”

Lando holds his hands up in a show of mock innocence, “What? You’re going to look at me and tell me that I’m wrong.”

Brows raised, you have to admit can’t really argue with him. As soon as he had gotten you back to the hotel room late last night, your clothes had been on the floor and had remained there until Lando’s alarm had gone off early this morning. He had pulled you to the edge so many times over the course of the night, in both his bed and this morning in the shower as you were getting ready for the day that you were still deliciously sore as you sat next to him in the paddock.

“Okay, that’s enough from you two.” Hannah says, nose wrinkled in distaste. “Come on,” She stands before turning to you, hands on her hips. “Can we go find Alexandra? Ferrari always has the best iced coffee, better than anything Red Bull has.”

You laugh, leaning over to press a kiss to Lando’s mouth. “Yeah, I need some extra caffeine this morning, don’t I Lan?”

“Enough!” Hannah groans.

“You’re both traitors.” Lando mutters as he watches you take a few steps away. “McLaren’s coffee is just fine.”

“Oh stop. You know that is total lie.” You say, hands on your hips. “Ferrari has the best food in the paddock.”

Lando captures your waist in his arms, pulling you closer. If he was going to suffer the backlash from the comms team after his little slip up yesterday, he was certainly going to enjoy his new found freedom in being able to paw at you openly in public. “Fine, but don’t forget I need a good luck kiss before quali this afternoon.” He says, bottom lip poking out in a over exaggerated pout.

Hannah rolls her eyes, “You can have her back for lunch, Lando. I told you we’d share custody of her, didn’t I?”

“Fine, but make sure she’s back in time so I don’t have to send out the authorities to look for her. I don’t want to have to take you to court for modified visitation.”

“Okay! That’s enough with the divorced parents analogy, thank you!” You grab Hannah’s arm before the two can bicker over you even more. “Let’s go find some decent coffee before you two start drawing up a custody agreement.”

You and Hannah navigate the bustling paddock, weaving your way though the throngs of team personnel, media, and VIP guests. The air is thick with the smell of fuel and the hum of voices, loud and excited in anticipation of this weekend’s races. It doesn’t take long before you’re standing in front of Ferrari’s hospitality, a hive of activity surrounded by a sea of scarlet and yellow. After a few moments you spot Charles LeClerc’s girlfriend Alexandra sitting by herself at an outdoor table.

“There she is.” Hannah says, nudging you with her elbow. “Lets go say hi.”

You’d met Alexandra back in Japan and had instantly clicked with the brunette. You had a lot in common and had instantly bonded over your shared love of art and her dog Leo. You and Hannah approach, exchanging quick hugs and cheek kisses before quickly catching up on the latest gossip, most of which seemed to center around you lately. After catching up in the latest goings on and getting some of the coveted iced coffee you were craving, Hannah suggests a walk to stretch your legs before the first practice session.

“Let’s see if we can find some shade.” Alex suggests, gesturing towards a less crowded area of the paddock. “I’m already melting, this humidity is so gross.”

As the three of you stroll along, the noise of the garages fading into a dull roar, you find yourselves walking down a less frequented path towards the back corner of the paddock. The air is still thick with heat, but a slight breeze offers you a small reprieve and you start to feel your body adjust to the heat.

Suddenly, Hannah stops in her tracks, mouth dropping open when she spots a familiar figure standing a few feet ahead of your group. You follow her line of sight and when you see who she’s starting at your stomach flips very unpleasantly.

Allegra.

“What the fuck is she doing here?” You hiss, heart hammering so hard against your ribcage, you’re surprised you don’t bruise something.

“You don’t think Lando…” Alexandra lets the sentence hang in the air but you’re shaking your head before her thought is even completed.

“No, he showed me the messages between him and her weeks ago. There was never anything going on.”

“Well don’t look now but she’s coming over here.” Hannah warns, sliding her sunglasses up into her hair so she can fully glare at the blonde walking towards you with a smug grin on her face.

You thought it would probably not be a good look if you punched her, but you considered it anyways. As she approached you felt a pang of insecurity rush through you just looking at her long blond hair, wondering how she kept it looking so perfect in the Miami humidity. She was thinner than you, perfectly tanned and was flashing you a blindingly white smile that reminded you of a shark circling it’s prey.

“Well well,” Her voice is light and airy, the perfect innocent tone that would lull anyone into a false sense of security. “If it isn’t my replacement.”

Beside you, Alex huffs and you can practically hear her roll her eyes.

“Replacement?” You tilt your head to the side, studying her as if she’s a strange creature that’s crossed your path. You’ve dealt with mean girls before and have this act down pretty good, even if you have to fake it with the way your heart rate has jumped sky high since you saw her. “Honey, there was nothing to replace. You and Lando were never anything other than a desperate attempt to drum up some positive PR for the both of you, nothing more.”

To your surprise, Allegra smirks like a cat with a mouse in its jaws. “Then why did he invite me to Saudi Arabia a few weeks ago?”

You blink, caught off guard at her question. You’d heard through the grapevine that she had been spotted skulking around the circuit and in the city but nothing had surfaced proving that she had been at the race. Had Lando invited her? Your previous confidence in his sincerity waned for just a brief moment as you thought back to yesterday and how you felt like something had been off. Had you trusted Lando too quickly?

And then Alex spoke up.

“That’s a bunch of bullshit and you know it, Allie.” Allegra’s eyes flare in anger at the nickname you knew she reserved for Lando alone. “I was at the race all weekend and I didn’t see you at all. Not a single hint of that cheap perfume you’re wearing, and let me tell you, I can smell that shit from a mile away.”

You blink in surprise at your friend. If there was one thing Alex was, it was quiet. Once you got her alone, she was downright chatty but out in the paddock with the public? She was quite reserved.

“Just because you didn’t see me doesn’t mean I wasn’t in his hotel room all weekend.”

Now it was your turn to laugh, the doubt that had been clutching at your heart for the last few moments dissipating as quickly as it had come. “I was on FaceTime with him pretty much any time he was in his room, Allie.”

“It’s Allegra.” She hisses.

“What are you even doing here?” Hannah asks, taking a sip of her coffee before flicking her gaze away from the blonde as if she was bored out of her mind. “Did you not see Lando’s interview with Crofty yesterday? Their posts right after?”

“I know a PR relationship when I see one.” She sniffs but you can tell you’ve unnerved her. Allegra hadn’t totally thought this through. Either that or she was just dumb enough to think that she could have the upper hand here still.

“Of course you do!” You laugh, swirling the ice around in your coffee. “You spent the last year pretending to date someone who barely tolerated you.”

As Allegra sputters, searching for a response, your phone begins to ring. “Hi baby.” You say, glaring directly at woman opposite you who has turned bright red in the last few moments. “Yeah, of course, we’ll be right there. We’re just finishing up with a fan. Of course I’ll say hi for you. See you soon!”

You swear you see steam coming out of Allegra’s ears as you glance over at Hannah and Alex next to you. “Lando got out of his engineering meeting early and apparently feels the need for a pre-practice kiss.” You turn back to Allegra, smirk on your face. “Athletes and their superstitions, am I right?”

Before Allegra has a chance to respond, you spin on your heel and walk away, leaving her standing in a deserted part of the paddock alone.

When you’re out of earshot of her, Hannah speaks up, her voice wary. “Should we tell Lando she’s here? Maybe McLaren PR? I don’t think that’s going to be the last time we hear from her this weekend.”

You shake your head, “Not right now. Lando doesn’t need any distractions. He was pretty anxious this morning about the sprint and I don’t want anything to take his focus away from that. I’ll tell him tonight.”

The darkened hotel room was a stark contrast to the frantic energy of the Miami paddock that you had spent your day in. The air conditioning hummed softly, a cool, artificial breeze that did little to dissipate the residual heat that was clinging tightly to your skin. Outside, the city throbbed with the sounds of Miami on a Friday night. It felt as though everyone was out enjoying everything that the city had to offer, but in the hotel room that you shared with Lando? The suffocating silence that hung in the air was almost too much to handle.

Sprint qualifying had been a complete disaster, a series of unfortunate events that included a deleted push lap in SQ3 and getting stuck in dirty air behind George on his second attempt. The difficulties had resulted in a disappointing P7 start for tomorrow, further advancing Lando’s distaste for sprint weekends. He’d carried that frustration back to the hotel, the tension radiating off of him in palpable waves as he laid on the bed in just his boxers. Even with you wrapped around him, his normal playful demeanor was replaced by a dark, brooding intensity.

You weren’t feeling much better though, to be honest. Seeing Allegra earlier in the day had really spooked you. Lando hadn’t made any indication that he knew she was here this weekend and you still fully believed that he hadn’t invited her to the Saudi race but there was something so unsettling about her presence here. Like she had expected to be welcomed back into Lando’s orbit with open arms. Like you didn’t even exist to her. It felt disrespectful and unnerving to have her in town, even if you felt secure in your relationship with your boyfriend.

The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable, broken only by the soft rusty of the sheets as you tracked idle patterns on Lando’s skin with your fingertips. Your boyfriend’s love language was touch and even if he was silent and broody now, you knew that having you here, legs tangled with his, fingers running up and down his tanned skin, was good for his mood. The warmth radiating off of his body felt charged though, almost volatile and you knew Lando was busy battling his own demons, replaying the day’s events over and over in his head, trying to figure out where he went wrong and how he could blame himself even further.

You also knew you had to tell him about what happened earlier. If he found out from anyone other than you, it would be a disaster. The unspoken tension in the room was becoming unbearable but you knew you needed to tell him, no matter how bad his reaction was.

Finally, you decide to break the silence.

“I need to tell you something and I don’t think you’re going to take it very well.” You murmur, shifting so you’re on your side, propped up by your elbow.

Lando turns to you then, eyes dark and stormy. This was shit timing and you both knew it but you had to get it out in the open. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

The thought of another shitty thing happening today nearly sends Lando into a tailspin. The way you were talking had him thinking worst case scenario. With the way this weekend was going, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what it was you had to tell him.

“Allegra is here.” You say, the words hanging in the air like a fragile confession, the weight of them settling between you two.

Lando’s body stiffens ever so slightly but you notice it immediately, the sudden surge of tension rolling through his body telling you everything you need to know. He turns his head to meet your gaze and you’re struck by how dark and guarded his eyes are. Your normally goofy, playful boyfriend is nowhere to be seen. Unable to resist, you lift your hand to card your fingers through his still shower-damp curls, a move you know calms him and soothes out the rough edges of his anxiety.

“What? How do you know?” He asks, his voice so low you almost miss the question.

“When Hannah and I went to Ferrari this afternoon we ran into her in the paddock.”

“Babe, why didn’t you tell me earlier?” He asks, frustration sneaking its way into his voice.

Biting your lip, you second guess your decision to keep this from him until now. Knowing how shit qualifying had been though, it only takes a moment before you’re firm in your belief that you did the right thing. “I didn’t want you to be distracted. I know how are when you get inside your head and I didn’t want her to ruin this weekend for you.”

Which is exactly what was happening.

Lando turns away from you then, limbs untangling from yours. Your skin is instantly chilled after losing his body heat and you have to restrain yourself from moving to follow him across the bed. Lando may be a pretty physical person but you knew how to read his body language well enough to know exactly what he was feeling. Everything that he was communicating to you with the way his shoulders were set, his jaw tight, eyes unfocused on the dark ceiling above him told you that he needed space.

“Fuck.” He whispers, scrubbing his hands over his face, the slight stubble starting to make its way back on his face after not shaving this morning.

“Don’t be mad at me.” You plead, unable to keep the anxiety out of your tone.

Lando rolls back over towards you, eyes soft with regret. “I’m not mad.” He assures you, reaching out to pull you closer to him. You practically sigh in relief when he slots his thigh between your legs, hitching your top leg over his hip. He drags a finger down your jaw as he pastes a smile on his face, one that you know is for your benefit only. You can still see the pain and regret in his eyes as he holds your gaze and you know he’s thinking about how Allegra nearly ruined everything that he had with you.

“I’m not mad at you.” He repeats himself, more for your benefit than his own. “I know why you did it and I appreciate it. I’m just so fucking frustrated that she’s here. It’s just another reminder of…everything that I’d rather put solidly in the past.” He pulls you closer, nose nuzzling into the crook of your neck where he mouths at the skin there. “I don’t like thinking about how close I was to losing you.”

Dragging a single finger up and down the toned line of his bicep, you can’t help the smile that finds its way onto your lips when Lando visible shudders at your touch. “But you didn’t in the end and that’s what matters the most, isn’t it?” You murmur, lips finding his in the dim room. Pressing your hips into his, you try to remind him that you’re real, you’re here and you’re not going anywhere. You couldn’t bare to lose him any more than Lando could bare to lose you.

“It’s just such a mess. A mess I know you don’t want to be brought into. You’ve worked so hard for the reputation you have and here I come, threatening everything you’ve built because I allowed myself to get talked into a fake relationship with a woman I can’t stand.”

You pull back to Lando’s forced to look at you fully. The anguish you see on his face sends a sharp shock of pain cutting across your chest so brightly it steals the breath from your lungs. “I want you to listen to me, okay?” You wait, staring pointedly at Lando until he nods his head in agreement. “She can come and try to ruin what I’ve built, what we’ve built together these last few months but she’s not going to succeed. You have proof of what she was to you and that was nothing more than a PR thing. Sure, it might be embarrassing for that shit to get made public but we’ll get through it.” You pause to lean forward, pressing your lips to his. “Together.” You murmur against Lando’s mouth.

Lando pulls you closer to him, deepening the kiss but its you that runs your tongue along the seam of his mouth, a silent ask for him to open for you, which he does immediately. The warmth that floods your blood has you rolling your hips into his, desperate for more friction. You know Lando is in a mood and you’d do anything to smooth out the rough edges of his troubled mind.

“Please don’t give her one more thought tonight, okay? We’ll figure this out but right now, I want to make sure you feel better. Can I do that? Can I make you feel good?” You murmur against his heated skin as you drag your mouth away from his lips, down his jaw, towards the thick column of his neck.

You take the moan that rumbles through Lando’s chest as permission to do exactly what you’ve just asked. Usually it’s him taking charge when you two are together like this but tonight there’s something different crackling in the air. You can tell he needs to be taken care of, the combined stress of a tough day and then Allegra’s appearance in the paddock is weight heavy on his shoulders. With a gentle push of his shoulders, you roll your boyfriend onto his back before dragging a heated line down his neck towards the hollow of his throat.

Lando tangles his fingers in your hair, gently guiding you further down his body. You work slowly, teasing and nipping your way down his chest, stopping briefly to flick your tongue across one nipple. When he gasps at the way your teeth graze the sensitive skin there, you can’t help the grin that finds its way onto your face.

“Fuck, baby.” Lando breathes as you continue to move your mouth further down his body. The way you feel against his heated skin has the tension melting out of his muscles so quickly he barely has time to wrap his mind around how quickly the energy shifted between you. The way you always wanted to make sure he was taken care of, that he was okay, was something he’d never experienced before and he was certain that he’d do anything to make sure you never doubted his feelings for you ever again.

You reached the waistband of his boxers, the soft fabric a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his skin. With a slow, deliberate movement, you pushed them down, revealing how hard Lando already was for you. His breath hitched, a low groan escaping his lips as he lifted his hips slightly, a silent plea for you take him in the way he desperately needed you to.

Your hands graze the thick corded muscles of his thighs as you finally take him in your mouth, the taste of him, salty and musky and familiar to you now, filling your senses. You moved slowly at first, teasing the sensitive tip with your tongue, eliciting a series of soft moans from deep within his chest. You ran your tongue up along the underside of his length, tracing the vein that runs up the underside of his cock.

“God, that mouth.” Lando moans as he gathers your hair together in a makeshift ponytail to give him something tug on. He knows how much you like that, when he guides you to the places that give him the most pleasure with a rough tug of your hair. It has you squeezing your thighs together, which you barely ignore, wanting to remain solely focused on Lando and his pleasure tonight.

You begin to move with more urgency, your hand gripping at his thigh, eyes flicking up to look at him through wet lashes. Lando’s moans grow louder, his free hand reaching down to twine his fingers with your hand, giving it a squeeze to let you know how much he’s enjoying this. He’s lost in the sensation of being surrounded by your wet, warm mouth, the tension that had gripped him all day finally melting away. The way you took all of him without hesitation, whimpering when his hips force his dick deeper towards the back of your throat grounds him, reminding him that he’s got someone to share the good and the bad now, that he’s not alone and you’re in this thing together.

The way he reacts to the way you take him has heat pulsing between your legs. Unable to keep your fingers to yourself anymore, you let go of Lando’s hand before trailing your fingers down between your legs. It’s not enough to really distract you, but the pressure from your fingers against your clit is enough to dull the aching need that you know you’re going to need to deal with later.

Lando bucks his hips against your mouth, his moans turning to ragged gasps as you take him even deeper. The way you swallow against him has a desperate whine spilling from his lips in a way that sends zaps of electricity straight to where your fingers are currently working over your wet pussy. He was so close, you could feel it in the way his thighs were tensing beneath the hand that gripped at his taut flesh.

“Gonna swallow all my cum baby? I’m so fucking close. I want you to swallow every drop of me, can you do that for me?”

You’re too preoccupied to give him a proper answer, not wanting to let go of the heavy length of him that sits so solidly in your mouth so you just nod, hoping that its enough for him. It’s so grounding, so erotic the way you feel him twitching away in your mouth that you’re pretty sure you could spent the rest of the night with him in your mouth like this.

And then he’s there, right on the edge of release and you’re flicking your tongue against the sensitive head of his cock and with one last guttural moan, Lando spills into your mouth. The warm, salty cum slides down your throat as you hold him steady, allowing him to fuck up into your mouth as he crests over the waves of pleasure that you brought him to.

Lando’s eyes, still glazed over with pleasure, find yours as he reaches out to trace the curve of your cheek, his touch gentle, almost reverent. “Holy fuck, baby. Thank you” He croaks out, voice raspy as the exhaustion of the day settles over him. He’s soft and pliant like this and you continue to hold him in your mouth, waiting until he’s fully come down to release him with a soft pop.

He pulls you up his body, his lips finally finding yours in a slow, tender kiss that says more than he could ever find the words. His mouth works yours over, the taste of his own release still on your lips. “You’re too good to me.” He murmurs against your lips as he tucks you against his side. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll repay the favor, okay?”

You hum, eyes drifting shut as the warmth of Lando’s body sinks deeper into your muscles. “It’s okay, this is enough for me right now. Go to sleep for a bit and we can take a shower later tonight, okay?”

“What did I do to deserve you?” Lando wonders before his eyes flutter shut and he allows a deliciously satisfying sleep to pull him under.

tag list: @shelbyteller, @martygraciesversion381, @samantha-chicago, @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99 @luckylampzonkland, @aykxz98 @forensicheart @cheer-bear-go-vroom @lieutenantchaos @willowsnook @linnygirl09 @meglouise00 @mixedstyles @secret-agents-stole-my-bunnies @mrosales16 @charlesgirl16 @leclercdream @daemyratwst @dramaticpiratellamas @mochimommy2002 @llando4norris @iamaunknownsecret @maxivstappen @imlonelydontsendhelp @nina-or-anna-or-nora @a1leexxa @littlegrapejuice @sunflowervol18 @freyathehuntress @finn-dot-com @swiftie-4-lifes-stuff @chirasama @lauralarsen @dr3wstarkey @saskiaalonso @rbv3rstappen @ilovechickenwings @guaaafiiburg @mcmuppet @mindless-rock @piastri-fvx @mel164 @schumi-angel @myescapefromthislife @supertrashbread @sunny44 @tinystudentblaze-stuff @sarx164 @xoxomansee

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sierrale8ne · 5 months ago

Text

40 DAYS AND 40 NIGHTS BONUS CHAPTER

pairing wnba!paige bueckers x singer!oc

taglist @thaatdigitaldiary @ohbueckers @wbbgetsmewetter @rosemariiaa @tndaqlwifwy @pboogerswbb @xxloveralways14 @makethemhoesmad @slvt4her @luvapaigeeyy @hedidnotpleaseme @paigesbabygirl @mopopshop @omg-imtumbling @numberonepartyanth3m @wbb4l @authentic-girl03 @slut4uconnwbb @unadulteratedcyclepaper @kplum10 @fuddfanatic35 @avvwritesstufff @paigesluver @bueckersbitch @ryywyd @lupinqs @ohmybueckers

warnings sexual content

kalena speakss 🪽! i hit 1k last night so i figured it would be perfect to give you guys this lil thing. thank you guys so much for all the love since i joined this community, i can’t wait to put out more works for y’all 🥹 THANK YOU AGAIN FOR 1K!

August 2025 — Los Angeles, California

“You’re really about to go have drinks and leave me here? All by myself?” I whine, my head resting on the mirror where I sit on Raye’s bathroom counter.

The last month of being with Maraye has been nothing short of an adventure to say the least. The honeymoon phase was absolutely real, because I honestly think we’ve spent more time with one another than apart. Aside from my last road trip.

Which I believe is the sole reason for my complaining and frowning in front of her right now.

“I’ve had these plans for weeks. I haven’t seen my girls in forever, it’s the first time everyone’s back in LA.” She explains to me, and I get it. I really do, but something about just landing last night and only getting a few kisses before bed makes the fact that she’s going out even more ridiculous in my head.

“Yeah, but I haven’t seen you in forever. Do you just hate me, or what?” I continued. I reach for the belt loop of Raye’s denim skirt, pulling her in between my legs. “Ma, c’mon.”

She has this look on her face that makes it so hard to act upset. Wide eyes and a thin lipped cheeky smile. Concealer dabbed under her eyes, blush on her cheeks, Raye got her lashes done yesterday morning and the fresh set makes her dark rimmed eyes look even more enticing.

My girlfriend is fucking hot. I’ve had the privilege of having my eyes blessed by her since we started dating. But God, even the simplicity of her black top and jean skirt— with the tiniest sliver of skin on her stomach showing and skirt just short enough to bring a lot of dirty thoughts to my imagination— makes the realization stick to me like glue.

“You look good.” I murmur as I trail my hand behind her. It finds a home against her waist at first, but I could only be tempted to drag it lower over her ass. “Real fuckin’ good.”

“I know. Which is why I’m going out.” Raye jeers. She pushes off of me, reaching for her just slightly pink lip gloss. It’s sheer when she swipes it over her plump lips, a nice color contrast to the dark brown of her lip liner.

My fingers tap frustratedly against my knee. “Baby. Jus’ stay wimme, c’mon.” I groan again, hoping that my combination of puppy eyes and the line of my jaw is enough to convince her. I watch the way Raye pats her lips together and I know it’s not on purpose but it sure as hell feels that way.

“You had all day to try to keep me home. You didn’t care until I got all dressed up, P.” She rolls her eyes playfully. Raye shutting off the light and leaving me in the darkness of her bathroom. The sexy scent of her Jimmy Choo perfume briefly puts me in a trance but I get up and follow her anyway.

“That’s ’cause I didn’t expect you to look this…this fucking fine.” My bottom lip can’t help but travel between my teeth as I watch her walk, her boots clicking against the hardwood of her apartment.

“That’s not my problem, babe.”

I scoff. “Don’t go out with ‘em, Raye. You’re telling me we wouldn’t have more fun here?” My voice is suggestive, just enough to make her stutter in her step before slowly pivoting to face me.

She’s processing what to say, and a part of me is begging that she’s going to take her boots off and throw herself at me so I have her as I want for the rest of the night.

Raye struts over to me, pressing her palm against my cheek. We’re nearly at eye level like this, the smell of her hair product wafts up to my nose. I jut my lips out towards her, to be honest I’m not sure I even realized how genuinely needy I was until right then.

“‘M gonna get lipgloss on you.” She sighs.

“On my life, I don’t give a shit.”

It seems enough to get her to give in, enough for Raye to lean in and pull me to her by my tank top, slotting her lips against mine. She tastes like that same faint, sweet, coconut scent of her body wash.

I immediately reach for her hands, lacing her fingers with mine and dragging her other hand down my torso as I deepen the kiss.

She grips the waistband of my shorts, my tongue doesn’t even bother being gentle with the way I shove it between her lips, licking at her tongue in a tangled exchange.

Seemingly, she forgets that she had places to be, which fills me with a sense of pride that sends a rush through me, I think I’ve probably soaked my boxers into nothing by now. Maraye’s phone buzzes in her purse, making her hum in almost…realization.

“They can wait.” I grunt against her lips, our teeth continuing to clash in pure want.

Raye breaks the suction of our mouths, a vulgar popping noise cutting through the soft noise of the TV in the back.

“You can wait.”

“It’s been forever, ma. You gon’ let me go over a week without you? For real?”

A laugh erupts from her mouth, Raye’s thumb brushing under my lip, probably ridding me of any of her now transferred lip product. “There’s food on the stove, don’t touch my AC, and I promise—” the girl pauses, taking the opportunity to sneak a kiss off of me, “— I’ll let you have whatever you want when I get back.”

I can’t do anything more than sigh as I watch her walk away, the sway of her hips and swell of her ass and the light that her kitchen illuminates on those long, brown legs. She picks up her keys and slings her jacket over her arm.

Within seconds she’s gone.

—

When I got to the bar, enveloped in conversation with my girlfriends from college, all it really took was a few shots to get me going. The conversation flowed easily, like we really hadn’t even been apart for as long as we really did. I was having a good time. Which honestly, is surprising considering how much work I’ve been doing for the last handful of months.

The night was calm, the soft noise of 2000’s music pumping through the speakers and the occasional cheers at the expense of tipsy women dancing only a few feet away.

That was until Paige, even as wonderful and perfect as I think she truly is, decided to use my obvious obsession towards her to her advantage.

paige: You doin alright angel?

Yk without your amazing girlfriend and all read 10:38pm

I sip on my margarita, the heat of the alcohol and the almost sudden heat in the pit of my stomach is so strong that they’re one and the same. This is how it starts with her, I’ve learned. Short texts, asking how I am or about my whereabouts. I always find the second question amusing considering she has my location. It’s distracting in a way that makes me forget where I am.

“Oh my God, look at Cass.” My good friend who sits to my left, Nia, points up to my sister. The woman is obviously shit faced, too many drinks taken by this part of the evening. She dances carelessly alongside a few of the other girls.

“I swear she only had a few?” I look shocked, taking a mental note and making sure the only thing Cassie has to drink for the rest of the night is water.

“Multiply that by like, four.”

My ready response is immediately cut off by another text, the blinding light that comes from Paige’s contact makes me roll my eyes.

paige: Read? Wow what position y’all in rn 10:40pm

maraye: oh my god you’re dramatic as hell 😭

i’m fine baby, u? 10:41pm

paige: Nah not rlly

I’m wet as fuck rn just thinking about you

Made a mess on your couch :/ 10:42pm

My breath catches in my throat, coming off as a gasp to Nia. “You okay?”

“Yeah, ‘m fine. Imma head to the bathroom real fast.” I explain, trying my best to mask any possible stutter as I stand up, fixing my skirt. She doesn’t say much, which is a relief to me as I dart off to the bathroom in the back.

This is classic Paige, trying to do anything to get in my head just because she can. And as much as I’d hate to admit that it’s working, it is.

The way she was so straightforward about it, drawing me into the conversation with lighthearted Paige-esque texts only to flip the script into something much more filthy within a matter of minutes.

I lean my back on the singular porcelain sink, gripping my phone in my hands. I reopen our text thread, racking my brain for what to say to her that won’t lead to me making a mess out of my panties.

maraye: paige quit itttt

i literally just got here 10:44pm

paige: I literally don’t care 🤷🏼‍♀️

Can’t get your ass in that skirt outta my head

Got my fingers all sticky and shit 10:45pm

I swear my heartbeat speeds up times fucking ten, my chest heaving like she sucked all the air out of my lungs without even being here.

The picture she just painted in my head makes my knees weak.

Hot and bothered even more than before I left. Paige’s fingers, long and so ridiculously skilled, between her thighs as she got off to me. The thought of her imagining me or looking at pictures of me, it’s so downright dirty that I can’t believe I didn’t indulge in sexting with her before this.

I take a deep inhale, wanting to blink back my thoughts of her coming on my couch, my name off of her lips like a prayer.

paige: 1 Attachment: 1 Video

I think you should come back home 10:47pm

Fumbling with my phone I finally tap the screen and get the video open. It’s pitch black at first, then the view of her lower body fills my whole screen. Paige’s legs spread wide on my couch, a foot propped up on the armrest as she lets out an audible groan.

Her hand tugs up the hem of her wife beater, then her fingers rub circles over her clit. The sound of how wet she is loud, too loud, almost drowning out her moaning. I whine, crossing my legs and shutting my eyes. Maybe if I stopped looking at her I would keep what was left of my sanity.

And then she moans my name, again. My full name. Over and over and fucking over. I can’t help but drag my hand under my skirt, over my panties.

Then she slips three fingers inside, the stretch is obvious but the moan she lets out. Paige curls her fingers inside herself, I watch the camera tremble in response— she’s struggle to hold it still.

Then she’s slamming them in and out, a repetition that makes her almost cry. It sounds like water sloshing on the other side of the phone. Wet. Wet and fucking messy until she comes with a sound that could really only be described as a scream.

maraye: fuck baby 10:50pm

paige: I can’t stop cumming ma

Needa fuck you so bad

Come home 10:50pm

My breathing is ragged, and I know I shouldn’t but I’m considering it heavily. It’s so hard to believe that not even two weeks without her was making me act like this but it was.

maraye: you gotta come get me 10:51pm

paige: Otw read 10:52pm

—

"So, What'd you tell 'em?" I murmur. We sit at a red light, my left hand gripping the steering wheel so hard that even in the late night lighting you can tell how strained they are. But my right hand, trails slowly up Raye's thigh. She didn't fight me, not at all, her legs spreading further in the seat of my Jeep.

I can feel the warmth exuding from her before I even get a chance to press against her cunt.

"Hmm?"

"Your girls. What was your excuse, ma?" I ask again, pressing my foot to the gas pedal as soon as that green light flashes in my face.

My fingers take their time traveling towards her center and the second they do, Raye adjusts in the seat. She pushes her hips up the leather, tipping her head back on the head rest.

"Told 'em you needed a good fuck?" I pull her panties aside, and the second they touch my fingertips I learn that she's fucking soaked. "That you were so fuckin' needy that you had to go home to me, huh?"

The soft sound of PartyNextDoor fills the car alongside the soft hum of pleasure from Raye's lips. My eyes dart down to her, the way she has her eyes glued shut, the heavy rise and fall of her chest. Then I follow the slope of her nose and the tip of her head. The city streetlights make her look like an angel, just glowing.

"Y’were the one begging for me." She groans as I slip my finger inside. The angle puts a slight strain on my wrist but I don't really care. I look back to the road, it's pure luck that the roads tonight are kind of empty.

“It worked tho’ right? Got you just how I want you.” I smirk at the fact, tapping my free hand against the steering wheel.

Raye is so damn warm against me, hugging my middle finger like a vice. "So jus' lemme know. Did you say how wet I make you, that's why you couldn't stay?"

"Oh fuck you." She moans, biting her lip so hard that I think she might draw blood.

“Imma do that, baby. Trust me.” I hum.

Maraye is reactive, if it’s the one thing I’ve noticed about having sex with her, it’s that. Sure the sound of her pussy around my finger is loud but her moans might be louder. Then when I slip in a second finger she lets out a whimper, an almost helpless one.

She tries to steady herself, splaying a hand on my center console but it only does so much. It stabilizes her for a moment until I curl my fingers in that way I know she likes. Her hips jerk up, riding up her skirt in the process.

“You tryna run? I thought you knew better than that, Raye.” I shake my head. I’m lucky we’re on a straight road, it gives me enough time to briefly let my hand leave the wheel to pin her hips down to the seat.

“Y—you’re so good.” She groans, blinking her eyes open. “M’gonna cum.”

I make a swift turn onto her street, racking my brain for all the ways I could turn this woman to putty until the sun came up. “Nah you gonna hold it until we get to yours.” I mutter, dragging my fingers in and out with a fervor. “Then you’re gonna let me fuck you with my cock.”

I watch her jaw fall slack at my words, either in shock or pleasure but regardless it’s addicting. She nods rapidly, whining as I slow my fingers until they’re barely even moving inside her and I finally get a chance to park the car.

“More, baby. Mor—”

“Gonna soak me up the way you’re soaking my seat. Jus’ fuckin’ up my car, huh? You’re gonna give it to me.” I turn my body to face her, gripping her chin so she’s looking at me. My fingers twist inside of her, the squelch of it all catches us both off guard. “Imma stretch you out so wide it hurts. Ruin that pussy, yeah?”

“Yes. God, yes.” Raye nods.

Her eyes roll back, more than enough to make me moan and pull my fingers out. They’re soaked with her arousal, a sheen that drips to my palm. I’m wrapped in the scent of her— sex, perfume, and coconut— a combination that makes me drip down my legs.

“Then let’s go.” I mutter, turning off the car sticking my keys into the pocket of my shorts. My hand comes up to my lips, cleaning them of the mess she had made. “Lemme get you right.”

—

Paige is fucking hot.

Her skin burns under my touch, yes, but it’s everything else too. How her lips chase after mine like I could run away, capturing my bottom lip in her mouth. Her tongue licking past my lips, into my mouth, and onto my tongue.

Our clothes are mostly long gone, my boots and skirt laying somewhere near my front door, and the rest of them occupied random spots across my bedroom floor.

And then that damn harness.

The first time we had sex and she brought up the strap I thought it was all a ploy to turn me on. Don’t get me wrong, it worked, made me cum so hard my legs shook until I fell asleep. But seeing it, seeing the way the dildo hangs from her hips— a long and girthy dark purple— made me drool.

She was blatantly vulgar with it, my cock, the words off her lips so dirty that i’m surprised they turn me on as much as they do. But that’s just Paige, everything she does turns me on.

She tangles her hand behind me to the clasp of my bra which she unclips and forces down my arms. Following that, a slap meets my ass hard. Hard enough that I’m almost positive she left a bruise.

“I been dreaming about this shit, y’know?” She starts. Her teeth nip at my lips, soothing the slight sting with short and soft pecks. “Tearin’ it open, how good that shit would feel.”

I hum against her, letting the blonde push me back against the bed. “That’s what got you so worked up, baby?” I tease. Paige watches me with wide eyes and an even wider mouth as I trail my panties down my legs, they’re soaked from her stunt over the phone and in the car.

“Fuck, Raye, y’ont even know.” She groans.

I watch the way her eyes flutter shut, like she’s imagining it all over again, and her hand travels to the strap. Her hand wraps around it, enough to remind me of how fucking huge her hand is. She strokes it as if it’s an extension of her. There’s a faint buzzing that I hear on the other end, and just knowing she’s getting off too makes this whole thing even more appealing.

“Been thinking about splitting me open, yeah?” I ask as my hands travel up to my chest, gripping my breast before bringing my other hand to my mouth. I’m putting on a show for her licking my fingers and shoving them between my legs, rubbing over my clit. “Make me cum on your cock, baby. Please?” I beg, widening my legs to make room for her.

“Scoot back.” The blonde instructs. And I do. I know better than to work her up some more.

I watch my girlfriend’s spit drip from her mouth and onto the tip as she hovers over me. She spreads it over the silicon before spitting on my cunt too. Paige teases the tip against me and I swear the minute she pushes it inside me, my body heat rises uncontrollably.

“Oh my—shitttt, baby!” I think I feel it in my chest, the pressure that fills me completely. My inner thighs sting as she slides the dildo in to the hilt, letting out a soft gasp that matches my expletive. Paige’s arms cage me in, palms pressed against beside my head as she starts rocking her hips.

I’ve had my fair share of sex and sexual experiences, but this right here, makes everything else I’ve ever done look like child’s play. The stretch is unbelievable. And even if Paige had taken it upon herself to try and prep me with her fingers all this time, they don’t even compare.

It’s so intimate, Paige’s breath fanning against my face and her thin silver chain dangling against me too. Her strokes are slow, and deep. Incredibly deep. She reaches a spot inside of me that hasn’t been tapped before, and she does it fast, almost instantly.

“Talk to me, pretty girl.” She murmurs in my ear. Paige’s hand wraps around my waist, raising my hips just enough to make my eyes water. “Tell me how that pussy feelin’.”

I gasp. “So… so fuckin’ good. Mmmm it’s perfect, baby.”

Paige speeds up, not rapid but just enough that I’m arching my back and throwing my hips down against her. My legs curl around her hips to pull her in deeper.

“Oh shit.” Paige grunts, the vibrator against her cunt coupled with the movement of my hips is stimulating her heavy. “This whatchu needed? Just good dick, yeah? He wasn’t hittin’ it right?”

I dig my nails into her biceps, which are huge from her All-Star break workouts, and shake my head. Her eyes flutter open, lip tucked between her teeth. She looks fucking incredible, Paige’s hair is down for the first time in a while. She’s always pulling it back, but right now with the way it shadows us in a curtain is goddess like.

“Answer me, angel.”

“Uh huh, yes! Fuck yes, I needed it so bad, P.” I moan. Paige only briefly pauses to change her angle, but then she’s right back against me. Skin to fucking skin. She unhooks my leg from around her, pushing it back as far as she could.

Her nose brushes against my own. “You take me so good. Keep suckin’ me up, ma.”

My eyes roll as the coil in my stomach tightens, I don’t think I’ve ever come this fast in my life. The way the strap rakes laboriously into my cunt is toe curling. “Needa cum. Let me, please.” I hiccup. My fingers tangle into her hair, tugging her locks slightly.

“Tell me you love it.”

Those five words are enough to make me fall under a spell. Paige’s voice is laced with fucking drugs, deep and breathy against my mouth.

“I love this shit. Love your cock, baby.” It comes out as almost a cry.

The admission makes Paige smirk and chase after my mouth, locking our lips in a kiss that draws the orgasm out of my body. She moans all high and drawn out into my mouth meshing our tongues messily.

“You wanna cum, Raye?” She stutters. I notice it, obviously. The change in her pitch and the way she slightly trips over her words. She’s close, probably overstimulated from her activities on my couch.

“Please?”

“I want it, baby. Cum for me.”

And I do. Gushing over the silicone almost instantly. Paige helps me ride it out, kissing the corner of my mouth before trailing her lips to my cheek. “Good girl. My perfect girl.” She hums.

She carefully pulls out, trying to be as gentle as she possibly can but I still hiss at the feeling. A whimper leaves my lips at the empty feeling, I miss her inside me already.

Paige flops beside me on the bed, she’s watching me catch my breath. I can feel her eyes on me even though i’m not looking at her. Her eyes like lasers, scanning over me. The blue says everything she’s yet to.

“Just say you wanna go again.”

She laughs at that while throwing her arm over my hip. It rests heavy on my abdomen. I finally turn my head to her, the sweat on her entire body only makes the chain on her neck glisten in the light.

“C’mere.” It comes out as a whimper and I can only assume it’s from the dull stimulation from the vibrator. Paige reaches for my hips, helping me straddle her hips. I happily lean down to her, kissing her perfect pink lips with a smile. “Ride it.”

I take the length in my hand, my release now decorating my palm. I tease my own entrance then sink down on it slowly. The feeling is even more foreign than taking her in missionary.

Before I even get the chance to take every inch my hands fly to her chest, I plant my palms on her for stability.

“Too big?” It’s one of the first times I’m unsure if she’s serious or just teasing. I press my forehead against Paige’s, my chest heaving and breathless moans leaving my mouth.

“N—No. Jus’ full. So full, P. Fuck.” I dart my head into the crook of her neck whining like an animal as she pushes me down her cock. I swear it sits in my stomach.

Her large and veiny hands grip my ass, she starts the pace off slow, using me like a fucking toy. “Y’know I gotchu.” Paige whispers into my ear.

“It’s—mmph— so fuckin’ deep. I can’t, baby.” I moan again, trailing my hand back to her hair as if the blonde locks would ground me.

It’s like Paige’s demeanor shifted within a matter of seconds. She’d been soft all night, at least for the most part, but the way her hand slaps my ass is anything but soft. “One month with me and you can’t take dick no more? What happened, mama? You were talking all that shit—”

I cut her off by getting on my toes and the first grind of my hips shuts her up. Her groan was thick, the kind of gruff sound that made it seem like she was barely hanging on herself. The blonde nips at my collarbone.

Paige watches me like a hawk, her breathing heavy and jaw slightly slack. “M’fucking God, Raye. Ohhh shit— you’re a fuckin’ slut.” She moans. Her body falls deeper into the stack of pillows, leaning back just enough to look over my body. My tits in her face and her strap sliding in and out of my soaked cunt.

“Your s-slut tho’. Right, baby?”

“Yeah. All fucking mine, ride me like a pro.”

The way her eyes snap shut makes me work harder. I bounce on the balls of my feet, any previous inhibitions disappearing as soon as I saw how good it was for her. How her legs trembled under me.

I bite my lip in an attempt to keep quiet, much to Paige’s dismay. She reaches for my bottom lip, untucking it from my mouth and forcing her thumb inside instead. I suck on it instantly, throwing my hips down harder.

“Feels so good, P…” I mumble around her finger. “S’in my stomach.”

“I know, ma. So tight, for me.” She groans. Paige’s hips snap up into mine, instantly ruining any rhythm I had for myself. I scream erupts from my throat, one I didn’t even know I was holding back until she does it again.

Her thumb leaves my mouth, hands gripping my hips, nails digging into the skin. I meet her halfway, matching her thrusts with my grinds. “Gonna cum. Need it, baby. Needa nut in this pussy, fuck.” Paige babbles, her better judgment clouded by the need to get off.

It’s sexy. Her voice frays around the edges, suddenly becoming much more weak than before.

“You love this pussy, right, baby?”

“Mmm. Love it, love this shit. Oh my God.”

There’s only been a few times I’ve gotten to see Paige fall apart. Like fully lose all of her dominance and just lose herself. This is easily one of those times.

“Raye, I’m— fuuckkkk, you feel so good, damn.” She tosses her head back, moan after moan meeting my ears as she finishes. And there’s a part of me, that hopes all the literal inaccuracies dissipate and she does come in me. Deep inside until I’m dripping with it.

That picture makes me work faster. She’s overwhelmed, clawing at my hips but I don’t care. The need to finish myself clouds my brain.

“Ma, hold on. Fuck, hold on.”

“Needa get mine too. Don’t be selfish, P.” I grumble. I sit back on my knees, grinding my hips back and forth. I don’t hold back anything for a single second, moaning and crying out her name. Paige’s hips jerk up, and that jerk pushes me over the edge.

I squirt. Hard.

I think I go blind for a minute, nothing but stars in my vision. Paige clutches my hips, I hear the whimper that comes from her. Getting off on my own orgasm.

When I finally stop, Paige is quick to turn the vibrator off, letting out a breath I didn’t even know she was holding in. She helps me off of her and my legs, that literally feel like jelly, give out immediately. I fall to her side, and the room is filled with a comforting silence.

Paige looks at me, it was caring at first, eyes silently asking me if I was alright. To which I responded with a small nod. Then it shifts. She looks smug.

“What?”

“I took your girl virginity.” She sings, making me roll my eyes.

“I hate you.” I mutter.

“Oh I bet you do.”

#sierrale8ne #kalena’s works ୧ ‧₊˚ 🍵 ⋅#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers smut #wbb smut #uconn wbb #la sparks #lesbian #my fic #40 days and 40 nights

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