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3amfanfiction · 5 months ago

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Picture Perfect pt 1

Lieutenant MacTavish confiscated your suggestive, racy photo when your then-boyfriend was waving it around, showing all his army buddies. If he then studied your picture and used it as wanking material for the next year, complete with a few domestic fantasies, that was nobody's business but his own; he wasn't hurting anyone. The picture was tucked away in a drawer, completely forgotten about until the day he came back from deployment as a captain with a nasty bullet graze and spotty memory. Cleaning out his desk, he found your photo again. He couldn't remember your name but he knew what you sounded like moaning his name. He didn't remember where you'd met but he knew he slipped a ring on your finger the night you both went out searching for the best garlic bread in the city. He wasn't sure if you had family but he knew what the silken clench of your cunt felt like around his fingers and cock. With all his unexpected free-time maybe he should track down his wayward wife. It had been too long since he'd seen you and he wasn't one to let things slip through his fingers. Whatever caused your separation would be dealt with, he wasn't going to lose you again.

3k words about Captain MacTavish finding his wife who he needs to re-woo. Nothing too serious, just a little scene.

His head ached as he cleaned out his desk, at least half due to his clenched jaw, muscles corded and knotted along the sharp jut of bone. Who did the brass think they were, putting him on indefinite leave just because of a bit of spotty memory. He remembered everything important! Everything that mattered was highlighted neon bright in his brain—the things that would keep his men alive, the pressure points of informants needed to complete the job. It was only the finer details that seemed to slip through his fingers like sand. What school he went to, when he'd graduated boot camp. A snarl crept across his face he gathered up everything in his desk drawer and threw it into a box. Talk about bullshit.

Slamming the drawer shut he turned to the next, scooping up handfuls of papers and knickknacks alike to be thrown haphazardly together, ready to be toted off home. He'd given up his life for the military and this was how they wanted to treat him? The first sign of something not going their way and they wanted to ship him off like trash. Like he couldn't do his job better than everyone on this goddamned base. Who had the longest streak of missions without a casualty? That's right, it was him.

Reaching into the back of the drawer he swiped around heatedly, looking for any remaining items he might have missed with his first pass. A smooth, glossy material met his fingertips and he pulled it out with an annoyed huff, turning to throw it into the box with the rest before taking in what was in his hand.

It was a picture.

A very pretty picture.

You were sat on the bed, suggestively posing for the camera, perched on your heels with a warm smile directed towards the lens. Eyes staring into his soul.

He knew this picture. He'd helped you take it, hadn't he? Or maybe you'd sent it to him? He couldn't quite remember the particulars but he remembered the photo. His pretty wife, all dolled up just for him in his favorite color. You'd sent it to help him through a deployment now that he was thinking about it. Something to remember you by while he was away.

As if he could forget you.

He slumped back into his chair holding the picture up to study it. Tilting it to keep the reflective shine off your face. Where was his wife at now? He knew he hadn't seen you for a while, but why? Why didn't you live together?

His head gave a particularly nasty throb and he tucked the thought away, refocusing. It didn't matter why you weren't together. He would find you and bring you home. He didn't believe in divorce and it was time to work through this separation. Plus, he had a plethora of unexpected free time suddenly staring him down. What better way to use it than to find an errant spouse.

Tucking the picture into his pocket, he started making plans to reach out to a few old friends. A name would be helpful but he was nothing if not resourceful.

\\\

You had just put the finishing touches on your dinner, aromatic herbs scenting the air when the doorbell rang. Wondering who would show up this late in the evening unannounced, you wiped your hands before heading to see. What greeted you was a mountain of a man with a flinty look on his face. A grown-out mohawk and bright blue eyes, weathered and creased, met your gaze before a slow smile broke out across his sternly handsome face.

"There you are, bonnie lass. No need to worry any longer, I'm home."

Without waiting for your response he ducked down to press a kiss to your cheek, his scruff scratching your skin before he pushed his way inside, letting a hand drag along your hip in passing. You shivered and shifted away, your mouth dropping open in shock.

"Wait—you can't come in," you spluttered, trying to place if you'd ever seen this man before. You followed him hesitantly to the kitchen where you saw he had found your silverware drawer and was taking a bite of your food hunched over the stovetop.

Watching him shovel the food into his mouth you observed the stranger, keeping a healthy distance between the two of you. You took in his disheveled hairstyle all the way down to his well-worn boots which he hadn't bothered to remove at the door. Asshole. He was already rude for storming in like he owned the place but to not have the common courtesy to pull his filthy shoes off before he tracked dirt all over your clean floors was beyond the pale.

"Better than I remember, hen."

Your eyes grew wide as you stared in shock at his audacity. "You can't just push your way into a strangers home and eat their food. Didn't your mother teach you any manners?" You mentally smacked yourself, pulling yourself back to heel quickly. Your mouth was going to get you into trouble one of these days.

"Ach, it's been a while since I'm talked with my mam. I hope you've been keeping in contact with her." Great blue eyes turned to pin you to your place, "It would break her heart if she stopped hearing from you."

You weren't going to even touch the double standards of that statement. Maybe if you were feeling a bit more sure of yourself but you felt firmly on the back foot right now.

"Why are you here?" you tried again, getting your thoughts back on track. "What is it you want?" Direct. To the point. You'd knows the man for less than a minute but you got the feeling he would steamroll right over the slightest hint of hesitancy from you. A wrecking ball in human form.

He paused, his hand halfway to his mouth loaded with another bite and gave you an obscure look, eyes glinting with something you couldn't make out.

"I'm here to bring my wife home, of course."

Of course. So simple. And it explained exactly nothing.

"Okay," you hedged, frowning at him. "I don't have her tucked away in a closet so what's that have to do with me?"

The stranger gave a mysterious smile before going back to your food. It was already halfway gone with the way he was inhaling it. A spark of annoyance traveled up your spine to sit with your shock and unease. You'd spent a good chunk of time making that and now you wouldn't even be able to enjoy it.

You'd really been looking forward to it too.

"Well?" you tried again. "Why are you in my house if you're looking for your wife? I certainly haven't seen her," and you wouldn't tell him even if you had. There was a indisputable manic glow coming from behind his eyes that made you wary. Some hind brain part of you perking up with a flashing 'danger' sign when you looked at this man who had commandeered your kitchen.

Scooping up the final bite, he dropped his spoon into the sink with a swallow and came over to you, reaching up to cup your face, thumbs rasping gently along your cheekbones. The way his fingers curved over the back of your skull kept his hands in place when you tried to pull away. "Just look at you, prettier than I remembered."

He did seem awfully entranced with you now that the food was gone. Eyes roving your face and trailing down to your stockinged feet before locking with yours once more. A small hint of a smile peeked through his sternness, a hint at brighter depths hidden behind the stone wall of his stoic expression.

Whether that brightness equaled kindness was still up for debate.

"I still don't know who you are or why you're in my house," you stammered, him finally relaxing enough to allow you to pull back out of his grasp. You took a shaky step backwards to put some distance back between the two of you.

"Gonna play it that way, are we?" he rumbled, his deep voice holding a bit of a growl. "All right. If I wooed you once I can woo you again, aye? I'm not above a bit of groveling to get you back where you belong." You were annoyed at the flutter you felt when he smiled charmingly down at you. Clearly a well-practiced expression on him. "Although you acting like you don't remember your husband's name is pretty hurtful. Are you a spiteful lass, then?" His smile changed to a there-and-gone smirk hiking up one side of his mouth, "I always did like them with a bit of bite."

You swallowed nervously.

"I think you need to leave," you tried, gesturing towards the front door. "I'm not your wife and there's no one else here so I'd appreciate it if you left." You tried to steel yourself, puffing up your chest to make yourself seem bigger and more self-assured. Hoping to dissuade him.

"We'll take it slow, I know better than to rush these things," he stated, dropping down to press a there-and-gone kiss to your forehead. "I'll be by tomorrow to fix that dripping faucet and then we can go for lunch."

Pulling your thoughts back into line you gaped at him. "Do not show back up at my house tomorrow," you told him, ire barely concealing the pleading lining every word but he wasn't listening. With a mockingly cheerful whistle he headed back towards the door, breezing out just as easily as he had breezed in.

You were left with a rumbling stomach and a quiet house, feeling like you'd just been sucker-punched. What just happened?

\\\

You weren't going to answer the door no matter how hard he knocked. You weren't home. Nobody was home so he should just leave.

Fretting on the couch, you glared at your entryway in outrage and uncertainty in equal measure. How long was he going to beat on your door? It already felt like it'd been going on for ages. You could barely hear yourself think with the way his hammering blows rattled the wood. You knew it wasn't the most secure and you were half worried he was going to take it off its hinges if this kept up.

You still weren't sure what happened last night.

After he left you scrounged up some dinner. Nothing like what you'd originally made but needs must. By the time you were finished you were beyond exhausted, the day's events draining you of every spec of energy. Deciding that you would deal with everything tomorrow you went to bed, certain that things would look different in the morning light.

What you hadn't counted on was tossing and turning all night, mind running a thousand miles an hour as you thought about your self-proclaimed 'husband' in all his glory. Why had he picked you to barge in on?

The only way you saw it was he was trying to con you out of or into something.

This whole 'wife' shtick could be a ploy he used with other unsuspecting people until he got whatever he wanted from them. This would hold a lot of weight if you had anything of value. Beyond a few pricey electronics there wasn't a whole lot you had.

And if he was trying to con you into something, well good luck to him. You were nothing if not stubborn and knowing someone was trying to pull a fast one on you ahead of time? You'd be able to dig your feet in until the problem went away.

But now it was noon and the problem was back at your house with no true plan in sight.

You didn't have a whole lot of options past hoping he went away. You'd rather not get the cops involved though you would if he seemed at all violent. You didn't have anyone who could come scare him away or talk to him for you. You were stuck hoping that he would get tired and leave. Hoping that he decided you were too much effort for whatever prank or ill plan he had hatched with you as the victim.

While your thoughts slowly spiraled you never noticed the pounding quieting before there was a rustle of bags and a scraping sound coming from the handle. What you did notice was your door suddenly swinging open, the stranger from last night standing back up to full height from where he'd been crouched, pocketing something in a swift movement.

"Salty lass, not letting your husband in when he's knocking at the door," he groused before brushing it aside, moving back towards the kitchen to deposit the bags he was holding on the table. "I brought lunch with so we could eat here and get to know each other again rather than going out. I don't much care for the stares," he gestured to his temple and the mass of scar tissue that furrowed from his brow back towards his skull. "There's a fantastic little deli not too far from my house. I couldn't remember what you liked so I got a few different options."

You could only stand and watch in dismay as he worked to pull food from the bags he brought, a well-worn tool bag set off to the side showed he planned to make true to his word from yesterday.

With the daylight and an absence of shock you were able to take him in, from his broad shoulders pulling at the cotton covering them—seams straining against his bulk as he moved around your kitchen pulling out plates and cups—down to his thick thighs, rounded and looking quite capable of running anyone down. You watched him do a double-take at the kitschy collection of mugs you owned before continuing on. In no time flat the table was set and he looked at you expectantly.

"Did you just pick the lock on my front door?" you finally gathered yourself enough to ask, still staring at him, not making a move towards the table. You kind of thought that only happened in tv shows and books, not in real life.

The stranger brushed it off with a wave of his hand, "Don't worry about all that, although we need to see about getting you some better security. You'll move into mine, of course. It's much more secure."

You did a double take at his presumption.

"You're joking. If anything I need better security from you."

This was ridiculous. What was the bit? What was he hoping to swindle from you with all of this? You didn't have spare cash—everything went straight to bills. Your apartment was decorated with items from the thrift shop, nothing he could hock. You had half a mind to let this play out—see it through to its end just to watch his mounting frustration.

"That's hurtful, hen. I know I've changed a bit over the years—got a few more scars than you probably remember—but I'm still me, aye? Still just Johnny, even though I'm a captain now." His chest puffed up on the word captain, clearly something he took pride in. You couldn't help the sardonic congratulations you shot his way, looking to stick a pin in his inflating ego.

He didn't seem to hear the tone you used and for the first time you saw a full, true smile break out over his face, nothing like the earlier smirks and half-hearted grins. It was shocking how much it changed his whole demeanor. Suddenly this stern, stoic man turned into a kid being complimented on their artwork.

For a split second you felt ashamed at yourself, that you could be cruel to someone like that, even if it was slight and mostly in your own head. Only for a moment though. You quickly remembered that he was in your house after picking the lock no less. It was annoying how easily he seemed to derail your thoughts and feelings.

He stepped closer to you as if he were about to sweep you into a hug, a loved one to share in a celebration with. You darted around the table instead, keeping it firmly between the two of you, wanting all the distance you could get from this handsome stranger.

You cleared your throat, "I'm sure your wife misses you," maybe you could redirect him? "You should go find her."

"Does she?" he asked with a quizzical smile, as if you were in on a joke together and he was playing along.

"Without a doubt."

"Well, I'll have to do everything I can to make sure she takes me back." With a jarring slap to his thigh he changed the subject. "Come sit down, it's time to eat."

You watched him warily for a moment, ensuring he wasn't going to lunge for another hug before hesitantly taking a seat. Looking at the food spread out in front of you, your mouth started watering like a traitor. You would be ecstatic at the offering if it wasn't your insistent pseudo-husband who brought it.

Pulling a dish towards you with a fleeting thought about poison, you let your mind wander to the sounds of chewing. What were you going to do? He clearly wasn't going to leave just because you told him to. He acted like you'd known each other for years

Maybe it was best to play along. You could act like a separated spouse and give him a to-do list a mile long to scare him away. You couldn't see another way out of this past being so odious and leaning into stereotypes hard enough that he got bored and stopped playing this unusual routine. And in the back of your mind you were worried about what would happen if you upset him by insisting too strongly that you weren't his spouse.

You looked at him, observing as he demolished his lunch. Hopefully it would wear the shine off of this spouse routine quickly. If he was picking the locks to get inside it wasn't like you could keep him out. Instead you'd wear him down, make him see that this wasn't really what he wanted and then he'd go on his way. Breeze out of your life the same way he'd breezed in.

With a plan firmly in place you took the time to enjoy your lunch. Might as well milk it for everything he'd give you while you were doing this and the food truly was delicious. He'd managed to get a little bit of everything so it was practically buffet style at your table. In no time flat you were stuffed.

Finishing your last bite you turned to look at him. Time to get started.

"You said something about fixing the sink?"

Part Two

#john mactavish x reader #soap x reader #captain mactavish x reader #fic: picture perfect

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jrpixarmilf · 4 days ago

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Tell Me I’m Your National Anthem

Bucky Barnes x Campaign Manager! Reader

Summary: Bucky wasn’t sure when this campaign stopped being about winning, and starting being about spending time with you.

Word Count: 16.8K

Authors Note: first fic in almost five years!! I’m back from retirement. Anyway, yes I know Bucky’s hair was long in thunderbolts but I don’t care!

Warnings: cursing, inaccuracies about American politics (it’s been along time since I was in a social studies class okay?), gratuitous use of italics, yearning, Alpine, mention of St*ve, and light violence, no use of y/n

You’d always liked a challenge.

As a kid, if the teacher said to write six paragraphs, you’d push yourself to ten. In college, you had interned all four summers, double majored in Political Science and Marketing. Worked full time and still graduated with honors. You even made time to go to like three parties.

Nothing changed when you got into politics.

You took the first job you could get your hands on out of college, and have been running since.

Unfortunately you’ve been running with some of the most infamous assholes Washington has ever seen.

You had a talent for fixing campaigns, tweaking strategies, and saving reputations. This unique skillset was perfectly suited to saving the careers of politicians with questionable tweets, and more often than not, bright red, southern roots.

It wasn’t the “making the world a better place” politics you had dreamed of, you still hoped that a few of the assholes who had hired might find it in themselves to make a few good decisions while in office.

That was until you started working for Bucky.

James Buchanan Barnes -former Avenger or something- was running for Congress and had asking your help.

Or more accurately, his Campaign manager was begging for it. An old friend, who was lucky enough to work with all of the good, kind people, you wished would hire you. All the people your candidates kept beating. You’d never had someone beg you to take their job before. So you agreed, part curiousity and part hope that maybe for once you’d get to see the side of politics you used to believe in.

You didn’t get your hopes up though. Preparing for the cycle to begin again. Another politician with skeletons in need of closets. Nothing you hadn’t seen before, and nothing you weren’t equipped to handle.

Oh how happy you were to be wrong.

Other than having no media training, Bucky Barnes was a good man. All of his baggage had already been aired out for the entire nation to see. It was a much welcome change. You’d always been paid to hide secrets, not use them.

However, this meant the Nation already had an opinion of him. Bucky’s reputation ranged from admired hero to public enemy number one. Nevermind the small subset of Winter Soldier fanatics who studied his every move and then dissected it all online.

You had spent a solid six hours just combing through forums to try and understand whether they loved or hated him. You finally gave up after finding one entirely dedicated to different versions of his prosthetic arm.

The only information this research did reveal was that people really, really like photos of him from his time in the service. The government’s Captain America archives made them easy to find.

Just like that your newest strategy was born. You didn’t like to lean so heavily on the veteran angle, but this felt like special circumstances. One of the first fundraising efforts you lead, was simply a release of t-shirts with him in his army fatigues on it. It sold out in twelve minutes.

Unfortunately, sepia stained Polaroids can only do so much heavy lifting.

While there’s no gentle way to tell someone ‘you’re perfect, now change everything’ Bucky took it well. Not enthusiastically, but he was open, which is all you could ask for. He didn’t grumble once when you sent him to an eight hour “media-training boot camp.”

He didn’t even argue when you picked him up afterwards and drove him to a Barber.

All things that further cemented his status as your favorite client.

Watching his hair fall to the floor broke a little piece of your heart. Alas, the short hair had tested better in focus groups, so off it came. It made more sense message wise too, helping consolidate the image of the 40’s soldier and this modern counterpart. Removing as many similarities to the Winter Soldier as you could afford.

“Can you take a little more off the back?” You ask. It’s easily your third interruption and you can almost hear the Barber roll his eyes.

“That okay?” You ask, the question directed at Bucky this time.

Favoritism aside, you were still deeply uncomfortable around each other. At least that’s how it felt. It had only been three weeks, but he was a quiet type. You were used to working with braggadocios, they always told you where you stood.

Bucky liked to watch. Usually giving you one word answers, if that. His stare is what made you uneasy, the weight of his attention was enough to make you falter. Not knowing what it meant was enough to make you second guess, you need to know what it means. Which means you need to know him. Then there was the handsomeness factor.

Today was exposure therapy. You’d worked with plenty of attractive clients before, none that made you fight a blush from eye contact. But that’s okay.

You’ve always liked a challenge.

“It’s just hair.” He replies, voice even and unemotional.

For a second you’re afraid the conversation will end as quickly as it started. You’re about to escape into your phone when Bucky finally makes eye contact with you in the mirror. You’re sitting against the wall behind him, close enough to watch, far away enough that you don’t have to smell his stupid fucking delicious cologne.

Professional distance.

��Besides. You’re holding my reputation in your hands. Whatever you want.” He smiles, as much as Bucky knows how to smile.

Whatever you want. That’s tempting, and three of your favorite words. Especially when coming from a man.

Stop. Professional.

“So if I suggested frosted tips?” You say, raising your eyebrows.

He huffs, it’s the closest thing you’ve gotten to a laugh.

The barber is nearly done, the effect the cut has on Bucky’s face already dramatic. He looks, young. Or at least the age he would’ve been if it wasn’t for all of- everything.

It’s still a little wet, you can see the ends curling as the barber combs through them and lifts them up to trim. You wonder if he left it long, if someone taught him how to take care of it, would it curl?

You do your best to ignore the stray drop of water that glides down the back of his neck, ghosting over his (now) perfect hairline.

The chair spins around to face you. The barber standing behind it with a satisfied smile, holding the comb triumphantly and letting out a little “Ta da!”

Bucky raises a eyebrow, and you’re startled when you realize- He’s waiting for your approval.

Your stomach burns with satisfaction. You like that a little too much too.

You nod, standing and walking over Bucky, and subsequently the barber. You smile, then hold out your hand.

“You mind?” You ask, though your tone makes it clear it’s not a question.

The barber grunts, giving you the comb and walking with a huff into the back of the shop, leaving you and Bucky alone.

You had called ahead, made sure they’d have the building cleared so you’d be the only ones inside during Bucky’s appointment. Too many variables and prying eyes otherwise.

Wordlessly, you begin to cut. There’s not much to trim, but the barber had left a few stray hairs, and his sides were uneven, which would’ve driven you crazy. It was a short cut, a little left on the top, specifically the front. Enough to let it sit naturally, but also long enough he could style with a smidge of a gel. Versatile, easy to manage for Bucky’s sake.

Then you look down at Bucky, realizing you had neglected to turn him back around, and find him already studying you. Suddenly feeling sheepish, you take a step back, spinning him around to get his opinion.

“You fixed the sides.” He says. You wait for noted but it doesn’t come. You realize that’s probably the closest you’d get to a compliment.

You reach over, putting the comb back and grabbing a small bit of gel. You rub it between your hands and before you can overthink it, run your hands through his hair. Giving the front a little bit of quaffing.

Almost satisfied, you put your hands down on the back of his chair. “You still trust me?”

Bucky lifts a hand to his beard, it’s scruffy, and while you don’t mind that (not even a little). It’s not exactly the look you’re going for.

“You can do it yourself, if you want?” You offer, very aware that this may count as over stepping.

He shakes his head, dropping his hand back into his lap. “I trust you.”

You reach over, grabbing a razor from the station and attaching the 4mm guard. “The beard has tested well, specifically with your female constituents.” Fancy excuse for it would make you sad to shave it all off. “We don’t want to lose it all, just polish it a little.”

Bucky hums, lifting his chin to give you a better angle as you finally switch the it on. The way it shakes to life in your hand once again reminds you of all the faith he has in you. All of his eggs, super glued into your basket.

The buzzing goes quickly. Bucky is inhumanly still. While it normally unsettles you, you can’t help but be grateful. Especially given the next step.

You shut off the buzzer, and reach into the barbicide glass to grab the straight edge razor.

Thankfully in the time it takes you to finish prepping the razor, Bucky has grabbed the oil from the counter and applied it himself.

You give him a moment to settle back into the chair, and wait for him to give the ‘go ahead’ nod.

Taking a deep breath to steel your nerves, you start on the top of his beard, tightening the edges just under his cheek bone until the form a sharp, smooth line.

“Are you normally this…” Bucky trails off, freezing as you get close to his nose, and subsequently his lips in all their blush pink glory (Not that you’re paying any attention to them).

“Hands on?” You offer, pulling back and cleaning the razor. It gives Bucky a chance to release the breath he was holding. He nods.

You hum. “Not, normally this literally. But yes.” You shape the other side as you speak, triple checking that they’re even. “I don’t normally have this much creative control though.”

“Does that make me a pushover?” He asks. Another borderline smile dancing on his face.

You use a finger to tilt his chin up, making sure to avoid eye contact as you do so. “Makes you the smartest client I’ve ever had.”

“Sweet talking won’t get you frosted tips.”

“Was worth a shot.”

You’re pleased to find that the more you talk, the easier it gets. However, the weight of your current position, isn’t lost on you. His attempts at breezy conversation isn’t enough distract you from the fact that his neck is ramrod straight. He’s hardly even breathing.

He must see you noticed his tension, “Haven’t let someone else shave me since before I was shipped out.” He explains, interrupting your study of his breathing patterns. “The first time.”

Shit. He really does trusts you.

It’s almost too much, overwhelming. This man who has been dragged through hell, is sitting here and letting you use a Sweeney Todd style razor on his neck.

You’re not sure what to say, how to acknowledge the hefty implications in his words. Trusting you with his career is one thing, this is his way of saying he trusts you with his life. You hum, your next swipe with the razor extra gentle.

You fall back into a comfortable silence as you finish. Drawing sharp lines to his neck until the edge of his beard is snug against his jaw. A neck beard is an enemy of the state as far as you’re concerned.

“All done.” You say, turning around and moving out of Bucky’s way so he can finally see his reflection. “A number two guard on your razor will keep it around this length.�� You offer while compulsively cleaning up the Barber’s station. You’re sure he’s watching you from the doorway of whatever room he disappeared into. But the only eyes you can feel on you are Bucky’s. “If you like it, that is.”

You finally turn back around to face him. You don’t know if he likes it, but it’s safe to say it’s exactly what you were going for. He looks cleaner, more professional, more like a politician.

But still Bucky.

All he does is hum in response, and your stomach drops to the floor.

He hates it. He hate it’s, he’s going to fire you, and then you’ll be back to helping assholes hide hush money and-

“You do good work.”

Deciding to become, or deciding to try and become a politician was something Bucky had yet to wrap his brain around.

His resume wasn’t that of your typical bureaucrat. No political science degree or volunteer work. Sure there was his time in the service, but last he’d checked the military had changed quite a bit since World War II. He had more experience in fighting U.S. forces than actually serving in them these days.

He knew better than to admit it out loud, but the choice to run for congress, was one he made a whim.

Part had been born out of desperation to leave Brooklyn. Another part was his desire to be useful. To make a good change for once, and do it in a way that didn’t involve voilence.

Bucky just wishes he’d done a little more research.

If someone had warned him about all of the paperwork and bullshit and he had to do just to run, (never mind the pile that would be waiting on the other side if he won), he may have reconsidered.

Bucky hated to admit it, but he didn’t start trying to win until you joined the team

Full of vigor and good intentions, you actually managed to make Bucky want to win this stupid thing. Your infectious energy (and the fact that you were completely overqualified) instilled a newfound confidence in his entire team. Everyone started doubling down on their efforts.

For fucks sake he even let you shave him.

Before he knew it, Bucky was only behind by five points instead of thirty.

Now he found himself in a pickle. Physically he was knee deep in mockups of lawn signs, poll numbers, and focus group answers. Mentally all he could think about was you.

You were talking, making expressive hand gestures as you tried (in vain) to explain what the statistics in front of him meant.

Bucky was too busy thinking about your fingernails to focus.

They’d changed overnight, from a soft pink to a bright eye-catching red. He wasn’t even sure when you would have had the time, you were with him at the campaign office until well after eight last night and you had beaten him there this morning.

“Bucky, do you understand what I’m saying?” You finally broke through, tone half exasperation and half exhaustion.

Luckily, his lack of experience saved him once again. As it so often did when he was too busy watching you, to actually listen. “You know I suck at the numbers stuff.”

Why red? Is red your favorite color? No, he’s pretty sure that green is your favorite, you wear it at-least once a week and your water-bottle has a single green sticker on it.

You gave him a small smile, “I think you could win Bucky.”

Why red? He remembered girls back in Brooklyn who would paint their nails red, talking about how they’d pick it to match their lips. Subtle ways to get a boy to thinking about kissing them. He knows it’s none of his business, but he can’t help the ache in his gut when the thought of it being for a date crosses his mind.

Wait what did you just say?

“I could win?”

“A few strategic events, some well timed social media posts and I think you’ve got it in the bag.” You confirm with a smile, it’s one he hasn’t seen before. Confident, almost smug. You’re good at your job and you know it.

“Holy shit.” Is about all Bucky can manage right now.

You finally sit. “I think it might time to find an apartment.”

He groaned. He had hated apartment hunting in New York. Too many people, not enough leases and he doesn’t exactly have a credit score.

“Can’t have a future congressman living in a hotel.” You say, clicking your tongue for emphasis. “Don’t worry I have a friend who can set you up.”

He rubs a hand over his mouth, feeling slack jawed.

“But, we’re still falling short in a few key demographics.” You explain, “We need to get you back to Brooklyn for a few days.”

He nods, sitting straighter and actually trying to read one of the papers in front of him, “Millennials?” He asks, pointing to a particularly sad pie chart. “I thought they liked me?”

“There’s a rumor on TikTok you killed Kennedy, true or not it’s been gaining some traction and it’s causing some of their trust to falter.”

Bucky opens his mouth to tell you they’re not totally off base, but before he can you lift your hand and pinch your fingers together in a shushing motion.

Why are they red?

“Less I know, the better.” You say.

Fair enough.

“We’re also falling short on the older, male, right leaning side of the fence.” You explain, shuffling to bring forward a poll dated from a week prior. “Their wives love you, which means they don’t think you’re a man’s man.”

“How do we fix both of those in just a few days.” He asks, trying to ignore the way your manicured fingers tap against the laminate desk. He’s beginning to think it might be intentional on your end.

“That’s why you hired me.” You smile, “Just have your bags ready for Friday morning and make sure you pack a pair of jeans.”

He nods, knowing better than to ask you to explain when you’re in business mode like this. He hasn’t known you long, but there’s something about seeing you in your element that makes you shine a little brighter.

“I could win?” He finally doubles back, still not sure it’s entirely he believes it. Still not sure he wants it to. Still wondering why are your nails are red.

“Bucky, You have me on your side. You’re going to win.”

You had a friend at a local pet rescue in the city, and to say he owed you a favor would be an understatement. Getting them to let Bucky host an event was easy.

Getting Bucky to agree was even easier.

As always, your instincts had been right on the money, and it was a perfect match. Animals are an easy win with Millennials, if you only you could have gotten him a puppy interview.

The event was a huge success anyway, truly a publicists wet dream. The people loved him, and after only being there for an hour, a majority of the available cats had already been adopted.

Never mind the visuals, since arriving Bucky hadn’t gone five minutes without a cat in his arms.

“Had one back in the day, used to kill the rats in our building and sleep at my feet.” He had explained as he casually picked up a black little soot ball in his right hand, while the left deftly scooped up a little grey tabby. Each cat a limp noodle in his arms.

His big, strong, straining through the sleeves of his button up arms.

It’s not your fault, you’re pretty sure theres some kind of law about men being allowed to look this good while holding a baby- dog, cat, or human.

You change your train of thought, getting ready to go find the intern with the good camera and ask them to snap some candids of Bucky with the animals. When a voice stops you.

“Hey stranger.”

Jack.

Your ‘friend’ or more accurately, ex-boyfriend/shelter contact. You had hoped he wouldn’t bother coming, so you wouldn’t have to bother having this conversation.

“Jack! How are you?” You smile, turning around to face him, which sadly meant turning your back to Bucky (just as he was picking up a little scrawny, white kitten). Your people-pleaser smile in full effect as you bring him into a half-hearted hug.

He squeezes you back with a lot more enthusiasm than the interaction warrants. “It’s so good to see you!” He says, dragging out the ‘so’ for emphasis. “You’re a big shot now. Working with an Avenger and everything.”

You fight the grimace, you’d already been well established when you met Jack, he was just completely politically uneducated and didn’t believe in watching the news because ‘If something is that important, I’ll hear about.’

He also didn’t know the difference between Senate and the House of Representatives.

In hindsight it’s a miracle your relationship lasted as long as it did.

“Thank you again for letting us borrow some of these cuties.”

“No big deal, it’s a great chance to get some of the animals adopted.” He nods in Bucky’s direction. “Seems like he might be taking one home.”

You turn around, finding Bucky holding the white kitten in the crook of his elbow, the little thing is stretched out with its arms straight above its head, belly up and fast asleep.

You resist the urge to groan, finding a pet friendly rental in DC is a fucking nightmare.

Then you watch as Bucky looks down to acknowledge the kitten, ever so delicately scratching under its chin with his free hand.

Worth it.

“Turns out he’s a cat person.” You say, turning back to Jack.

This time you really take the opportunity to study him, all the ways he’s changed. He’s shorter than you remember. He also started dyeing his hair black. It looks bad. He’s less imposing and handsome than your brain dreamt him up to be.

It’s hard to find anyone handsome when they’re in the same room as Bucky.

Jack still has the same eyes, vacant. Bright and engaging, not a whole lot happening behind them.

You hadn’t ended on bad terms per se. It was mostly a mutual break up, with each of your agreeing your lives were just too different. He wanted a golden retriever, Sunday night pasta dinners, and a house so loud he never has to hear himself think.

You need quiet.

“That cat hasn’t let a single person pick her up since she got to the rescue. I’m not letting him leave without her.” Jack says.

“I don’t think it’ll take much convincing.” You smile. “It’s good to see you Jack.”

“Yeah you too, you look good y’know.” He says

Oh you know.

“Thanks, you look happy.” You mean it. “I should get back to work though. Someone needs to make sure babies get their foreheads kissed.”

“Like I said, you’re a big shot.” He pulls you into another just a little too tight hug. “You think he’s gonna win?”

You give Bucky another look, this time surprised to find him watching you. You can quite read his expression, but you never can. The sleepy little kitten in his arm is pawing at his chest trying to get his attention.

“Yeah I do.”

With that you finally escape, grasping onto Bucky’s attention like it’s a lifeline. You use the few steps it takes to reach him to shoot off a quick text, make sure there was nothing on fire, and then you put your phone back into your pocket.

Looking up you give Bucky a smile. “You know they have dogs here too right?” You ask, tone light and facetious.

“Who was that guy.” Bucky asks, always straight to the point.

“My contact here.”

“He seemed awfully friendly.”

“Didn’t take you for a gossip Barnes.” You smile, stepping a little closer, bringing a hand up to pet the baby in his arms. “If you must know, we used to date.”

He hums. “Seems like he’s still interested.” The kitten stands on his forearm, leaning against his chest while it stretches. “If you are I mean.”

You would laugh if you weren’t so surprised. The conversation was beginning to tip toe on that line of unprofessional, you could hear the sirens beginning to wail inside your head. But Bucky is looking at you with all of his attention as he waits for your answer. It’s the same stare that always makes you melt, so you ignore the alarms.

You’re not stupid, you know what he’s really asking.

Are you interested? Single? Looking?

You’re just surprised he cares about the answer.

“I know he isn’t.” You answer, choosing your words carefully, “He has two little girls at home and a gorgeous wife who wants all the same things as him.” You finally leave the cat in his arms alone, resisting the urge to coo as it reaches for you with its paw. “I wasn’t ready. I would’ve kept him waiting too long for all those things.”

It’s a more honest answer than you would normally give, but it’s Bucky. You feel safe with him holding the truth.

He nods, and you notice the slight twitch of his lips. Like he’s fighting a smile.

“I think I have to adopt this cat.” He says, sparring you any follow up questions. He guides the kitten up to his shoulder, where it quickly makes itself at home.

“I already had one of the interns start the paperwork.” You smile knowingly.

“How do you do that?” He asks.

“Do what?”

He holds the kitten up to his face, staring as if it might answer instead of you, “Know exactly what I’m thinking?”

Bucky knew you only acted in the best interests of the campaign. Each event carefully crafted to boost morale, or fix a statistic you didn’t liked

However, for the first time he wondered if maybe you had chosen this event, just because you wanted to go. Okay maybe it wasn’t the entire reason, he was sure you could back up with a graph and something about polling numbers if he asked.

But after everything you’d done for the campaign, he was inclined to let you have the win. Besides, seeing you in a jersey and jean shorts wasn’t something he felt like he needed to be upset about.

Don’t forget the baseball cap, which it really brought home for him.

Honestly the only thing that really pissed him off about today, was the fact that the first baseball he got to watch in eighty fucking years was a Yankees game.

His Ma would be rolling in her grave, and he told you as much.

“What are you a Mets guy or something?” You ask barely tearing your eyes from the field to look at him.

“Mets?” He asks, tilting his head slightly. He hadn’t found much use for baseball since rejoining the world. Watching it on TV felt too static, but he didn’t have the heart to go to a real game alone either.

“Guess not.” You answer yourself.

“Dodgers were my team.” He explained.

“I hate to be the one to tell you this but they’re on the West Coast now.” You say with an over exaggerated grimace.

“Don’t get me started.”

“Didn’t realize you were such a fan.” It’s not a question, but the way your voice lilts up at the end sure makes it seem like one.

He can’t help himself but take the bait.

“My Ma used to bring me and my sister down to Ebbet’s every Sunday. Could never afford tickets but there was a great park right out the stadium, we could hear everything.” He said, feeling himself start smiling just remembering it. “I’d lay on the grass, close my eyes, and pretend I was inside.”

“I hope you know, I’m picturing this all on black and white.” You cracked, if Bucky wasn’t so caught up the memory, he’d notice that your voice was dripping with fondness.

“Very funny.” He responds.

You nudge him with your shoulder. “Keep going.”

“Only got inside once, just me and Steve. We snuck in when we like 15. He was short enough to pass for a kid and I was fast enough to lose security after jumping the turnstile. Best game I ever saw.” He feels himself smiling while he pictures it, “Even though security kicked us out halfway through the fourth inning.”

“You got into a lot of trouble as a kid didn’t you?” You asked, turning yourself in your to face him. While at least as much as you can turn in a stadium seat.

“Steve did, I just felt guilty letting him get in trouble alone.”

“How selfless.” You joke.

“I’ve always been a man of the people.” Talking was so easy with you. Bucky couldn’t seem to stop himself lately.

“I’m sorry but hearing you refer to Captain America as Steve is never gonna stop being weird for me.” You say, taking another sip of your drink. A beer, which had surprised him. He had pegged you for spirits.

“Hearing you call Steve, Captain America is never gonna stop being a total mind fuck for me.”

“Since when do you curse so much Barnes.” You ask, tilting your head in a way Bucky found so cute he thought he might explode.

“Since I have to sit through a Yankees game, sober-“ He nudged you with elbow, reaching over you to tap the bottle in your cupholder, “-and since you’re too tipsy to yell at me about it.”

You shrug, apparently not finding much fault with his argument. “It’s not my fault you have a supernatural metabolism.” You take another sip, grinning at him as you do so. “I don’t get a lot opportunities to drink shitty beer and eat greasy food these days, gotta take advantage.” You finish.

“I’m not judging.” He defends.

“Everything has to be a bit of mind fuck for you though doesn’t it?” You ask. No malice despite the harsh choice of words, just curiosity.

“Who’s cursing now?” He elbows you.

“No seriously. I mean, it can’t be easy, and yet here you are, still trying to make the world a better place.” You lament. For the first time ever, Bucky thinks you might just feel sorry for him. Not because of his past, but because of his decision to go into politics. Which is fitting for you.

“Sure, it’s hard.” He admits, “Ebbet’s is a bunch of apartments, people don’t even go dancing anymore, the Dodgers play for LA, a hot dog costs a month’s rent-“ He pauses, taking a deep breath, “-and Steve is gone.” No matter how many times he says it, it still tastes bitter. You’re right, his entire world had been turned upside down, twice.

“Trying to be good is the only thing I still know how to do.” He finishes. His words hang between you for a moment, and he’s worried he’s said too much.

“People do still go dancing.” You respond.

“They don’t dance the way they used to though. I don’t think I could keep up now.” He says.

“It’s pretty easy once you get the hang of it.” You smile, “I’ll have to take you when this is all over.”

Bucky is too busy reading into that last sentence to try and respond to it. The idea that you think about spending time with him even after the election is enough to send him into a tailspin.

A few minutes of quiet pass between you. You shake your head, taking another swig before speaking. “You don’t give yourself enough credit Bucky.” You say, finally leaving it at that.

Bucky is grateful, he wasn’t sure how he had veered so far off course. Somehow he’d managed to ruin a conversation that he swears was beginning to border on flirting.

Don’t get him started on how flirting as changed.

You’d bumped his shoulder and laughed at enough of his jokes that the old Bucky would’ve asked you out by now. But he didn’t know if either of those things meant what they used to back then. He was pretty sure they did.

He was also pretty sure you’d had at least three beers. You’re the closest to relaxed he’d ever seen you. Laughing freely, not worried about optics, or the political implications of Bucky being seen eating cracker jacks. If he knew you as well as he thinks he’s starting too, you probably have some ‘no dating clients’ rule anyway. It wouldn’t be fair for him to make a move now, not when you could finally breathe.

Regardless of if you were flirting or not.

Besides you wearing jean shorts and it was the first time he’d ever seen anything above your knee and staring at your thighs was the closest thing to drunk Bucky had felt in years. He wasn’t of sound mind to be making decisions like that.

“You’re one of the most selfless men I’ve ever met,” You smile, and your hand reaches over to touch his resting on top of his thigh. “And I’ve met a lot men.”

Bucky feels his brain get dangerously close to exploding.

Somehow, he still manages to find words. “It’s not all selfless.” He confesses. Turning the hand yours was resting on upwards and lacing his fingers through yours.

It’s as forward as his confidence can afford right now.

He squeezes your hand and then releases it. Bucky stands up and resists the urge to stretch his back because Jesus, these seats are uncomfortable. He gets ready to walk away, with the plan of shaking a few hands, and getting you a pretzel (for alcohol absorption purposes of course. It has nothing to do with an comment you made about craving one).

Before he leaves he bends over and whispers his last admission in your ear.

“I’m not trying to make the world a better place. I’m still trying to make him proud.”

8:00 A.M.

That’s when your flight leaves, which means it will board around 7:15 A.M.

So you should really be at the airport by 6 A.M. Your entire team has TSA Pre-check so it shouldn’t take too long but it’s better safe than sorry.

That means you have to leave the hotel by 5 A.M to get to JFK in time.

You need an hour to shower, and get ready so you look some version of human so you can hit the ground running when you land in DC. So wake up at 4 A.M.

You look down at your phone and sigh, 10:45 P.M. If you fell asleep right now you’d be lucky to get five hours of sleep.

Yet you can’t bring yourself to move.

Surely it had nothing to do with the man sitting across the table from you. Bucky raises his eyebrows, giving you that stupid, handsome, knowing look.

“Your brain is working.” He says, lifting his glass to his lips and taking a sip. This time you let yourself stare stare at them.

You had gotten back from the event a little over an hour ago. A charity gala for some businessman’s tax write off. It was a great opportunity for him to rub some elbows, smile and make small talk with all the right people. It was your last stop on his mini Brooklyn tour.

You had joined Bucky, acting as his -strictly professional- plus one. It was out of your normal scope of responsibilities, but Bucky had made a very convincing argument, something about how you were better with names, and faces, and how if you didn’t go he’d end up sulking in a corner all night.

It made the most sense for you to go. Keep Bucky company, feed him names and information. Maybe one quick dance.

It had nothing to do with the fact that saying no to him is quickly becoming impossible.

Definitely nothing to do with wanting to see him in a suit.

“I’m doing the math on when we need to get to the airport.” You tell him.

“Knew it.” He says, “Is that your way of saying we should call it a night?” He asks, but doesn’t move an inch.

He’s giving you an out.

You shake your head. “I’ve done more with less sleep.” You take a sip of your drink. You feel wide awake but you’re pretty sure it’s not from the alcohol. “What about you Barnes, need your beauty rest?”

Bucky smiles, he had shrugged his jacket off when you first sat down. At some point the first few buttons of his shirt had been undone. You’re not even sure when he took the tie off. “Bold of you to assume I ever sleep.”

You had worn a long black dress, formal enough to blend in without drawing attention away from Bucky. It also looked so good on you it was bordering on unprofessional.

You had drank, eaten, and made so much small talk you’d probably have a sore throat tomorrow. Yet when Bucky asked if you were up for a night cap, you once again found yourself struggling to get that two-letter word off your tongue.

You didn’t want say goodbye just yet, and there was something about having him all to yourself that you were starting to become addicted to. So you sat down at a table in the nearly empty hotel bar, and you couldn’t help but think about how you probably looked like a couple to the rest of the world.

“Can I admit something?” You asked, tilting your head.

Bucky nods. “Anything.”

“I didn’t think you stood a chance.”

Bucky almost chokes on his drink. “Jesus, that’s reassuring.” He scoffs.

“You had terrible optics, no political background, and everyone who I asked about you either hated you or was scared shitless of you.” You explain.

“I do have a bad history with politicians.” He cracks. “If I was so hopeless, why’d you take the job?”

Your walls are lowered enough that you give him the real answer. “Needed a change. Didn’t hurt that I thought you were cute.” You take another sip, as if it will hide the heat spreading across your cheeks.

Bucky hums, if he was going to say anything else you don’t give him the chance.

“Bucky you’re my unicorn.” You sigh, cue another embarrassed sip, “You’re a good man, willing to take feedback, and running for all the right reasons.”

You let your words sit there in the silence, biting your lip to force yourself to stop talking. Christ you’re nervous, you’re never nervous, why is he making you so nervous?

“The other guys must’ve been real assholes.” He says, and you know it’s the closest you’ll get to him accepting the compliment.

“This is the first time in ten years I want the person I’m working for to actually win. I want you to win Bucky.”

You wouldn’t normally risk being this honest, this open with a politician, but you were beginning to feel like that word fit him less and less.

Or maybe it was the forced professionalism that was ill suited.

“If I didn’t know better I’d think you hate your job sweetheart.”

You’re already rolling your eyes when you hear it.

Sweetheart.

Your heart stutters, your fingers twitch, your face flushes.

“Love the job, hate the people.” You manage to choke out, finally downing the rest of your glass in an attempt to collect yourself. Buy yourself a little time before you have to talk again. “I get the chance to help make the world better, by making sure the right people are in charge of it. But at the same time I’m the reason Whitmore ever got in office.”

Bucky’s eyes widen.

“Whitmore? I fucking hate that guy.”

You nod, grimacing.

Preston Clay Whitmore IV. You worked for him back when he was running for Senate in Texas, and using all of his Daddy’s money to do it.

“It was my first job, I was his communications consultant. God I hated him.” You shake your head, “But I was fresh out of college, green and broke.”

“A deadly combination.” He offers.

“He thought he was the next Kennedy, and he talked like it. Every single interview, debate, and ad sounded like Preston thought he was gods gift to humanity.” You can still hear his catchy little stupid theme song now.

Whitmore’s a comin’ to Whip DC into shape!

“How’d you turn it around?” He asks, a smile playing at those gorgeous lips.

Okay maybe you are a little buzzed.

“I made him drop the Roman numerals to start.”

You weren’t super enthusiastic about him, and you certainly weren’t thrilled about being in the South. Yet Preston’s father knew all the right people, you knew getting him into office would mean a career. A great one.

You don’t mean to bore Bucky with all of the details of Preston’s campaign, of his miraculous win, and how he ended up being elected the youngest Senator in Texas’ history. But the way he listens, the way he asks you questions. You almost think he enjoyed it.

Suddenly he’s telling you about how he recently got his hands on a tape of one of Steve’s old USO shows, and how he wishes he could hold it over his head.

You’re telling him about how you worked two jobs in high school in order to save up for college.

Then he’s promising to take you to Wakanda someday, once things have settled down some, how it’s nothing like how you picture it.

“I’ve got a few friends from when I lived there.”

You swear your jaw almost hits the floor, “You lived there?”

“Yeah for a few years,” he laughs, “They helped straighten my brain out, made it possible for me to almost be like a real person.”

He smiles, finally polishing off his drink.

“Why do you drink if it doesn’t affect you?” You ask.

He shrugs, the glass still in his hand. “I still like the taste of a good drink, that’s why I didn’t bother with beer or any of the crap being served at the game the other day.” He puts the cup back on the table.

“I think it still has a placebo effect on me too a little bit. Even though I can’t metabolize it, I still feel like it smooths the edges.”

You nod, understanding.

You can’t help but finally look at your phone again.

1:45 A.M. Shit.

You look back up and meet Bucky’s knowing gaze.

“We should go to bed, shouldn’t we?” He asks, this time he shrugs his jacket back on.

“Afraid so.” You answer, voice softer than you expected. “You have to go back to your apartment or can you get a room here?”

He shakes his head, “I got a few things I wanna pack up, plus I have to get Alpine ready.”

You smile, brightening at the mention of your new favorite feline. “You decided on a name!” He nods, his smile just as wide.

“Can I walk you up to your room?” He asks, finally standing.

God you almost forgot just how taller he is.

“You don’t have do that Bucky I’m all the way on the 8th floor.” You stand too, at some point you had kicked your heels off and you can’t be bothered to force them back on, instead leaning down to pick them up in one hand.

“Humor me. Please?” He gives you the eyes, ones you can only describe as begging. The ones he uses whenever his not getting his way, “It’d make me feel less guilty for keeping you up so late.” He takes the shoes out of your hand as he speaks, completely dwarfing them in his grasp.

“I guess it is the least you can do.” You joke, starting to walk towards the elevator. You don’t get far before Bucky catches up and quickly takes the heels out of your hand.

The ride up is spent in silence, but not the awkward kind, like the day at the barbershop. It’s softer, warmer and like the air between you is humming.

Your door is all the way at the end of the hallway, and if you were in tune enough with your body to remember just had badly your feet hurt, you’d probably complain about it.

But right now, with Bucky so close so you can’t bring yourself to worry about a blister.

However, it was only a matter of time before you got to your door. While digging the hotel key out of your purse, you turn around to face Bucky.

“Thank you again, for tonight. And for walking me up to my room.” You nod toward the door, still not moving to open it.

When had he gotten so close? Less than a foot was between you now.

Bucky smiles, looking down at the floor, then back up to you. “Least I could do after you saved me from a night of getting people’s names wrong.”

You laugh, it borders just enough on being a giggle than you feel your stomach turn a little. “Seriously, I had a really good time tonight Bucky.”

You feel yourself leaning into him, it’s not entirely conscious. The smell of his cologne is drowning out the voices screaming: Back up! Move away! Too close! Danger! Danger! Danger!

But he’s leaning in too. With him, it feels the opposite of scary.

“Me too.” He says, his voice is so soft now, and you know this proximity isn’t lost on him.

You feel yourself move before you can actually think about it, your heels lifting up from the ground, your hands rising and settling on his broad shoulders.

And then you kiss his cheek.

As you pull away, it’s like you’re stuck in slow motion. A slow sink down while your hands drift from his shoulders to pecs.

Your eyes are shut, too afraid to open them and see his reaction when-

Bucky leans down and presses his head against yours, forehead to forehead. His chest brushing against yours as you each breathe, or in your case, try to. His eyes are closed too. His brows scrunched the way like when he’s thinking really hard about something.

Your body feels like a live wire when he’s this close. All rational thoughts are completely overwhelmed with the desire, no- the need to kiss him.

You angle your head, tilting your chin and just like that- contact.

He only takes a few seconds to respond.

He’s softer than you imagined, catching your top lip between his and treating it with such care and the whole moment feels so much more, gentle, than you had expected it to.

Not that you had been thinking about it or anything.

He pulls away, but you’re quick to grab one of his a lapels, ensuring he can’t go far. You do your best to read him, before either of you can open your mouths and ruin this.

You can’t decide if he wants to kiss you again or apologize. You’re not sure which you want either.

“I don’t do this.” You say, sounding a lot more breathless than you intended. “Kiss clients, I mean.”

“I know.” He says.

“We really shouldn’t do this.” You add, not sounding even a little confident.

“I know.” He says.

“I have a rule about it.” You try, sounding even weaker.

“I figured.” He says.

But Bucky has made up his mind, with his free hand (which had at some point made its way to your hip), he slowly guides you until your back is flat against the door to your room.

Your hands are still frozen, clutching his jacket. Your knuckles almost white with tension. Your noses are almost touching.

“Just one more.” He says, closing his eyes and pressing his lips back to yours.

Distantly you hear him drop your heels, and feel his hand come up to cradle the side of your face.

He’s not as gentle this time, the force behind his kiss is greater. It’s more confident, hungrier. You can’t help but melt into it, hands climbing until they find a home behind his neck.

You’re hungrier this time too.

You feel your body filling with want and need. The urge to bite and claw him, then kiss and stitch him back together. If you were anyone else you could let it consume you. Part of you wonders if he would let it consume him. The way he’s kissing you, it’s like he already has.

When you break for air, you’re suddenly aware of just how tightly he’s pressed himself against you. How delicious warm, firm, and broad he is.

He drops his head against your shoulder, pressing it into the crook of your neck. You feel him release a long, deep sigh against your neck as if he already knows what you’re thinking.

You allow yourself to run your hands through his hair, just once. Working up the strength to get the words out.

Bucky presses one last soft kiss to your neck and then detaches himself from you.

Wordlessly, he picks up your heels, fixes the strap that had fallen off of your shoulder, and manages to grab your long discarded key card.

He fixes you with a look, one that you hadn’t seen before. It’s reverent, deep, and knocks any words you had out of your mouth.

“After?” Is all he asks.

But you know what he’s asking. “After.” You answer, a firm nod to accompany it.

You don’t need to say more than that, as if the kiss had also created your own short hand.

He smiles, and leans forward to unlock your room. Propping the door open with one hand, he waits until you’ve stepped inside it to hand you your heels, and your key card. As if he can’t resist, he also presses one last chaste kiss to your forehead.

“See you in a few hours sweetheart.” Finally he turns around and he leave.

You stand in the door way dumbfounded until you hear the elevator ding, and then you finally close it.

Your typically nighttime routine takes twice the time it should, with frequently interruptions of muttering ��what the fuck was I thinking?” and deep reflective pauses to try and remember what his lips looked like when they were well kissed.

When you finally fall onto the bed, the last thing you see is the digital clock blinking at you, or more accurately taunting you.

2:30 A.M.

“Shit.”

Bucky is Dragging.

He didn’t make it back to his apartment until after three, the walk took him twice as long as it should have because he was too busy thinking about you.

What else is new?

However, this time, his thoughts were clouded with memories, instead of hypotheticals. He remembered how you felt beneath his hands. How you tasted. How you smiled against his lips. How you wanted it as badly as he did.

By the time he’s packed, and the cat is finally stowed away in her travel carrier (a mesh backpack one of the interns had picked up) it’s time for him to head to the airport.

Safe to say the lack of sleep isn’t helping his clarity.

He’s trying his best to listen to what the flight crew is saying, Something something cat, something something landing, something something drink service.

He’s too busy ogling you. And too tired to try and hide it. You were sitting across from him, nose deep in a packet someone had handed to you while boarding.

Normally Bucky would try to sleep on this flight, after all he had kindergarteners to read too once he got to DC. Or something, he honestly wasn’t even sure what he’s rushing back for. All that matters is that he should be sleeping, but he can’t because he doesn’t know what you’re thinking.

Since sitting down you’d been able to spare him a glance, and a tight smile, but that was it.

Maybe you had changed your mind? Sure, your agreement last night wasn’t super fleshed out, but he thought the implication was clear.

After, meaning after the campaign.

He just needed to make sure. God it made him feel like a little boy, even just to admit it to himself.

He clears his throat, and waits for you to finally meet his eyes. “You get any sleep last night?” He asks, if the way your eyes droop are any indication the answer is no.

You shake your head, “About an hour, if I’m lucky.” You tell him, but you smile again, this time it looks more like your own. “You?”

He shakes his head, “Too much to think about.”

You hum, and he knows you’re acutely aware of the staff surrounding you in the plane. Each one is either napping or too engrossed in their own tasks, but still too risky.

“You’re in the home stretch now, little more than two weeks to go.” You say. Placing the files you had been pouring over to the side. “It’s a lot to think about.”

Despite the mention of the rapidly approaching election, Bucky can’t help but relax as you talk. “I was thinking about after.” He says. It’s as on the nose as he can get.

Your smile widens. “You need sleep to get to after, Bucky.”

“Too nervous.” He shoots back.

You shake your head, stretching your legs out in front of you, until the toe of your shoe touches Bucky’s.

“No reason to be nervous. It will still be there.”

That was all he needed to hear.

“It’s worth waiting for.” He says. It didn’t quite make sense in the conversation you’re having out loud. But in the real conversation, the one being had under a layer of professionalism, he’s saying:

You’re worth waiting for.

Based on the way you duck your head, embarrassed. He knows you heard the second one.

“Before you try to sleep, there is something else we should talk about.”

And just like that, you’ve slipped back into the professional. Your voice changes in a way Bucky can’t quite define, but he’s been spending enough time with you that he can hear the difference.

“We’re going to up your security, we have three more guards who will be joining your rotation when we land.”

It catches Bucky totally out of left field. “Wait, what?” He asks.

You nod, “I know it sounds dramatic,” you try to appease him, as if you can already hear the argument on his tongue. “But there have been three credible threats made against you in the past forty-eight hours.”

Bucky shakes his head, “Is it really neces-“

“Yes.” You cut him off, “I don’t care that you’re built like a tank Bucky.” He can’t help the smile that crosses his face at that, “I’m not taking any chances.”

“Yes Ma’am.” He relents, and he feels the shit-eating grinning that’s still plastered across his face. “Any thing else?”

You smile, pleased. “The social media team has drafted a post about Alpine- just stating you’ve adopted her and laying on the cuteness factor. Permission to post?”

“Yea that’s fine.” His eyes dart to the seat next to him, where the little creature is curled in a ball. It’d only been a few days, but it was nice to have a cat again. “What’s on the agenda for today?”

You nod, pulling out your tablet and he hears your (now French) nails tap at the screen.

Were they like that last night? He was pretty distracted, but he surprised he didn’t notice. The novelty of getting to touch you had turned just about everything but the memory of your lips to mush.

“You’re going straight from the airport to Howard Stark Elementary. The plan is for you to tell a few jokes, color a few pages, and read them a Doctor Seuss book or something.” You explain, “It’s grandparents day so there will be other people your age.” Bucky would have believed you if it weren’t for the way you started smiling at the end of the sentence.

It was more of smirk actually. Like you thought you were hilarious.

Even when it was at his expense he was inclined to agree. He doesn’t let it show though, keeping stoic until you break.

“Kidding.” You promise. “Then it’s off to a luncheon with a few of the other candidates. You should be done by three, and then you’re free to nap.”

“Thank god.”

“You mind if I put a suit fitting in your calendar for this week?” You sound like you’re asking, but Bucky knows it’s really just your way of telling him it’s happening. “You should have a new suit ready for election night.”

You make a good point. He had plenty of suits, but he wouldn’t mind having something a new for the big day. “Only if you help me pick it out.” He offers, playing right into your charade of his control.

“Of course.” You agree, standing up and your arms above your head. It causes your blouse to ride up just enough to make his fingers twitch. Then you- as casually as possible- look around.

You must be satisfied by what you see, because when you walk next to Bucky’s seat and lean down so you’re next to his ear. He feels your warm breath hit his skin, and the smell of your perfume has the hair on his neck standing up. He almost doesn’t hear what your whisper.

“As if I’d miss the chance to see you in a suit.”

Then you’re gone, turning around and making your way up to the bathroom as if you didn’t just send him into a tail spin.

Maybe flirting hasn’t changed that much.

You were honest on the plane.

Hell would freeze over before you miss a chance to see Bucky in a suit. Especially after the other night.

But it wasn’t just your new obsession driving this shopping trip.

He was going to win. You wanted him to look devastatingly handsome when he did.

You could feel it now, it was completely in his grasp. You were used to quick results, but this had been unlike anything you’d ever seen before. You’d never seen a candidate jump this far into the lead after only two months.

The numbers looked great. You felt confident saying that despite your very unprofessional bias.

Speaking of-

You’d been back in DC for a week and still hadn’t been alone since. You hadn’t even had a chance to talk about it since the plane.

Did that even count?

Sure, you’d stared at eachother about it, and smiled about it, and brushed eachothers hands about it, but no words had been spoken.

Inside this shop was the closet you’d gotten to privacy. Just you, Bucky, and the old man measuring his inseam.

Much to your surprise, the tailor, Eddie, was Bucky’s pick.

Even more surprisingly, the two of them hadn’t shut up since you walked in the door. You had sat down on one of the chairs in front of the mirrors while Eddie began the fitting. Trying your best to figure out who the hell replaced Bucky with this middle school girl.

“So,” you ask, after a lull in their conversation finally presents itself. “How did you two meet?”

Eddie perks up, as if he just remembered you were there. “We live in the same old folks home.” He tells you, just as Bucky is saying “Neighbors.”

If you had a water you would have done a spit take.

“I’m sorry the same, what?” You ask, lifting a finger in Bucky’s direction as you add “just Eddie.”

Eddie smiles, completely oblivious, as most old men are. “We live in the same apartment complex. Lincoln Estates.” He confirms, too busy measuring to notice your smirk. “Boss man over here just moved into the penthouse.”

“Bucky you told me you moved, but you never said where!”

“On purpose.” He says, voice flat.

Before you can comment, Eddie continues. “Yeah it took some convincing to get the HOA on board, but he technically meets the age requirement. Plus I told them having a congressman in our building might actually get the city to do something about the messed up sidewalk.”

It’s like Bucky can see the jokes forming in your head, “It’s an active adult complex!” He defends, jostling so much that Eddie has to pull him back into place.

“Mhm.” You hum, biting your lips to keep from laughing. “It’s a beautiful building, its by the hospital right?” You ask.

Eddie nods, “Yeah, it’s great! We also have a physical therapist who works out of the building. Plus, there’s a proposal to add a pickle ball court on the roof.”

You nearly choke. “That’s amazing!” You add, completely overdoing your enthusiasm.

Bucky melts in front of you, his face a brighter shade of pink with each passing comment.

Eddie taps Bucky’s shoulder, “Almost done, just gotta run to the back for a few minutes.” It’s innocent enough, but Eddie winks as he says it.

As soon as he’s gone Bucky speaks, “They were pet friendly.”

You don’t ease up, “Were you not gonna tell me?”

“That was the plan.”

“So you were just going to let me figure it out when I saw shuffleboard in the lobby?”

“Why are you in my lobby?” He fires back.

“Don’t change the subject.”

“There’s no shuffleboard in the lobby.” He laments,“Honestly, the apartment itself is normal.”

“Are there handle bars in your shower?” You ask.

Bucky sighs, it’s obvious he will not be winning this round, “They’re very convient.”

You stand up, walking over to a display of ties. You run your fingers over the different fabrics, stopping when your fingers land on a baby blue one. “Bucky do you know how much of your appeal as a candidate relies on the fact that you’re not an old man?”

“I thought my appeal was being an Avenger.”

“Avenger adjacent.” You add, part of your job is to keep him humble afterall. “Yes, that’s a lot of it too, but so is your physical age. If we take out the popsicle years, you’re about to become one the youngest senators on the floor.”

“Popsicle years?” He asks, making that stupid, cute questioning face he always gives you.

You give him a quick, but apologetic look, realizing how that sounded, “Seriously Bucky, just try to keep a low profile in the building for a bit. Last thing we need is someone’s Nana spreading gossip about you.”

He winces and you fix him with a stern, ‘What does that mean?’ look.

You grab the blue tie and walk over to Bucky. “I promised to bring Captain America to the next Barbecue.” He admits.

You’re standing in-front of Bucky now, so close your toes almost touch. Wordlessly, you bring the tie up and around his neck, tucking it under his collar. “You like it there?”

He nods, “I do.” You can feel the weight of his eyes as you begin to tie his tie. You try you best to focus on the steps, but the way he’s staring makes it hard not to mess up. “They play music I actually know, and treat me like I’m just a regular guy.”

You smile. “Then that’s all that matters.”

He smiles back. Clearing his throat as you finally pull the knot tight. You let your hands linger this time, the way they had wanted too that day in the barbershop. You rest your palms against his chest, finally lifting your chin to meet his eyes.

“Still pissed you didn’t tell me though.” You tease.

“Promise not to do it again.” He says. His tone isn’t quite as airy as yours.

Just as you’re about to back up, his hands find your hips. The short distance between you feels so charged, trying to come up with any words feels impossible.

You have a rule and you already broke it once. You’re not trying to get in the habit of breaking it again, not when you’re so close to the finish line. But you can smell his cologne, feel his breath, and it all makes you dizzy.

You should say something. Tell him you shouldn’t, tell him it’s not a good idea, tell him Eddie will be back any second.

“Hi.” You whisper.

Fuck that is not what you were gonna say.

“Hi.” He smiles back, pulling you just a little closer. He looks down at the tie, “Blue?”

“Matches your eyes.” You try and make it sound like the most obvious thing in the world, a futile attempt attempt to break the tension. You realized it had the opposite effect of when you feel his grip tighten.

“Bucky.” You warn, but still not dropping your hands.

He ignores it. “What if I fire you?” He asks

You laugh. Unable to help it, you lean forward and rest your forehead against his chest. “Don’t tempt me.” You exhale.

He leans down and presses a kiss to the top of your head. “One week, then you’re taking me dancing.” He says. You tilt your head up towards him, l body all but melted against him at this point and you give in. Leaning up onto your toes you’re just about to press your lips to his when-

“All right Buddy you are all set!” Eddie’s voice booms as he walks back into the room. You and Bucky jump apart like guilty teenagers.

Bucky recovers quicker than you do. “That’s great Eddie, what do I owe you?”

You pick up your bag, and do your best to try and fight the heat in your cheeks. “It’s my treat.” You insist, reaching into your purse to grab your card.

“No way.” Bucky fights back, his wallet is already opened on the counter.

“I’m the one who insisted you get a new suit Bucky.“ you fight back.

“It’s my treat.” Eddie says. “Consider it your house warming present.”

You can tell Bucky is stunned, “You sure it’s not a bribe to get that sidewalk fixed?” He jokes.

“Next one is free if you pull off that miracle.” Eddie smiles, and then not so gently adds, “Now get out of my shop and go flirt somewhere else.”

You laugh, embarrassed. “Thank you Eddie.” You look over at Bucky. “You do good work.”

“I know.” He winks.

The sun beats down on you as you step outside. Eager to get to air conditioning, you walk ahead of Bucky, joking about how he was going to sweat through his new suit.

He’s about fifteen feet behind you, halfway through a comment about how he won’t miss New York winters (as if DC is that much warmer) when you hear the car come to life. Your hand is a foot from the door when the world erupts.

There’s a sudden breeze, then a flash of heat. You feel yourself fly through the air, before you back crashes into something hard and jagged. Then you hear the blast, the reverberation of it shaking the ground you landed on.

Your body starts to catch up, the rest of the world coming back into focus. Your leg is throbbing and you can feel yourself coughing, but you can’t hear a thing over the ringing in your ears.

You look around, trying to find Bucky, but everything is covered in a blanket of smoke. Distantly, you register the car. The entire frame is on fire and either it flew across the street, or you did.

Then it all goes black.

It was like the entire thing had happened in slow motion.

One second you were laughing, smiling at him like you couldn’t imagine being anywhere else- the next thing he knew you were rumpled against a brick wall, covered in dust, blood, and your leg bent beneath you in a that definitely wasn’t natural.

Bucky was far enough away that he only had a few bumps and scrapes. He didn’t even need stitches.

You weren’t so lucky, and you didn’t even have serum on your side.

Every single Doctor who came to check on you marveled at the fact that you had managed to get away with just a few broken ribs, a punctured lung, a concussion, and a fractured leg.

Nothing absolutely this felt lucky to him. He spent three hours waiting for you come out of surgery. It felt like you had been seriously hurt, and it was his fault.

If he had gotten to the car first. If he hadn’t sent the extra security home early. If he had taken a separate car instead of making some lame excuse about saving gas just to be closer to you. This wouldn’t have happened.

Bucky has never needed help with coming up with new and inventive ways to feel guilty and he had plenty of time to do so while he waited for you to wake up.

As an act of contrition he forces himself to just watch. Watch you breathe, watch your fingers twitch, watch your monitors and try in vain to decipher them.

No pacing, no yelling, no tracking down the men who set it all up. None of the things he’d have done if it wasn’t for the fact that he could hear your voice in his head telling him not to.

Telling hum how violence doesn’t suit him, doesn’t match the Bucky he’s become. A man he’s trying very hard to be right now.

You also keeps telling him to call his therapist, but that’s not happening.

Somewhere around hour two he had taken off the tie, it was dirty, dusty, and speckled in your blood from when he lifted you out of the rubble. Now he just kept wrapping and unwrapping it in his hands, anxiety radiating off of him in a way he hasn’t felt in years.

It’s doesn’t matter how many people tell him you’re going to be fine. Their words don’t change how small you look in the hospital bed, how cold your hands feel when he tries to hold them. The bruise from where you hit your head looks brighter every time Bucky can bring himself to look at it, dark purple staining your forehead.

He’s exhausted. A few hours of sleep would do him a world of good, but he can’t sleep until he sees the whites of your eyes.

Bucky has always hated hospitals. He hated them back in when he’d go visit Steve as a kid. He hated them in the war, when they were just tents help to other by rope and a bandaid. He hated them in Wakanda, when he was getting his bearings, relearning how to be human.

He hated them most, when he was a visitor. Being patient comes with a certain degree of acceptance. There’s a surrender that comes with being a patient too, being able to let someone else make all the hard decisions for him.

As a visitor there is no comfort. He sits in the world’s most uncomfortable chair, and waits. He waits for doctors to come with news, he waits for you to need anything. Waits to to feel useful. The rest of the waiting is just a reminder of how no matter what he believes, what he trains for, or what he does, he has no control.

Looking at you here, connected to tubes is a reminder of why he has can never let his guard down. He knew better than to get close, he certainly knew better than to start whatever this thing between the two of you was. He’s already convinced himself that he’s going to get as much distance from you as possible as soon as-

You wake up, or more accurately you groan into consciousness.

Your eyes crack open, lips parting like you’re trying to speak. At your side your hand lifts, stretching as much as it can towards him.

Bucky grabs your hand, holding it between both of his. “Hey sleepyhead.” He whispers.

You hum, craning your head with a wince towards the untouched glass of water on your table. Bucky grabs it wordlessly and brings the straw to your lips, “Small sips.” He encourages. You nod, closing your eyes as you drink.

When you finally pull away, you fix him with a worried look, as if he’s the one laying in the hospital bed.

“You look,” You clear your throat, “-like shit.” You voice is hoarse. He knows how smoke inhalation feels, like swallowing around glass. That’s without having been intubated.

Bucky is sure his relief is palpable, his entire body unclenches. “Then you probably shouldn’t look in the mirror sweetheart.” He says, presenting you the cup for another sip. This time you take the cup from his hands. “You got one hell of a shiner on your forehead.”

You lift a hand to your temple, recoiling when you make contact. “I’ll get bangs.” You say, not giving it another thought. Dropping your hand back to your side, you take a deep breath, or you try too, but a wince interrupts it. “It was really bad wasn’t it?” You ask.

Bucky doesn’t want to be the one to tell you. He doesn’t want to say that you’ll be in a boot for at least three months. That you’ll be out of work for two. Doesn’t want to tell you that if you had been six inches closer to that car you’d be dead.

“What happened?” You whisper.

Of course you don’t remember, you were ten feet into a brick wall, how could you? Never-mind the concussion to the mix.

“Car bomb.” He explains, “Turns out you were right about needing the extra security.”

“Add it to the list.” You smirk at that, lips cracked from dehydration. You look down, noticing the bump of the bandages around your leg. You bring a hand to your ribs, gently feeling at the wrap there as-well. “Shit.” You whisper.

He nods. “Was worse than really bad.” One of his hands crept up to cradle your hand, two fingers pressed firmly to your pulse. He needs to feel anchored to this moment, to the reality that you’re okay.

He’s fixed his gaze on the blankets covering you, when all of sudden you start to cry.

Your chest heaves with silent sobs and a few scattered tears run down your cheeks. Then you let out a pathetic whimper than Bucky can’t for the life of him understand.

“Hey, hey it’s okay.” He tries to soothe, moving so he’s sitting on the edge of your bed next to your legs. He brings a hand up to cradle your face, sweeping away the tears with his thumb.

You nuzzle into his palm, resting the entire weight of your head against it while you mumble something.

“Honey I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me, buts it’s okay. You’re okay now, everything is fine. You’re only gonna be in a boot for three months! The rest will heal on its own with some rest.” He explains, smoothing your hair as he speaks.

“I almost died.” You explain, slower this time. “And now I’m gonna have bangs when you win!” You add, sounding even more wrecked.

Already thinking about work. You’re still you. Under the scratchy voice and bruised skin, you still have all of your priorities out of order. You still have your sparkle. Something Bucky had spent the last several hours afraid you’d lost.

“It’s gonna be okay.” He promises, “We have a week until the election, no need to pull out the scissors just yet.” He reminds you.

“Six days.” You bite back. The ghost of a smile on your face as you calm down. You nod towards the nurses chart on the wall, “It’s tomorrow, only six days left.” You explain.

“My apologies.” He jokes. Dropping his palm from your face back to your hand.

“You’ve been here all night haven’t you?” You ask, eyes looking him over, taking in his disheveled state. Bucky nods, fighting a yawn as you say it. You give him a real smile this time, all of your warmth directed squarely at him. “Better not be blaming yourself Barnes.”

God, you know him better than he gives you credit for. “That’s because it is my fault.” He admits, suddenly finding great interest in the floor.”

“No.” You say, voice firm.

“If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t-“ He stops, choking on the words.

“Did you put the bomb in the car Bucky?” You ask. Tone sharp and unyielding. He instantly recognizes it, having heard you use with anyone who tries to challenge you. He’s never heard anyone succeed.

“No.” He answers, still unable to look at you. “But that doesn’t change-“

“Bucky.” You interrupt, “Look at me.” He listens, as always. “This is not your fault.”

He wants to fight with you, to yell that is, to give you a hundred different reasons why you should run in the opposite direction.

“I got hurt, because someone wanted to hurt you.” Knife - twisted. “Both of those things can be true, without it being your fault. Okay?”

He nods, “Okay.” He says.

“It’s my pity party, don’t make it about you.”

He almost laughs at that, there’s something about you that makes wallowing so much harder. Besides, you’re you’re giving him that smile, how could he.

So he chooses to believe you, at least until the voices start up again.

“I talked to your boss.” He says.

“Oh?” You ask.

“Some wannabe congressman.” He elaborates.

“Oh!” You giggle, catching on. “How’d it go? He’s a real hardass.”

“He was tough,” he plays along, “But I managed to convince him to give you PTO for the next four months.”

“Wow.” You pretend to be surprised, “That’s very generous considering my contract is up in a week.”

“Mmm, he said something about that too.” You widen your eyes, “Said he had big plans for you.”

You nod, smiling wide. “I can’t wait to hear them.” The second half of your sentence is lost to a yawn.

Bucky feels lighter as he watches you snuggle into the blankets. It’s hard to resist the urge to crawl in next you, but he’s been fighting those kinds of thoughts since Brooklyn. He hasn’t earned the right to that domesticity- yet.

“You should go home. Sleep, feed your cat. Maybe go crazy and take a shower.”

He nods, already picturing the stink eye he’d get from Alpine when he got home. He still wasn’t used to having a roommate. “A shower is probably a good idea.” He says, standing up.

“Thank you,” you say, and Bucky looks at you quizzically. “For staying,” you explain, “I was so worried about you, waking up and seeing your face was-“ You stop, and he watches you search for the right word. “Everything.”

He leans over, kissing the crown of your head, something thats quickly become a habit. “No where else I would have been.” He answers. “Call me later?” He ask.

You nod, “I promise.”

This was arguably worst than being in an explosion.

Okay maybe that’s a slight exaggeration, but never in your career had you been forced to watch your victory from the comfort of your deeply uncomfortable couch. If this injury has taught you anything, it’s that you really need to invest in better furniture. It’s amazing the things you learn when you actually spend time in your home.

You also didn’t have any food in the house, which is why you were still waiting on your third DoorDash of the day. No pity party was complete without a snack.

Back to the torture at hand.

On your screen, in gorgeous technicolor you watched in real time as it was revealed that the voters chose Bucky as New York’s newest Congressmen.

He had given a wonderful speech, short, succinct and powerful, like him. You had proofed it so of course it was perfect. Then as the crowd applauded you watched as the team you had spent the last several weeks of your life managing, celebrated without you.

Blue confetti rained down, getting tangled in his hair, and blurring with his gorgeous blue tie (you had a replacement delivered to him after seeing how ruined it was at the hospital). Sure they had all been calling and texting you throughout the night, you knew they missed you. Almost all of them had already sent you a congratulatory text

Almost all.

The entire day, the one person you didn’t hear from was the person you wanted to talk to the most.

Bucky was avoiding you.

At least you think he is, he wasn’t answering your calls or texts. You knew first hand how chaotic election days were, add to that how Bucky often forgot his phone even existed. A week ago you would’ve written it off as nerves clouding his mind. Two months ago you’d have forgiven it as him having other people to celebrate with.

That was before three things happened:

1. He kissed you so well, you forgot you’d ever been kissed by anyone else.

2. He spent all night at the hospital, waiting for you to wake up.

3. He spent all week texting, FaceTiming, and calling you non-stop. Partly because you were working remotely to get the campaign across the finish line. Partly because ‘he needed to hear your voice again.’

‘Needed too’ until this morning.

He was all vague promises of a plan and sending you cute photos of Alpine, until today.

Maybe this was his plan, ruin you for all other men, and then ghost. You were pretty sure he doesn’t even know what ghosting is, but it’s happened to enough times that you’re skeptical.

To top it all off, you can’t event drink. Your special cocktail of painkillers and antibiotics ruling it out completely. It was a sad predicament, just you, the dry bowl of cereal you had for dinner, and the eleven o’clock news.

It had been almost forty-fives minutes since the results were annouced, and still no word from Bucky. After triple checking your ringer is on, you shut the TV off. It was almost time for your next dose of Tylenol, hopefully it would give you the extra push towards sleep.

Knock knock knock.

For a moment you panic, no one knocks on your door. You don’t know your neighbors, and then you remember.

DoorDash!

Sacrificing grace for speed, you hobble over to the door. You weren’t used to maneuvering with the boot, still cringing everytime time it scraped against the floor.

You opened the door without thinking, looking down expecting to see a brown bag of greasy comfort. Instead you see black dress shoes.

Ones you instantly recognize, you bought them after all.

Your eyes work their way up slowly, clocking the brown bag clutched in his hands. Then the rest of the way to his handsome face.

“Shouldn’t you be at a party somewhere Bucky?” You ask.

He gives you that smile, the one that makes your stomach flip. “Yeah I should be.” He says, and despite how pissed you were five minutes ago, you let him in.

In all your time together you had never felt scared of Bucky. Nervous? Sure, but never scared. Except for right now. Staring at him in your apartment, watching him put the bag of food on down, you were scared. Not of the man, but of your very big, heart pounding in your chest feelings for him. Scared because you had let yourself fall, hard. You had let yourself plan and dream and fall asleep every night thinking about how you would grab him and kiss him the second they announced he won.

Then he ignored you all day. Had he finally realized your organization was annoying? That having a plan A, B, C and D wasn’t called being prepared and was actually called being crazy.

He was watching you too now, and despite your fear, it was like your body came to life under his gaze. A week without seeing him in person made being this close feel electric. Then Bucky broke your gaze and it was like all the sparks died.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I wanted to do this in person.” He explains, coming closer.

A sense of doom creeps up your neck as you watch him approach. You’re stuck in the entryway, as if the boot on your leg has become a cement block and your body can’t be bothered to try and move it.

This is it, you think he’s here to tell me, whatever this almost was, is over.

“You’re fired.” He says, his voice is monotone but his face is wearing an expression you can only describe as a satisfied grin. It feels a little tone deaf given the circumstances.

You open your mouth, hoping to find a biting comeback, or even a sour ‘congratulations’ would work, anything to show him you are not on the same wavelength when lips find yours.

Bucky kisses you, and it’s so obvious he had been holding out on you in Brooklyn. He’s cradling your face in between his palms, but this time he’s not holding you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. It’s not the desperate hunger and grabby hands from New York

This time it’s all softness. It doesn’t take long for you to melt, hands finding his neck and making a home there. You both relax into the kiss, all of the stress, the tension, and blurred lines finally lifted. All that’s left are two people.

You kiss Bucky in until your lungs feels like they will explode. Pulling away Bucky follows you, trying to chase your lips- briefly succeeding, before finally settling for resting his forehead against yours.

You catch your breath, lungs weak, leg going numb from standing on it for so long. lips smiling so wide you’re afraid your face might split in half. Delirium.

“You skipped your party to fire me?” You ask. Tone light, giggles interrupting each word.

Bucky nods and his hands travel to your waist, where they plant themselves firmly. He lifts you and brings you that last foot forward so your chest is pressed to his.. “Knew exactly how I wanted to celebrate.” He explains, lips brushing yours as he says it.

You want to ask him more questions, does he have to leave? can he stay forever? what does this mean? was the food still hot when he brought it in?

Instead you kiss him again. When you break away this time it’s because your lips are numb.

“I know today was crazy, and I should have called you back, I wanted to so badly. I just knew I wouldn’t be able to handle hearing your voice without coming here.”

It sounds a bit dramatic, but he says it so earnestly, you don’t question it. “That’s a good reason.” You whisper, “If you had come here and kissed me like that I wouldn’t have let you leave.”

Bucky tried to kiss you again, but it’s sloppy, both of you smiling too much into the kiss. “You gonna keep me?” He asks.

You nod, shoving the suit jacket down off of his shoulders you can you rest your hands there. Feel all of the strength and power there. Bucky is pliant under your touch, letting it fall to floor with a soft thump. “Yeah, Brooklyn’s gonna need to find someone else.” You answer, “Besides you ruined my job, how am I ever supposed to work with someone else now that I’ve had you.”

Bucky kisses you again, one hand snaking up under your shirt to ghost over your ribs.

“Had an idea for that.” Bucky says he pulling away, but still not detaching. You tilt your head, silently asking him to go on. “Gonna need to adjust my team, now that I’ll be sticking around in DC. There’s one job I need to fill.” He said explains, “You’d be around me constantly, telling me what to do and what not to do.” You smile.

“I do have some recent experience with that type of work.” You offer, “Need me to email you my resume?” You ask, bringing one hand up to scratch your nails down the back of his neck. You watch gleefully as he shivers beneath your touch.

He shakes his head, “You’re overqualified.”

“What is it?” You ask.

“Chief of Staff.”

If it wasn’t for the boot (and the concussion) you’d jump on him. Spend every day with him, and actually do good?

“I accept!” You answer, pressing your chest against his, afraid the ball of light forming inside of it will explode if you don’t glue yourself to him.

After months of calculated touches, and fighting your instincts, the freedom to hold him is addictive.

“Thank god.” He whispers and kisses your forehead, neither of you have stopped smiling. “There’s one other job though.” He says. “It would mean sneaking around, and flying under the radar.”

“Sounds dangerous.” You say.

“Mhmm, it is. Comes with the risk of spending even more time with me, maybe forever.”

“Don’t think that’s long enough.” You respond, distantly wondering who is this sappy, boy-crazy girl and what has she done with you?

Bucky squeezes you again, as if he’s making sure you’re still real. “I’ve got a lot of shit to unpack, you sure you wanna take all that on?”

You nod fervently, “I can handle it Barnes.”

He presses one more kiss to your lips. “I know better than to doubt you.”

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for reading! I have no expectations posting this, I just started writing and couldn’t stop! I love these two so much. Anyway, I hope it didn’t suck, love you say it back

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lilcawdy · 7 months ago

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König who early in his career on a mission finds a cargo container full of Russian girls in a human trafficking ring. You were the only one who spoke German so you had to translate and keep the girls calm since they had to keep you all in the container until it was clear.

König who you wrote to months later to thank him and sent him a red wooden bead bracelet. He wears it everywhere and it reminds him of the good he does even if he couldn’t be a sniper like he dreamed of.

König who showed up to your boot camp graduation and while excited you were inspired to join, he’s terrified of something happening to you and just wants to keep you safe.

König who eventually gets you on his team and while maintaining professionalism, you two become best friends and are inseparable making it impossible for either of you to keep a relationship with anyone.

König who when a body was brought in with a crushed in face was in denial that it could be you since he had memorized every freckle and scar on your body even though you two weren’t together or intimate (…yet)

König who found out it was a setup and pulled a force together to get you back and find the traitor and when he found you in a room with two dead guards at your feet, dropped to his knees and waited for you to approach. And when you did he held you with his head against your heart and kept you upright vowing to never let anyone take you ever again

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hangesdarling · 1 month ago

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but i’m a cheerleader! — h. zoë

PAIRING. Hange Zoë x fem!reader SUMMARY. Your parents sent you to a conversion camp because of your homosexual tendencies. Will you graduate from the camp as a fully-fledged heterosexual or find love while you're there? CONTENT. but I’m a cheerleader au, reader is based on Meghan, nerd!Hange, fluff, homophobia, friends to lovers, making out, barely proofread :’) WORD COUNT. 4.4k A/N. HAPPY PRIDE MONTH GAY HANGE LOVERS! This fic is my pride month gift to you all <3 also I can make my own dividers now! I'll be posting them soon too!

You’ve been fiddling with your pom-poms the whole ride, a string of pinks and oranges wrapping around your finger as you tried to empty your mind. Sending you off to a conversion boot camp, it’s preposterous! You pouted, looking over the window, and instead of counting backwards like you always do when something is testing your temper, you made a mental list of why you’re not a homosexual. You get good grades, you’re a Christian, you have a boyfriend, you’re a cheerleader! Every quality of a straight girl you could think of. Surely, they'll let you go home after you’ve proven your point, right?

When the car halted, your parents delivered you to the doorstep of an otherwise neat house if it weren't for the forced pink paint on specific areas. A Mary J. Brown, as she called herself, greeted you at the door, with a plastered smile at your parents as though promising she can return you straight. You wanted to scoff, roll your eyes, maybe. But your mom taught you to be nice to aging ladies.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry for the inconvenience here but I don’t think my parents’ speculation was right from the beginning,” you tried to reason, not even a minute in her office. You smiled, made your point, that's what you’re great at. “I’m not a homosexual.”

“Now, it’s normal to be in a stage of denial. You won’t even suspect that your actions are unnatural!” she smiled again as if in casual conversation.

Unnatural?

She brought out a drab gown, matching with an ugly footwear and explained that it was part of the first stage. You wanted to politely refuse and call all of this a kinder synonym for lunacy but you’re not very sure of the lady's breaking point.

She passed you to a girl named Hilary for a tour around the camp, the bright pink haunting you at every corner. Even the pink uniforms reminded you of napkins, detergents, and cupcakes but not in a nice way

The bright glittery pink assaulted your eyes as Hillary opened the door.

“This is where we sleep but there is no inappropriate behavior allowed,” Hilary said as a caution.

You blinked, “Inappropriate? Like swearing?”

Then a different voice spoke, “No, inappropriate as in fucking or setting the room on fire, that sort.”

The person said over the book they were reading.You could only make out a mess of brown hair tied into a ponytail, and deep brown glasses until they set the book down.

You only realized that you’ve been staring when the person waved a hand and smiled. Your cheeks heated in embarrassment and you forgot to wave back when Hilary ushered you outside. The tip of your ears heated even more when you realized that your underwear was peeking out of the dress you’re wearing.

“Well, nevermind, Hange. They're a bit weird,” Hilary said, standing next to the list of what seemed to be your fellow campers with the label “HOMOSEXUAL” above.

“Surely, harmless, right?” you laughed, just a small questioning ha-ha.

“Not sure about that yet,” Hilary responded vaguely. “We all passed the first step just yesterday.”

She pointed to a checklist of five rows. It seemed like a long grocery list with names on it but you remembered what Ms. Brown said earlier. You can become straight in five easy ways! That's way less steps than making pancakes.

Your name still left the first box unchecked and you have a terrible intuition that this day would not pass without the check mark upon it.

As always, your intuition did not fail you but this time you’re not happy about it. No sooner, it was time to meet your fellow campers, sitting around you in nursery blue and pink uniforms, They did not look too interested in the process themselves.

“Hi, I’m Y/N. How do you do?” you smiled. This was like a first day in class, right? You just need to introduce yourself and go.

Right?

Ms. Mary Brown instructed them to introduce themselves. You’re somehow glad you don’t have to endure this pastel hell alone.

They introduced themselves one by one, their names flying out of your head anyway, try as you might to listen. Each introduction was punctuated by “I’m a homosexual” which you’re not surprised at by now since you’ve been hearing the word repeatedly today.

Hange did not have their book this time, but they were twirling a pen in one hand. They can't sit still very well. When it was their turn, they stopped twirling the pen, and smiled, “We met earlier.”

“Hange,” Ms. Brown wore a smile of warning.

They only chuckled and stood up. “Now, now, I’m just confirming. I’m Hange. I’d say I like stars, insects, and chemistry but mostly girls. That's what got me here. Certified homosexual here. Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

And like the time you first met, you’ve been staring again. Staring at the way their eyes shine in lovely shades of brown, or the way their hair frames their face, or how much genderless elegance they present even if they're obviously a nerd. You reckon they could dress up a certain way and they'll pass as a boyfriend in front of your parents.

Then, you caught yourself.

Wait.

Those are homosexual thoughts, right?

You chuckled nervously, the name of the guy who introduced himself after missed your ear entirely. You’re losing focus here.

When it’s your time to overcome the first step and admit your homosexuality, you repeat the practiced list of reasons you’ve been listing in your head since the car ride there.

You were then met with follow up questions, ones that grew more prickly in the skin, especially at the mention of intimacy with the opposite sex. You’re horrified at the thought of any phallic flesh at an arm’s length from you and it shows. Eventually, you’ve grown tired of the denial stage, any retort you can think of hitting you back with the reality that you are, indeed, a homosexual.

“Fine!” you screamed in frustration. “I’m a homosexual!”

The frustration dissipated into relief as they all clapped their hands. But the realization did not feel like a ton of bricks, or icy water trickling down your spine. It felt…different.

It felt like entering a whimsical amusement park of unknown rides and you picked a particularly risky rollercoaster. It was both fun and dreadful and you didn’t quite know how to put the two together.

As they left one by one, you were handed the bright pink uniform. You rubbed on the fabric and sighed, you’re a homosexual. Something you’re denying hours ago.

“Hey, Y/N,” a voice called, that one your ear familiarized with the most.

“Hey, Hange,” you returned their greeting.

“See you later,” they beamed, and in a quieter voice, “Nobody really follows the lights-out rule, we can play board games all night.”

And then they winked and you almost blacked out.

“Sounds fun,” you couldn’t suppress a giggle anymore. “I look forward to it.”

After you took a long shower and changed into the bright pink uniforms, Hange was true to their word that nobody follows the light-outs rule. Even Hilary was reading a ridiculously heterosexual pocket book as if it’s a textbook. Sinead was smoking by the window, briefly glancing at you before putting headphones on.

Hange was setting up a Snakes and Ladders board game at the foot of the bed.

“Y/N!” Hange tapped the carpeted floor across from them, ushering you to sit and start a game with them. You did so, remarking that you liked Snakes and Ladders.

“We’re gonna start off easy. I have a feeling you’re gonna beat me on this one,” Hange joked, rolling the dice which landed in two. For a while, it felt like you’re old friends at a slumber party. Joking around, exchanging stories in each of your turn while poor Hilary was chastising both of you to keep it down.

“Are there no other books allowed here except those?” You asked, pointing to a tall pile of romance books near Hilary’s bed, a man and woman always displayed intimately on the cover.

“Well, Ms. Brown allowed real textbooks. I have biochemistry and astrophysics over there,” they pointed at their bedside table. “Told her I need to read some material for the upcoming college.”

“And you need this large pile of board games too?” you joked, tapping the pile of board game boxes beside them with some names you can't even recognize or pronounce.

“Of course I do. I reckoned I’ll be bored out of my mind here so I brought these along. There's nothing to learn here.” Their voice had an edge of bitterness in it and you wondered how much they've grown to hate this place.

“Except being straight that is,” you responded, rolling the dice again and groaning when it landed on a snake.

Hange scoffed, laughed bitterly and said, “That's not something to be learned.”

“You don’t think so, huh?”

“Yes. These people are insane.”

“I agree with you,” you whispered and caught yourself too late.

“You do, huh?” they teased. “Christian, cheerleader girl with a boyfriend?”

“Oh, please,” I rolled my eyes. “You might add homosexual to that too.”

“Welcome to the club, then.”

For the rest of the night, you played board games, willingly learning the ones you don’t know about. It tickled your brain in an amusing way, and you couldn’t think of any fun ways those games can be played without Hange.

No sooner, the long list of activities in Step 2 began: rediscovering your gender identity.

Ms. Brown made it clear with a list of feminine activities, and the more you read the tasks listed there, the more you realized you didn’t like much of it. It can't mean that you’re doomed to homosexuality, of course. Some things can be learned.

“This is tedious,” Hange groaned, staring at the ceiling, anything to avert their eyes off the floor to be cleaned. “I hate cleaning.”

“Unfortunately, it’s essential,” you frowned, taking a soapy scrub. “We better finish it fast.”

Hange wasn’t too happy about it, that's the darkest you’ve seen their mood turn since meeting yesterday. They kept drawing on the floor with soap which didn't help.

“Hey, Hans, look here,” you ushered them close and whispered. “I know you really love challenging stuff and this is no fun for you. But how about this…”

You traced a soapy finger over their area, even going over them until you reached the wall. Then you went by their side again and grinned, “Have it done in 10 minutes.”

They scanned curiously around the area and whispered. “But that’s…”

“Impossible?” you teased, adjusting a 10-minute alarm on Hange's watch.

Then they smiled, the competitive sparkle in their eyes alive at once as though the whole floor was a board game.

“Improbable. But I can manage,” they declared and got to work as quickly as they could manage.

You went on with the gamification strategy for the rest of the step 2, although some other activities needed more patience like sewing and manicure. Without much of their stubborness, you recognized Hange had steady hands and managed most of the task efficiently. On their stubborn days, they would sneak out of the camp and climb the highest tree near the pond so they could read in peace. Ms. Brown will always send you off to fetch them, and it only takes a minute of persuasion before you give up and sit on the tree with them anyway.

It was the first time you’ve seen birds up close, or for small insects to crawl willingly at someone's hand.

“It loves you,” you whispered in awe as a miniscule green fly flew at the back of their thumb.

“It’s a torpedo bug. Siphanta acuta,” Hange had to bite their lip to contain the excitement. “It’s harmless. Look closely.”

You did so, watching the unmoving bug with leaf-like wings. It looked at ease in Hange's hand.

Suddenly, Hange gasped softly, looking at you, or looking past you, you’re not very sure.

“Something landed on you too!” they gushed in a hushed whisper.

“Another torpedo bug?” you asked curiously and realized they were looking at your shoulder.

“No,” they pushed their glasses up and squinted, “Hubner’s wasp moth!”

“Is it harmless?”

“It is,” Hange spoke softly, inching closer.

You sat still, lest you will scare the harmless moth off your shoulder.

“It’s my favorite moth, you know. I used to see them in my grandma's garden.” Hange's smile was too pure and soft that your heart jumped around your ribcage. It didn’t help that they were sitting too close. “Lemme get it for you.”

The torpedo bug flew out of their hand as if on cue and their steady right hand inched closer on your shoulder. You didn’t dare to turn your head as your hair might brush the moth away so you stared at Hange's focused face, their slightly creased brow, the tiny light brown freckles on their cheeks that you didn’t notice before, and their rosy lips. The beating of your heart rang in your ears, if you moved an inch closer your lips could touch their cheek.

“There, I got it,” Hange breathed out a chuckle as the moth settled on their index finger. “Beautiful, isn't it?”

And truly it was such a beautiful thing to behold. The symmetrically patterned wings, the deep brown and dandelion of its body, and its harmless nature made it all the more interesting. Its warm radiance resembled Hange in a way you could not explain. Maybe it was the way they sit by the window in the morning, reading and waiting for you to wake up so they can convince you to sneak out. Or when you both bring your pancakes outside during breakfast so your eyes can take a break from the bright colors inside and stare at the peaceful garden to watch the butterflies flutter about the tulips.

For a moment, you couldn’t breathe, your heart was in a terrible lovestruck frenzy that you almost forgot Hange and the moth. Does love always feel like a heart attack?

Hange carefully placed the moth on a wide, lime-colored leaf dipping from its branches and turned to you.

“Ready to go?” they asked and you nodded. Then froze for a moment when you realized how high up you’re both at.

“Woah, woah, easy…” Hange held you by the waist when you almost slipped down while scooting over the branch. “Don’t go falling on me now. Ms Brown will kill me!”

You shared a laugh as you responded, “Your fault for always running off to high places.”

“We’ll sneak somewhere else next time.” It sounded like a promise. You wanted to ask more but the perils of coming down that tree allowed you nothing but listening to Hange's insructions.

“Put your foot down there.” or “Grab that branch.” You were embarrassed to admit that you’re in survival mode.

Hange climbed down much faster, even with a thick book tucked in their arm. You both ran back inside just in time for lunch. The remaining activities went on until you forgot that you might be in love with your new best friend.

It helped that your relationship was dressed in an innocuous name: best friends. The kind of best friend you'll write to after graduation, one where you can meet up every few months to have drinks with, the one you'll ask to be your bridesmaid on your wedding day. That kind of girl friendship, right?

You only realized how complicated it was to give the name a definition when you enjoyed holding their hand when the others weren't looking, or when you indulge on their late night rambles until you fell asleep on their bed, or that time you almost blacked out when they kissed a thank-you on your cheek. It dawned on you that you might be doomed, walking straight to the point of no-return. But you can't imagine holding anyone's hand and liking it if it wasn’t Hange's.

One morning, Ms. Brown initiated another activity that might help: finding what might be the root of your homosexuality.

The others confided one by one but when your turn came, their expecting eyes became unbearable so you said, “I’ve been thinking but I can't think of anything. Maybe there's nothing?”

“There certainly must be a traumatic or influential event that led you to the wrong path, isn't there?” Ms. Brown responded.

“Or maybe it’s just the way it is,” Hange butted in, your knees pressed flush as you sat beside each other.

Ms. Brown sighed and said, “That can't possibly be, Hange. Now while we wait for Y/N’s answer, why don’t you go ahead first?”

Hange had a bored expression upon their face and said, “Can’t think of any either. I’ve been like this since forever.”

“How about influences at home, or at school?”

Hange laughed then, “Ms. Brown, I think you just want me to say that the all-girl boarding school I attended made me gay.”

“That's an entirely plausible reason.”

“Except that I dropped after two months.”

You were slightly surprised. Everyone is.

“And why is that?” Ms. Brown asked.

“Can’t bear the homophobic lunatics,” Hange said, looking directly at Ms. Brown. “So I transferred to a science high school.”

You smiled, and couldn’t help yourself. You said, “That's cool. How was science high school?”

“Better. And there is more equipment. You can use the astronomy club's telescope whenever you want!”

Your next question was cut short when Ms. Brown interfered, “Now, we are here to identify your roots, not celebrate it. You better identify it well, especially you, Y/N, and write a reflection about it.”

Ms. Brown then dismissed the meeting.

As you walked away, Hange giggled and said, “It’s so easy to piss her off.”

You both shared a low five and laughed as you headed back inside.

“Besides, finding a root? That's ridiculous! For all I know, this conversion camp made me gay,” you chortled.

Hange gave you a curious smile, “Good job, hon, you defeated the purpose of this whole camp.”

“I’m very proud of myself, thank you,” you gave a comical bow.

“So… what part of this camp made you gay, huh?” Hange faced you then continued, “Is it an act of defiance, a certain influence, someone…?”

With each question they seemed to appear closer, and it sent your heart into another gymnastics. You can tell that Hange will keep pestering you about it until you give in.

“Nope, never gonna tell you,” you grinned. “And you'll never catch me.”

You took off into a sprint, the cheerleading training finally had benefits as you outrun Hange along the whole camp. You were winning until Hange strategize and used a shortcut, tackling you to the grass until you both rolled down the shallow dip in the garden.

You laughed until your stomach hurt, laughed even harder when grass and dirt stuck to your pink uniforms and for a while everything felt right. It felt like falling down into your childhood storybooks but in this case, it wasn’t just friendship that you felt.

Hange peeked over the mound of grass and said, “Ms. Brown doesn't come here often.”

They turned to you and smirked, “What do you think we should do?”

“Something she won’t like,” you grinned, your eyes settling to Hange's lips and it did not take them a minute to understand.

“How about this…” Hange whispered softly, eyes trained on your lips before kissing you. And it felt like sparks, like the first burst of citrus in your lips. But they hesitated, struck by a thought that such a kiss wasn’t meant to last. You pulled them by the color, whining silently, begging for the kiss to last until you’re satiated. That's all the permission they needed to continue, to kiss you like it was the last time, until you were gasping for breath, until your lips remembered the shape of their own.

You can't wipe the smile off your face after. Even Ms. Brown was fooled that you were starting to enjoy her noon lectures.

You kissed Hange in the bathroom again, and again when you knew nobody was looking.

That night, you stayed up late to write the reflection Ms. Brown assigned earlier. You wrote a whole childhood best friend shtick just to make Ms. Brown shut up. It comes as a struggle when you’re too preoccupied replaying the kiss on your head. Although half of what you wrote was fabricated, some truths stuck out and you’re afraid it will grow undeniable for the days to come.

Looks like you’re not coming home heterosexual after all.

On the bed next to you, Hange did not seem to be completing the assignment. The pencil movement only indicated sketches and if you squinted closely, quick labels. It must be requiring them a lot of thought since their brows scrunched more than ever and they were drawing phantom signals in the air.

You watched them for a while and fell asleep in your notebook, unaware of Hange's good night kiss on your forehead just before lights out.

Ms. Brown woke everyone up early for another lecture outside. Something about the negative consequences of homosexuality, sodomy and evil, and more things you don’t care about. You read your reflections out loud in the class but you weren't listening for the most part.

When the lecture ended, Ms. Brown reminded you of focusing on lectures, and gave both of you and Hange a long stare as you walked away.

It was Hange's idea for the both of you to take on gardening tasks. It was that or inside that hellish camp, they explained. You were convinced they just like staring at leaf bugs or digging out earthworms. You did not mind very much since you enjoy admiring the flowers, and stealing glances at Hange.

Today, Rock, Ms. Brown’s son, is in the garden, picking out weeds and removing pests. You wished he'd leave soon so you can carry out gardening tasks without anyone watching.

Hange saw him plucking a frog out of the flower bed and called out to him, “Hey, tough guy, unhand the amphibian, will you?”

“The what?” Rock asked as if he didn’t understand.

“The frog,” Hange repeated simply, laying out their hands. “Hand it here.”

He did so and said, “Keep the critters away, Mom doesn't like them around the plants.”

“Alright,” Hange walked away with the small frog ushering you to head to the pond with them. You had to wait it out until Rock is done weeding after all. Hange cooed happily at the frog as if playing peek-a-boo with a baby. You’re surprised the frog hadn't jumped out of their hand already.

You both sat behind a huge tree near the pond, your toes can touch the water if you stretched your legs.

“God bless the frogs, they're not homophobic,” Hange chuckled, setting the tiny frog down near the pond. It stayed for a while before hopping into the water, and to a lily pad nearby.

You were leaning at Hange's shoulder as your eyes followed the frog. You don’t know what to say, the grass felt soft beneath you, the sun was a soft honey yellow in the sky, and words did not feel so necessary at the moment.

So you pressed a light kiss on Hange's cheek to which they responded with a lopsided grin.

“Is that the best you can do, cheerleader?” they asked, very much aware how challenging you can end up.

“Of course not.” You surprised them by straddling their lap, sitting there comfortably as if it was made for you to sit on. It was one of the rare occasions where you see Hange blush, especially when their own teasing returns to them.

“Alright, you win,” they admitted and you shrugged as if it was the most natural thing.

“I wish I could sit on you like this with better clothes,” you frowned, plucking at the pink uniform skirt you never liked.

“Or none at all,” Hange offered.

“Pervert.”

You kissed again, deeper than yesterday, with more yearning unleashed and breaking free into a fit of passion. Hange's hand teased the edge of your skirt and you guided the further. The need to feel them everywhere, in every inch of your skin, came stronger. You wished and wished that you could be anywhere else, somewhere quiet, like your bedroom when you’re home alone. Those times where your parents take three day business trips, but instead of just blasting music in the house or ordering a large pizza while you watch chick flicks, you have Hange. How fun and light and beautiful things could have been! It felt like true love, like a movie screen bursting into a classic love song at a first kiss.

When you tire out, you perch your head on Hange's shoulder. The rustling of the leaves, and the chirp of the birds sustained both of your silence.

Then Hange spoke, “We can go somewhere you know…”

“Where?”

“I’m an expert runaway, we can go anywhere.”

Hange felt you smile on their shoulder. “Good luck saying that to Ms. Brown.”

“I may have a way.”

You looked Hange in the eyes and saw that mischievous glint once again. They are serious about running away.

“Try my left pocket,” they instructed. “My hands are kinda full here.”

You rolled your eyes and chuckled as you reached for their left pocket, “They won’t be if you weren't holding my ass.”

You felt a thick bunch of paper in their pocket and pulled it out. Once unfolded, the paper showed a rough draft of the camp’s ground plan, including directions of nearby infrastructure around.

You were about to ask what the map is for when they gave you another instruction, “Now, my right pocket.”

You reached for it and felt a small matchbox. Looking closely, it has a white illustration of a rooster on a rainbow background with the word “COCKSUCKER” arched above. You shook the box and the half-full contents rattled.

“You can't be serious, Hange…”

“Humor me.”

For a while, you were stunned, your mind spiraling into a vast plane of possibilities, of the things to come and the things to be left behind. Your thoughts clamored against your skull until Hange gave a feather-light kiss on your knuckles. Then everything fell into a hush.

“What do you say, my Juliet?”

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated, sweethearts <3

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joyswonderland1108 · 29 days ago

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When 'Our Son' Isn't Just a Phrase — It's Jikook and the Love They Aspire.

A Lovely jikookie (i believe) asked me so i'm here to deliver.

✍️ 1. Handwritten Korean Message

Korean:

우리 아들 무사히 건강히 전역하길 바란다.

Read:

Uri adeul musahi geonganghi jeonyeokhagil baranda.

English:

I hope our son safely and healthily completes his military discharge.

🔍 Word-by-Word Breakdown:

우리 (uri) – our:

This is culturally important. In Korean, “우리” is used collectively and emotionally — it reflects a sense of shared identity or affection, not necessarily literal ownership.

👉 So “우리 아들” (our son) could be a term of endearment, camaraderie, or emotional closeness, especially common in the military or fandom culture.

아들 (adeul) – son

무사히 (musahi) – safely, without incident

건강히 (geonganghi) – in good health, healthily

전역하길 (jeonyeokhagil) – to be discharged (from military)

This comes from the verb 전역하다 (to be discharged from the military), with the ending -길 indicating a wish or hope.

바란다 (baranda) – I hope

A casual but respectful way to express a heartfelt wish.

🗣️ 2. Caption at the Bottom (From the Soldier)

Korean:

박지민 병장님 전정국 병장님 같이 지낼 수 있어 영광이었습니다💜💜💜 전역 축하드리고 앞으로 한국을 더 빛내주세요!!☺️

Read:

Park Jimin byeongjangnim, Jeon Jungkook byeongjangnim, gati jinael su isseo yeonggwangieosseumnida 💜💜💜 jeonyeok chukhadeurigo apeuro hangugeul deo bitnaejuseyo!

English:

Sergeant Park Jimin, Sergeant Jeon Jungkook, it was an honor to have spent time together 💜💜💜 Congratulations on your discharge, and please continue to shine a light on Korea in the future! ☺️

🔍 Word-by-Word Breakdown:

박지민 / 전정국 병장님 (byeongjangnim) – Sergeant Park Jimin / Sergeant Jeon Jungkook

“병장” is the highest rank in the enlisted Korean military system before discharge.

“-님” is a respectful honorific.

같이 지낼 수 있어 (gati jinael su isseo) – to have spent time together

영광이었습니다 (yeonggwangieosseumnida) – It was an honor

전역 축하드리고 (jeonyeok chukhadeurigo) – Congratulations on your discharge

앞으로 (apeuro) – From now on / in the future

한국을 더 빛내주세요 (hangukeul deo bitnaejuseyo) – Please continue to make Korea shine / bring pride to Korea

So you’re telling me… Park Jimin and Jeon Jungkook—the very same men who once performed Serendipity and Euphoria, who breathe the same air like it’s a love language—wrote this precious little military farewell note together? Signed it side by side?? Used the word “우리 아들” (uri adeul) like they’re proud war husbands watching their adopted military son graduate from boot camp?? Like this is some full-circle family moment???

They’re so soft it’s actually violent. Jikook write like they’re one unit. One entity. Soulmates disguised as elite soldiers with calligraphy skills.

It’s giving “married and nurturing the next gen of idols”. It’s giving “we healed, we grew, and now we’re mentoring”. It’s giving “we’re still disgustingly adorable, even in the military”.

Anyway. I’m fine. Totally normal reaction.

Crying, screaming, throwing salutes.

Jikook world domination resumes now. 🫡💜

#jikook #kookmin #minkook #Jikook nation #Jikook military #Word by word breakdown #Uri Adeul #Jikook fever

158 notes · View notes

javierpena-inatacvest · 7 months ago

Text

Chapter 7- For The First Time

Summary: Eight days ago, you kissed Frankie Morales for the first time. Eight days later, you want to do more than just kiss him.

Word count: 8.6K

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (reader has a name/nickname, no use of y/n)

Warnings: SMUT (18+) protected p in v sex, loss of virginity/first sexual experience for Frankie and Reader (some brief mentions of momentary discomfort bc of it) oral (f receiving- building the lore for Pussy Eating King Francisco Morales brick by brick), vaginal fingering, Frankie's got a big dick (it's also part of the lore, don't @ me) sweet and awkward teenage love, Frankie being everything and more, lots and lots and lots of consent, a four letter word that starts with an L, please don't yell at me, they're both 18 at this point in the story!!!

A/N: Soooooo all of a sudden I blinked a this was 8K plus words WHOOPS 🤠 I ain't gonna lie with y'all, this may be one of my favorite things I've ever written and have cried the whole way through it 😭 My plan was to have Frankie picking up MacKenzie from work in this chapter too, but obviously things got away from me very quickly, so that will be next chapter's problem!! Your kind words about this story mean so much to me, I really hope you guys enjoy this chapter as much as I've enjoyed writing it!!! 🥺💕

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

You, Summer of 2007, Age 18

123 days.

That night Frankie told you he had made up his mind to join the Army after he finished with high school, you counted out every square on your calendar from April 15th to August 16th. You had 123 days left together before you left for college and Frankie left for boot camp.

But April 15th was 2 months ago. 67 days ago, to be exact. Each day you crossed off your calendar filled you with a little more dread than the last. You tried not to think about the dwindling number, or the impending doom of August hanging behind July and June on the wall above your desk, but it was hard to not let the thought constantly nag in the back of your mind that the carefree summer days of spending practically every waking minute with Frankie were coming to an end.

The only thing that seemed to put you at ease was just that- after the hurt and sadness of Frankie’s departure had subsided enough, you had promised each other that the last bit of time you had together, you’d do everything in your power to make the most of it.

If there was anything you knew the other was good for, it was keeping a promise.

There was no denying that the past 67 days spent with Frankie had been nothing short of magical. It seemed like for once in your life, everything was falling into place exactly how you wanted it to.

Your soccer team had won the state championship, Frankie being the first to rush onto the field to congratulate you on your victory after cheering for you at the top of his lungs the whole game. The stress of school seemed to become irrelevant, your teachers easing up as you came to the close of your Senior year, you and Frankie’s after school hangouts now focused less on homework and more on goofing around. Graduation had come and gone, you and Frankie both walking across the stage of your high school gym, diplomas in hand, teasing the other relentlessly about how awful the other looked in the stupid, tasseled caps they had forced you to wear.

Then, there was prom.

It had been no question that you and Frankie were going to prom together- it was an unspoken, standing agreement that the both of you had since the start of your senior year. For as much as homecomings or school dances had never been your (or Frankie’s) preferred way to spend a Saturday night, there was an undeniable excitement you had about it you couldn’t really quite describe. You kept chalking it up to the fact it was the biggest night of your senior year, or that all your best friends were gathering together to have an incredible party filled with dancing and fun.

But neither of those things could account for the butterflies in your stomach when Frankie showed up at your front door, tuxedo on and flowers in hand, watching his jaw drop and heart stop when he laid eyes on you.

“You look beautiful, MacKenzie.”

From that moment on, those 4 words hadn’t stopped ringing in your ears.

They rang in your ears as he held your hand the entire night, refusing to unlock his fingers from yours.

They rang in your ears as you felt him grab your waist while you danced.

They rang in your ears as he lovinging teased you about your drunken hiccups off sips of stolen beer cans in Santi’s basement where the party had traveled to long after prom had finished.

They rang in your ears in the middle of your moonlit street as Frankie walked you home, making it no less than ten steps past Santi’s porch before he froze, staring at you like a trembling deer in headlights.

“What’s wrong, weirdo?”

“There’s something I wanna do. I’m terrified you’ll hate me forever if I do it, but I’ve wanted to for so long and I don’t think I can wait anymore.”

“Frankie, what are you-”

“Can I kiss you, MacKenzie? Fuck, I wanna kiss you so bad.”

“F-Frankie, I-”

“Fuck. Fuck, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. Just forget that I-”

“I was scared you would never ask.”

It wasn’t until then you realized just how badly you wanted to kiss Frankie Morales.

Now, you’re absolutely sure that you never want to stop kissing him.

There’s something about the warmed, welcomed June air that makes you want to throw every caution you’ve ever had to the wind, finally understanding what all of those books and movies had meant about falling victim to a summer fling.

Ever since that night at prom, Frankie Morales was the only thing in the world that mattered. It had only been eight days since his lips had met yours under the midnight moon, but every day since, neither of you had passed up a chance to sneak away for stolen kisses and bodies tangled in messy dances of limbs, finding any excuse to spend a moment alone together.

Maybe your pink cheeks and goofy grins were enough to let the world know how hard you had fallen for your best friend- even if they weren’t, you wouldn’t care. Right now, consequences don't exist.

Right now, the only thing that does is you, Frankie, and a four letter word that lingers in the back of your mind.

They especially don’t exist when you’re wide awake at one in the morning for the third night in a row, unable to sleep as butterflies rumble in your stomach and fly up to your chest after another day spent with the boy four doors down.

You toss and turn under your sheets, unable to stand staring hopelessly at your ceiling another minute. You reach across your bed, plucking your phone off your nightstand, finding Frankie’s name in your messages.

You:

Hey, are you still up? I can’t sleep

It’s barely ten seconds before his contact is lighting up your screen, making your heartbeat just a little faster.

Frankie :) <3

Im up 2. I cant sleep either

Cant stop thinking about u

You:

Me either, even though we literally spent all day together haha

You smile at your screen as you wait for Frankie’s response, fingers anxiously tapping on your keyboard until your phone lights up again.

Frankie :) <3

Do u wanna come over?

I wanna see u

Your face scrunches in confusion, sitting up in your bed to peer out your window, like Frankie would be able to see your puzzled expression from down the street as you type back.

You:

I mean, yeah, but it’s 1 AM Frankie??? What about your mom?

Frankie :) <3

Shes working overnight at the hospital

She wont be back until like 9 tomorrow

Its just me

You’re unsure of how to describe the feeling that’s beginning to brew in your stomach as you read his last three texts. A strange mix of excitement and anticipation washes through you at the idea of letting yourself indulge in the teenage rebellion of sneaking out of your house in the middle of the night. An even stranger mix of nerves and something else you can’t quite explain floods your veins at the idea of sneaking out of your house to find Frankie, alone in his bedroom.

The feeling you quite can’t explain churns faster in your gut and travels down your lower half when you realize if you’re alone with Frankie in his bedroom, you want to do more than just kiss him.

You:

Are you sure??

Frankie :) <3

Promise

I really wanna see u Kenz

At this point, the strange feeling that’s seeped through every inch of your body must have made it to your brain, because you’re convinced it’s the reason you don’t know how to breathe anymore.

You:

Okay

I’ll be over in 10 :)

Frankie :) <3

Ok :)

Come in thru the back door

Txt me when ur there and ill let u in

You’ve never been up and out of your bed so quickly, fumbling with your comforter and pillows just enough to resemble something close to a body under your sheets if god forbid either one of your parents wakes up and decides to check on you for the first time since you were a toddler.

Your breath trembles, inhaling and exhaling in long and deep rises of your chest, carefully tiptoeing across your bedroom floor. You’d give anything to be in something cuter than your pajamas, but opening your closet seems like too risky of a move in your plot to escape.

You grab Frankie’s sweatshirt hanging over your desk chair, quietly shuffling it over your head before attempting to use the moonlight spilling in through your window as enough illumination to comb your fingers through your messy hair and wrangle it into a quick braid. It’s hard to tell from the half lit reflection staring back at you in the mirror, but you pray the once over you give yourself is enough to keep you from looking like a complete mess when you show up at Frankie’s door.

The adrenaline of it all seems to kick your nerves to the curb as you stuff your phone in Frankie’s sweatshirt pocket before your fingers gently wrap around the curve of your doorknob. As soon as you open the door, you’re well aware of the ramifications that could await you on the other side.

You’re also well aware that consequences are temporary, and no amount of fear of future punishment is keeping you from making it to Frankie’s bedroom tonight.

It’s a James Bond worthy performance, the way you sneak down your staircase, avoiding every crack and creak with expertise, stealthily sliding past your parents bedroom and across the family room until you’ve crept through your kitchen to find your back patio.

You flinch with every squeal of the sliding glass door as you nudge it open, just enough to squeeze your body through. You grimace your face in fear as you pause, back to the bricks of your house, waiting for someone to catch you in the act.

A few moments pass and the silence of your home stays stagnant, giving you the all clear to bolt across your backyard, dashing through your neighbors lawns until you find yourself at Frankie’s, hands shaking as your fingers punch at your keyboard.

You:

I’m here! Let me in!

As your thumb presses send, your adrenaline has waived just enough to let the anxious tension take hold of your body, palms sweating and heart racing so fast it just may beat out of your chest. Your teeth gnaw at your fingernails, waiting for his response to text you that he’ll be right there, or he’s about to let you in, but this is Frankie- It should be no surprise when he opens the back door immediately. There’s not a chance in hell he hasn’t been waiting for you down here since the moment you texted him you were coming.

“Hi.” You whisper, biting down your lip to contain the smile that’s spread across your face as he’s opened the door.

“Hi.” He whispers back, tongue darting between his lips as his eyes wander up and down your frame before locking with yours.

His palm grazes your cheek, cradling your jaw as he steps into you, chest to chest while your lips lock in a gentle, electric kiss, the kind that makes you want the taste of him to linger on your tongue forever.

“You wanna go up to my room?” He asks, the hot breath of his words dancing across your skin as his mouth still hovers over yours.

Before, you would have quipped him with some sort of witty, sarcastic response, teasing him that you’d rather stay out in the pitch black and get eaten by mosquitos until he dragged you inside, eyes rolling at your sass. Now, the best you can manage are shaky breaths while you nod your head in agreement, praying your brain will let you form some sort of coherent thought before you speak.

Frankie grabs your hand as he pulls you into his house, taking the familiar path through his kitchen and up the stairs to his bedroom, the pounding in both your chests filling the silence for the words you seem to lack.

He doesn’t even bother closing the door behind him as you make it to his room, your bodies tangling and intertwining in a frantic dance, stumbling across the floor until the backs of Frankie’s knees collide with the bed, the two of you toppling over in soft giggles onto the mattress.

“Fuck, I missed you.” Frankie sighs, one arm wrapped around your hip and the other resting on your face as he leans back in for another kiss, your smiles pressed against each other.

“It’s only been like, three hours since I saw you last, dummy,” You quietly snicker, letting your hands wander up his chest, “You really missed me that much?”

“Yeah, really.” He replies in between kisses, fingers digging just a little bit deeper into your side, “I can’t stop thinking about you, Kenzie. You’re all I think about. You’re all I ever wanna think about.”

You try to swallow the lump that’s lingering in your throat, but with each second that passes, it seems to grow, trapping the words your brain is fighting to get out. The simple bliss you’ve found in pressing your mouth to Frankie’s has become overshadowed by the looming tension spreading through you as you imagine the soft plush of his lips across your skin, or the way you want his hands to creep down the waistband of your shorts and ease the ache that’s been building between your legs.

Your body freezes at the realization that you want to tell him that you can’t stop thinking about him either, that you can’t stop thinking about the fact you want more than just his lips pressed against yours, how you want him to be the first one you feel inside you, that he’s the only one you ever want.

That there’s nothing more than you want to be his.

It doesn’t take long for Frankie to realize he’s making out with a half open mouth, pulling away with concern as he studies the pained expression across your face.

“Kenz, a-are, are you okay? D-did I do something wrong?” Frankie stammers, gulping as he shifts himself to follow your lead and sit up on the bed.

“N-no, no, it’s just that- fuck- I just- fuck, I don’t know how to say this.” You stutter, face growing hotter and hotter as you furrow your brow, eyes peeled to Frankie’s blue and green plaid sheets as you try to find the words you want so desperately for him to hear.

Frankie reaches out his hand, gently resting it on the bare skin of your thigh, just below the hem of your pajama shorts. You glance down at the way his fingers carefully rub back and forth, trying to calm your nerves enough to look at him.

“It’s okay, Kenzie. Whatever it is, I’m- I’m here to listen.” He responds, trying his best to be the anchor in your storm, despite his own nearly shot nerves.

“I- I- I really like you, Frankie.”

“I really like you too, Kenz.” He smiles softly, just enough teasing inflection in his tone to get you to giggle, just a little.

“I just- I- um, do you- Frankie, do you- do you ever think about doing more than just kissing me?”

A stark silence fills the room, quiet enough that each breath through your nose and thump in your chest amplifies and echoes in the space between you. You gnaw at the inside of your cheek watching Frankie’s face go blank, eyes widening with every second he lets your question process. His Adam’s Apple bobs in sync with the trembling exhale he takes before he looks back at you, praying that your word vomit hasn’t led to a detrimental mistake.

“Do um, holy shit- you mean like, l-like what? Like, like, h-having sex? W-w-with you?”

He’s panting like he’s just finished a marathon, his eyes darting wildly between you and his sheets, terrified to answer your question with anything else but his own question to make sure he’s really just heard what you said.

The tops of your teeth dig into your bottom lip as you nod your head just enough, the subtle shake just enough to let him confirm his suspicions that you’re asking as a way of letting him know how often it’s crossed your mind.

“Y-yeah. Yeah, I think about it.” He stammers, feeling his fingers tremble against your skin, hand still resting on your thigh, “D-do- do you? Um, think about it?”

“Yeah.” You whisper, voice shaking as you reach down to lay your hand over his, letting your fingers slide between the gaps between his knuckles until they intertwine, gripping each other tightly, there was no chance the other could float away.

The silence shifts to a different type of tension, a thickness in the air so palpable, it makes it just as hard to move as it does to breathe. The two of you stare at the interlocked hand resting on your thigh, stuck in a game of chicken of who dares to make the first move into the uncharted territory you’ve entered.

“I- I’ve never-”

“Me either.” Frankie interjects, cutting off the end of your statement.

It’s almost humorous to admit it out loud, like the both of you didn’t already share every detail of your lives with one another, and had somehow managed to let this fact fall between the cracks.

The two of you let out quiet laughs to yourselves, finding comfort in the comradery to work up enough courage to let your gazes meet again, wondering if Frankie can see the same yearning in your eyes as you see reflected in the soft brown his.

“MacKenzie, I- I-” he mutters, scrunching his face with his swallow, trying to compose himself, “I only wanna do what you wanna do. I don’t- um, I don’t want you to think that if- if you don’t want to, o-or whatever, that I would be mad. I promise I would never, ever be mad at you because of that. Y-you know that, right?”

“I know.”

There’s not a part of you that doubts it. Not for a second. You know that there’s no one else on the face of this earth you trust more than him.

There could be no one else but him.

“You know I would never be mad at you either, right?” You ask, relieved as you watch Frankie gently nod his head.

You’re not sure if it’s instinct or the weight of the tension that makes you lean into him, foreheads pressing together so that the messy curls of his sleepy hair are tickling your skin. You can hear how hard his heart is beating, waiting on your every breath as he leans back into you.

“I want to. I want you, Frankie.”

“F-fuck- Are you sure?” He asks, his free hand creeping across the sheets, carefully sliding up your thigh and under his sweatshirt you’re wearing, letting his fingers toy at the softness of your stomach and the waistband of your shorts.

“I’m sure.” You whisper back, your own hand traveling up his leg and towards the tented fabric of his pajama bottoms.

“I-if it’s too much, t-tell me to stop, okay? I promise I’ll take care of you, MacKenzie.”

“I know you will. I trust you, Frankie.”

“O-okay.”

“Okay.”

It’s then your mouths crash together in a messy dance of tounges and teeth, an instant electricity igniting in your core with anticipation and want. It’s frantic yet sensual, the way there’s nothing more you want than him, but can’t bear to miss a moment to take it all in, savoring every second you melt into him.

As your hands wander across each other’s bodies, Frankie shifts you to lay on your back so he can cage his frame over yours, the ends of his fingers barely daring to roam any farther than just below your hips or too far above your stomach.

“C-can I take off your shirt?” He asks, already breathless at just the sight of you underneath him.

“Technically your shirt, Morales.” You smirk, making his cheeks turn even more pink at the way you giggle when you say his name.

“It’s yours now, looks way better on you than it does on me. Drives me fucking crazy seeing you in my clothes, Kenz.” He grins, carefully tugging your sweatshirt and the shirt underneath it above your head as you lift up your arms, helping him wriggle it free.

As you pop out from under the fabric, the first thing you notice is the way Frankie’s jaw is hanging open, eyes wide as can be as they stay glued to your bare chest.

“Holy shit.” Frankie whispers to himself, tongue darting between his lips, staring at the way your nipples have hardened from being exposed and aroused. “Um, w-wow.”

Seeing you topless sparks something in him to do the same, reaching over his shoulder to tug his t-shirt off his back and over his head, leaving nowhere for the heave of each heavy rise and fall of your chests to hide.

Slowly, Frankie lets his hands slide up your stomach until he’s palming your breasts, grouping each one in his hands, making your breath hitch in the back of your throat as his fingers brush against your sensitive buds.

He leans down to kiss you, starting at your lips before trailing down your neck and collarbone, until he reaches your chest, carefully kissing each handful he has in his grasp.

You’ve never felt your core ache the way it does now, throbbing with want and need for more, just from the way Frankie’s groping you. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling- you’ve touched yourself before with this exact scenario playing in your mind, but never has it made you feel like this.

“Y-you can take off my shorts, i-if you want.”

“O-kay.”

The gentleness of Frankie’s gaze makes your heart skip a beat, the chocolate brown of his eyes locked on yours as he scoots himself down the bed until he finds himself settled between your legs, now parted open for him.

It’s then you’re overtly aware that Frankie is about to see you completely naked, a new wave of anxiety crashing through you as heat rises in your cheeks and makes you fidget the fabric of his sheets between your fingers.

“I- I- I’m not wearing cute underwear. S-sorry.” You stammer, wincing as Frankie’s thumbs begin to dip below your waistband.

“Seriously, Kenz?” He chuckles, pausing in his tracks to shake his head in disbelief, “Do you really think I care what underwear you have on right now?”

“Well, n-no, but-”

“You really think I’m about to turn down having sex with you because you’re not in the right underwear? That you won’t even have on in like, three seconds?” Frankie snickers, trying to help ease your clearly visible nerves.

“Shut up.” You sigh, rolling your eyes as you playfully swat at him, forgetting about the fact you were topless and immediately clamming up again as you felt your breasts sway against your chest. “S-sorry, I- I’m just kinda nervous.”

“Why are you nervous?” Frankie questions gently, wrapping his hand around your calf, thumb softly circling your skin.

“Well you’re about to see me naked for the first time, Frankie. I think that’s a pretty fair reason to be nervous.” You force the stifled laugh stuck in your throat, attempting to uphold any confidence you have left in your facade.

“You’re about to see me naked too, Kenz. Would it make you feel better if you saw me pantless first?”

He says it like he’s teasing, but you know there’s a part of him that’s serious- that he’d do anything to make you feel better, even something as simple as being the first to forgo any clothes on his bottom half.

“No, I know, Frankie, it’s just-”

“Do you know how beautiful I think you are?”

It catches you off guard, how quick he is to stifle your protest, the warmth of his words flushing your cheeks, now shifting to fit the delicate grin that’s growing between them.

“You’re so beautiful, MacKenzie. Everything about you, I swear.”

He must feel the butterflies churning in your stomach, his hands sliding down your thighs to grab your sides, leaning over to press soft kisses just above your waistband. He stares up at you once more, giving each other subtle nods of reassurance as his fingers play with the elastic, carefully helping you to lift your hips just enough to shuffle your bottoms down your legs until they’re a crumpled pile on the floor.

It eases the tension that’s built throughout your body as you watch in real time how Frankie’s brain short circuits, mesmerized by the view that’s revealed itself between your legs. You timidly squirm your lower half against the sheets, just enough to feel the sticky warmth of your arousal that’s been pooling since the minute you stepped foot in Frankie’s bedroom.

“H-holy- holy fuck. O-oh my god.” Frankie murmurs to himself, eyes locked on the puffy, wet mess of your pussy, “MacKenzie, I- wow. C-can, um, can I touch you?”

“Mmhmm. Y-you can touch me, Frankie. F-fuck, I want you to. Please.” You whisper, letting your legs part for him more, clit pulsing with anticipation to feel Frankie’s fingers.

“I-if it doesn’t feel good o-or, you know, you want me to stop, just tell me, okay?”

“Okay, Frankie.”

You didn’t even know it was possible to feel this wound up, every throb of your core pulsing through your body with so much intensity you’re convinced you may explode if Frankie doesn’t touch you this second.

The pads his fingers gently slide over your swollen lips, collecting the slick that clings to them before he brings them to your clit, his precise and delicate touch still making you gasp the moment he starts to circle around your sensitive nub. He swirls his fingers with the lightest touch like you’re made of glass, scared he’ll break you if he dares to push too hard.

“You can, fuck- you can press more if you want.”

“Okay. I just- I didn’t wanna hurt you, or anything.”

The corner of your lips curl with a soft smile, the stiffness in your muscles relaxing with how warm and safe he makes you feel.

“I-in the same place, though? Same circles, just like, more pressure?” He asks, quietly calculating his next move as you shake your head in response.

Frankie begins to circle again, slowly increasing the weight of his fingers against your clit, brushing against it in just the right way to make you whimper in delight.

“Oh my god-” You sigh, breath hitching in the back of your throat.

“Good oh my god, or bad oh my god?” Frankie questions, terrified he’s done something to upset you.

“No- no, good oh my god. K-keep doing that.” You stammer, pulse quickening as a familiar tingle of pleasure begins to build in your stomach.

Your reassurance gives Frankie the boost of confidence he needs, drawing tight circles around your nub with the pads of his fingers for a few moments, until his thumb takes over, leaving his middle two fingers free, ghosting over your entrance.

There’s a louder moan as Frankie barely slips his middle finger inside of you, lightly prodding in and out of your hole, welcoming the new fullness in the warmth and wet of your walls.

He pumps a few more times, letting his finger sink deeper with each stroke until he’s knuckle deep, reaching further than any spot you’ve been able to feel yourself. It’s when a second digit joins his first that you feel nearly breathless, the stretch and sting making you wince for a moment as you adjust, realising how much thicker and stronger his fingers are than your own when you touch yourself.

Frankie immediately notices your tense expression, quickly pulling back, raising his hands like he’s been caught in the act, guilt ridden look painted across his face.

“Fuck, Kenzie, are you okay? Did I hurt you? Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it’s okay, Frankie! It feels good, I promise, your fingers are just a lot bigger than mine.”

He tilts his head in confusion for a second until the lightbulb clicks with him that he’s not the only one in the room who's ever been horny and taken care of themself to help solve their problem.

“Wh-what do you think about? Wh-when, when you touch yourself?” He asks with a quiet caution.

“I- I think about you, Frankie.”

You answer without hesitation. Not to appease him, not to convince yourself, but because it’s the truth. You’ve thought about him more times than you can count.

Your answer ignites another spark of self-assurance in him, carefully letting his thumb swirl against your clit as his middle finger gently slides back into your entrance, working up to the same tempo he was at a few moments ago.

“I think about you, too. All the time.” He confesses, a willing admittance now that you’re laying your cards out on the table for him.

“Well, there was one time, a long time ago, I thought about Orlando Bloom after I watched Pirates of the Caribbean.”

You’re not sure what spurs on your unnecessary addition to your comment, but it makes you and Frankie both snort, needing a moment to compose yourself from your fit of giggles.

“Are you trying to tell me you’re really into pirates?” Frankie laughs, biting down on his lip.

“No, you dork! That’s not- Jesus, you know what, forget I ever said anything, okay?” You sigh, rolling your eyes at Frankie, trying to will away the reds and pinks that plague your cheeks.

“Your secret’s safe with me, Kenz, don’t worry.” He teases, his smile slowly shifting to a stoic sort of concentration as he stares down at his fingers pressed against your pussy. “I- I wanna try something.”

“What?”

“Can I um, can I go down on you?”

“Wait, really?”

Despite your own inexperience, you weren’t naive enough to ignore the rumblings from friends of friends, or stories of girls on your soccer team, constantly complaining about how all their boyfriends wanted them to suck their dicks with nothing in return. They’d claim it was gross, or weird, or that it would taste disgusting, so you’d be hard pressed to not believe that every boy under the sun mostly likely found themselves in the same school of thought.

“Do you not want me to?” Frankie questions, trying to hide the small pang of disappointment you’re sure he feels in his chest at your puzzled reaction.

“N-no, it’s just that- I didn’t think that- I thought guys thought that was gross.”

“What? Who said that?” Frankie scoffs.

“I don’t know, like, Sarah and Morgan from the soccer team always complained about how their boyfriends never wanted to because they said it was gross or whatever.”

“Well Sarah and Morgan’s boyfriends have a single brain cell left between them after all the hits they’ve taken during football this season.”

The two of you laugh again, finding relief in the way your friendship prevails through the discomfort.

“You really don’t think it’s gross?”

“No. I- I think it’s kinda hot.”

It’s now Frankie’s cheeks that are flushed with crimson, trying his best to hide his embarrassment. You can tell he has more he wants to say from the way his eyes dart between yours and the bed, forcing you to tilt your head with that little nod he knows means that you’ll keep pestering him until he breaks. Lucky for you, it won’t take much.

“Santi stole this DVD from his cousin's house, and honestly most of it was so stupid because obviously it's all fake. Like, no one’s that excited to get fucked at a doctor’s office. But anyways, there was this one part at the beginning where uh- where the guy goes down on the girl and I- um, I don’t know. I- I wanted to try it, I guess.”

“Really didn’t think I was gonna have to worry about not picturing Santi in my head tonight.”

You and Frankie giggle as you pretend to gag at the thought of Santi becoming a part of you losing your virginity, praying there never comes a day he finds out he’s in part to thank for Frankie’s peaked curiosity.

“I- I want you to. If you want to.”

“I want to. Fuck, I wanna taste you so bad.”

The pace of your pulse begins to quicken again, watching the way Frankie’s face lights up as he races to position himself between your legs, laying flat against the mattress with his face hovering above your heat, his hot, trembling breath tickling your folds.

You swear he licks his lips before his mouth meets you, but the slow, long drag of his tongue across your clit already has your head thrown back against his pillow, the warmth and wetness lighting you up from the inside out with jolts of electric pleasure.

He repeats it a few more times, languidly lapping in smooth and steady strokes, each with just a little more pressure than the last. It’s instinctual, how you buck your hips towards his face, like your body knows it wants more before your brain can process it, signaling to Frankie you’ve given him the okay to keep going, to give you more.

Little gasps escape your parted lips as his tongue moves faster, circling your clit the same way he had with his thumb, making your body melt into the mattress. It’s almost unearthly, how good it feels, little fires igniting in your stomach with every flick of his tongue.

You don’t mean to startle him with how loudly you whimper as he intensifies the pressure, mouth still latched around your clit while his brown eyes peek up at you, breathlessly nodding to him that he shouldn’t dare to stop now.

He takes it as a sign to test the waters even further, letting his middle finger be sucked into the warmth of your velvety walls before ever so carefully sliding in another. The stretch is still there but the sting has faded, his fingers a welcomed addition to ease the way you realize you’ve been clenching around nothing, subconsciously desperate to fill the empty ache in your core.

Inch by inch, he sinks them deeper until you feel him bump against a soft spot inside you that makes you scream in a way you’ve never felt before, fireworks exploding everywhere in your body as his tongue and fingers work in tandem.

A familiar tingle rapidly begins to build at the base of your spine, except the same type of tingle you’ve experienced alone has never multiplied and compounded in the same way this one does.

Desperate for something to grab on to, one hand fists at Frankie’s sheets, the other, shooting down to the messy curls of his hair, burying your fingers until they disappear under his unkempt locks.

You’re not sure if you’re so pleasure drunk you can’t think straight, but you swear you can feel that stupid, smug smirk pressed against your pussy as you hold onto him for dear life.

He keeps the same pace with his tongue, fingers prodding in just the right spot to make you feel like you’re losing control, limbs numb and shaking like jello as you feel the tingle creep down your legs and up through your chest.

“F-Frankie, I- oh fuck- fuck, oh my god, fuck, I- I- oh my go-ahhhhhhhhhh-”

It’s all consuming, the way the pleasure washes over you, like waves crashing into the shoreline- relentless and never ending. There’s a moment you’re convinced your body’s left this planet, floating off in space in a cloud of endless ecstasy.

You’re not sure how long you’re lost in the electricity of it all- Minutes? Hours? Years? You’d believe any and all of the above. Your chest rises and falls with each heavy breath as you come to, greeted with the image of Frankie still settled between your legs, wild haired and goofy grinned.

“Frankie…. Holy fuck.”

A beaming, boyish smile lights up across his face at the way you’re panting, wiping the shiny slick stained around his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Yeah? D-did it feel good? Did you um- did you-”

“Yeah. Holy shit. Remind me to thank Santi’s cousin if I ever meet him.”

“Jesus Christ…” Frankie sighs, rolling his eyes at your giggles, heart melting at the way he can’t hide his rosy cheeks and curled lips every time he looks at you, “It felt good though? Like, Actually?”

“Yeah, it felt really good, Frankie.” You coo, watching Frankie prop himself up to sit back on his haunches, letting your gaze wander down his bare chest until you reach the clearly tented fabric of his pajama pants, lingering just long enough for him to notice where you’re staring.

Silent tension fills the room again, the both of you realizing that you’ve only conquered one part of the journey you’ve embarked on together, and that the second half of your travels pose many more risks than the first. Frankie is the only one you want by your side as you brave your adventure together.

With a little push, your back parts with his mattress, sitting up to close the gap between you. You’re close enough now that your hands can roam up his thighs, softly palming at the stiff bulge straining under his pants.

“Oh f-fuck-” Frankie stutters, jaw going slack with ever pass your hand makes over his erection.

“Can I take off your pants, Frankie?” You whisper, burying your head in the crook of his neck, craning your head just enough so that the hot words of your breath dance in his ear.

You can barely finish your sentence before Frankie’s scrambling off the edge of the bed, standing up straight to give you the easiest access to shuffle his pajamas down while you kneel on the mattress.

You pray Frankie can’t feel the way your fingers shake as they sink under his waistband and brush against his stomach, pulling his bottoms down just slow enough to memorize the subtle V that sinks between his hips, or the soft trail of barely there brown hair under his belly button that thickens with every tug.

With one final breath, you slide them down enough to finally free what’s been hiding underneath, his length fully hard, bobbing as it springs free. This must have been what it felt like for Frankie, understanding the way his eyes went wide and brain went blank after he saw you for the first time.

It’s not like it’s a surprise to you, the concept of what he’s had tucked away in his pants.

What does, is how the sight of it nearly knocks the wind out of you.

“F-Frankie… Holy shit.”

“What? I-is something wrong?” He winces, immediately bracing himself for the worst.

“No, it’s just- just like, Holy shit, Frankie.” You reiterate, making it very clear you’re more than impressed as you gesture at what’s hanging in front of you.

“O-oh, t-thanks.” He stutters, a sweet shyness overtaking him as a result of your admiration.

You scoot yourself closer, a boldness overcoming you as you delicately wrap your hand around his length, slowly sliding it up and down his shaft. You pray that whatever you’re doing feels okay, but from the way Frankie’s whimpers and moans escape from his parted lips, you take it as a sign you’re safe to take another step further.

“Since you went down on me, do you want me to go down on-”

“N-no!” He pauses, drowning his face in his palm for the way he’s panicking, making you drop him from your grasp, “No, I- uh- shit- sorry, sorry, no it’s just- No, not because I don’t want you to- b-believe me, I really want you to. Like, really want you to.”

“O-okay, so?”

He must feel awful for the puzzled and pained expression on your face, reaching with both hands to cradle your jaw, making sure your gaze is fixated on him.

“I’m sorry, I promise nothing’s wrong, I just- fuck- I don’t wanna cum yet and I know if you go down on me, I will in like two seconds, and I wanna cum when we’re having sex. I-if you still wanna, ya know, have sex. Jesus, I’m sorry, I don’t know why I freaked out like that. I think I’m- I’m nervous, too. ”

The top of your teeth graze your lower lip, batting your lashes in heavy, long blinks, your lips curling in a sympathetic smile that you’re not alone in your uneasiness. Finding comfort in the uncomfortability, together. Knowing how easy it would be for him to play it all off like no big deal, or pretend to mask the confidence he lacks, and yet, he doesn’t, makes you want him even more.

“Do you still want to? I- I’m nervous too, but I want to. It makes me feel less nervous that it’s with you.”

The tender kiss he plants on your lips as your bodies move in sync down the bed is the only answer you need, shuffling backwards towards the pillows while Frankie hovers his body over you, mouths only parting to let you settle into the mattress.

Each kiss becomes more frantic and desperate than the last, mouths melting together as your tongues wrestle. The way he kisses you is all consuming, enough to make you feel like the only people in the world that exist in this moment are you and him.

“You sure you want to?” He gasps, fighting for his words to escape his parted lips.

“I’m sure.” You whisper back, barely soft enough for him to hear.

The two of you nod, Frankie shifting his weight to reach across you, shuffling through the drawer of his nightstand until he fishes out the box of condoms he has hidden away. He sits back on his knees, carefully ripping a square from the line of packages, tossing the rest over the side of the bed. He’s even more delicate as he tears the edge of the foil he’s holding in his hands, removing the rubber and methodically rolling it down over his shaft.

“It’s on right... Right?”

“Yeah. I practiced putting them on earlier this week so I didn’t look like a complete idiot when I tried to do it the first time. Although I think telling you that probably makes me look like an even bigger idiot.”

“No it doesn’t,” You softly reassure him, “I’d rather have you do that than put it on wrong. I don’t want any of your babies yet, Morales.”

Yet.

You’re not sure what makes your brain decide to add those three letters into your sentence. You’re also not sure why you don’t hate that it did. There’s a part of you that thinks there’s a chance that maybe Frankie didn't hear it, but you know that boy would die before he stopped hanging onto every word that fell from your lips.

There’s a part of you that also swears he’s trying with everything in him to keep from smiling.

Your attention shifts with Frankie’s body, hovering back over yours with his fist wrapped around the base of his shaft, sinking his hips to line himself up with your entrance. His tip brushes against your clit, a familiar jolt of pleasure swirling in your stomach at how you clench around nothing, anxious and aching to feel him inside you.

“I-if it’s too much, or it doesn’t feel good, or you wanna stop, just-”

“I know, Frankie. I’ll tell you, I promise.”

Your low exhale syncs with Frankie’s gulp, each of you bracing yourselves as you finally feel his tip breach inside you. You try your best to relax, squirming your bottom half with each inch Frankie sinks himself deeper. You’re sure there’s a wince as he pushes past the halfway point- not painful, but a sting and stretch in a way you’ve never felt. Frankie freezes, gently grabbing your hip.

“You good, Kenzie? You want me to stop?”

“No, I’m okay, just kind of stings a little, but it still feels good. Maybe if you didn’t have such a big dick, it wouldn’t be a problem.” You tease, letting out a little huff of laughter.

It’s now Frankie’s turn to scrunch the muscles of his face, cocking your head at the grit of his teeth.

“Frankie, are you okay?”

“Yup. Yup, I’m good. When you laughed it squeezed my dick and it felt really good and I’m trying not to make a fucking fool of myself right now.”

“Sorry, no more laughing, got it.” You grimace, desperately trying not to giggle at Frankie’s pained concentration as he shakes his head at you. “Y- you can keep going, though.”

“F-fuck, o-okay.”

There’s another deep breath before he’s pushing his hips towards you, taking his time as you feel the pain start to shift to indescribable pleasure, the feeling of how full he is inside of you making every wire in your brain short circuit.

“Holy fucking shit.” Frankie whispers under his breath, “Fuck, you feel so good, MacKenzie.”

You wish you had the words to tell him how you feel the same, but the best you can muster is a muffled moan that escapes from your unhinged jaw, brain empty at the sweet stretch of his fullness, stagnant inside you.

F-fuck Frankie. Oh my god.” You murmur, letting the muscles of your face untense so the weight of your eyelids can flutter open, soaking in the image of Frankie above you. The rest of your body follows, slowly beginning to relax as you adjust, yearning for more than just his hips flushed against yours. “Y-you can move, Frankie.”

He lets his arms sink from the plank he’s holding, letting your chests flush together so he can bury his face in the crook of your neck, groaning into your skin with the first thrust of his hips, steadily sliding in and out of your heat, savoring every second of the sensation.

“You still okay, baby?” Frankie coos into your ear, the new nickname only adding to the way you want to clench down around his length as he keeps his languid pace, dragging his cock along the warmth and wetness of your walls.

“Mhmmm. You can go faster, i-if you want. F-fuck, it feels so good, Frankie.”

The way you whimper and whine his name sets off a low rumble deep in his chest, lips locking with yours as you feel him pump just a little harder, his length nudging the same, savory spot he had found before with his fingers. Your hand shoots up to wrap around his bicep, nails marking crescent moons in his skin.

Every move he makes is solely based on your reaction, reading the way your body responds to him before daring to take a step further. Your iron grip and sweet moans are enough to spur him on further, a steady rhythm now working through each thrust of his hips.

There’s a new knot in your stomach that starts to tighten, building in your gut and slowly creeping its way to spread throughout your body. The coarse hairs curling at the base of his shaft brush against your clit just enough to spark a jolt of electricity to your core, bucking your hips into his with each thrust. You’re desperate to reach the same high he had given you before, eager to ease the ache of your sensitive bud.

Frankie picks up on the way you rut back into him, snaking his hand down your front, making just enough space between your bodies to let the pads of his fingers find your clit. The pressure he adds with the circles and swirls makes your breath hitch in the back of your throat, overwhelmed with arousal by how all encompassing Frankie is.

It’s hard to believe how quickly you find yourself becoming addicted to him, your body yearning to become one with his and never separate. You want your heart, your soul, for all of it to be his, and only his, to be unable to find where you end and he begins.

The only thing you want is to be his.

With each stroke, your pussy flutters faster around his length, the tingle that had formed at the base of your spine now seeping through your veins, teetering on the brink of collapse.

“F-fuck- fuck, Frankie, don’t stop. Fuck, I- I think I’m- I’m close.”

If it was anyone else, there would be no words to describe the embarrassment from the pathetic whimper you let out at the way Frankie groans while he punches into you. A look of pained concentration splays across his face, focusing with every brain cell he has left to make sure you finish first.

“Shit- I- I- fuck, I’m close, too.” He stutters, chest heaving in between each word.

He presses his forehead into yours, meeting you with the tacky sheet of sweat that now clings to his skin and dampens his curls. His scent, his warmth, the weight of his body laid across yours- you almost dare to wish that this moment, this feeling, would never end.

But the way he whispers your name, each letter warm and tickling your skin, a sweet symphony only he can sing is what sends you over the edge, pushing you past the point of no return.

“M-MacKenzie… f-fuck, MacKenzie-”

Each syllable is an explosion inside you, lighting you up to send sparks through every last limb until you’re sobbing his name, singing his own sweet song back to him.

“Frankie, Frankie, Frankiefrankiefrankie-ahhhhh-”

The dam inside you finally breaks, wave after wave of pleasure crashing through you as you squeeze around him, swallowed whole by the electricity of it all.

There’s not much your mind can process after you snap, but there’s enough strength left to keep your gaze locked on Frankie and the way he gasps as his jaw drops after you’ve finished. He’s just as lost as you, relishing in your afterglow as he chases his own high, each thrust more sloppy and erratic than the last.

“Fuck, fuck, holy shit MacKenzie, fuck, I’m gonna cum so ha-aaaaahhh-”

There’s only one last shift of his hips before he’s spilling into the condom, a final moan that follows his release as he collapses into you. Your chests rise and fall in sync, breaths heavy as you pant in the soft silence that fills the room.

The quiet brings a gentle comfort, basking in the bliss that radiates off each of you as you let yourselves drift back to earth, praying it gives you enough time to remember how to speak.

It’s Frankie who arrives back first, too consumed with your own journey back to hear the way his voice breaks as he carefully whispers your name.

“MacKenzie?”

“Yeah, Frankie?”

“C-can I tell you something?”

“Anything.”

His sweet call brings you back, thumb brushing against the warmth of his cheek, waiting on every word he's working himself up to say.

“MacKenzie, I- MacKenzie, I- I think I love you.”

It's then you're sure your heart stops- four little letters forcing a smile so wide across your face, your positive your cheeks may hurt for days after.

Maybe, if you're lucky, they'll keep hurting like this for the rest of your life.

“Can I tell you something, Morales? I think I might just love you, too.”

@chaotic-iguana @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

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@kungfucapslock @vannabanana1995 @beezusvreeland @guelyury

@javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

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lamaisongaga · 3 months ago

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FASHION CREDITS: LADY GAGA AT COACHELLA WEEKEND I

Eight years after she first made history at Coachella, Lady Gaga reclaimed her throne in 2025 with a headlining performance that was nothing short of operatic chaos.

Choreography by Parris Goebel, styling by HARDSTYLE, hair by Frederic Aspiras and glam by Sarah Tanno-Stewart.

Her dark pop spectacle opened with a haunting visual interlude titled “The Manifesto of Mayhem”—a cinematic overture that reintroduced the world to Mistress Mayhem, Gaga’s latest alter ego.

Bathed in crimson light and surrounded by shadows, Gaga emerged on the screens in a rare archival piece: a bondage-inspired black leather straitjacket from Dolce & Gabbana’s Spring/Summer 2003 collection. The jacket, adorned with a grid of heavy buckles and silver hardware, set the tone for the night—iconoclastic, provocative, and entirely in control.

The incredible black mesh boater hat with rubber barbed wire around was created for our girl by milliner Lara Jensen who‘s been working with Gaga for over a decade!

Her angelic counterpart donned the Garden Fairy mesh corset top made from recycled vintage fabrics ($925 - sold out) from Central Saint Martins graduate Gyouree Kim‘s Spring/Summer 2025 "Cherubim" collection.

If the "Manifesto of Mayhem" set the tone, then what followed was pure operatic excess. Gaga made her true entrance atop a towering crimson structure draped in velvet folds—her silhouette like a deity descending upon her disciples.

The look? A custom creation by avant-garde visionaries Samuel Lewis, Athena Lawton and William Ramseur—a pleated, studded spiked masterwork of red velvet drama. Drawing inspiration from Edwardian silhouettes and Mugler’s villainous couture—particularly his take on "Lady Macbeth"—the jacket was armored in silver pyramidal studs, its spine and shoulders flaring like a queen prepared for battle.

Beneath the sweeping opera curtain–inspired skirt—engineered by the theatrical masterminds at Jet Sets —hid an elaborate cage several feet tall, housing Gaga’s dancers like a twisted chorus of shadows. The garment was both fortress and stage, its hem draping downward like blood-soaked drapery from an abandoned palace.

Topped with bone-like protrusions with crystal embellishments at the collar and sleeves, Gaga became something between a saint and a specter. Her performance from this fortress-skirted throne was a visual aria: high camp meets high art, rooted in madness, resurrection, and pure spectacle.

The opera singers beside her were dressed in huge wavy constructed yellow and black skirts with beaded velvet tops, custom-made by Candice Cuoco.

In one swift motion, she shed the heavy opera curtain—only to unveil a sensual, custom-made Samuel Lewis and Seth Pratt creation beneath. The ruby-red satin dress featured a sharp bodice with architectural puff shoulders and a plunging open front that gave way to the black lining. A crystal-embellished sash draped diagonally across her chest.

For the most intimate and arresting act of her set, Gaga appeared in a teddy—part lingerie fantasy, part gothic confessional, custom-made by the same duo. Crafted in rich black satin, the piece featured a sculpted bustier, delicate lace trim, and a shimmering crystal-embellished cross that ran from neckline to hem, catching the light like a whispered scandal.

Gaga strutted across the stage in the surprisingly affordable Leza over-the-knee boots by Steve Madden—retailing for just $89.99. Yes, you read that right.

"OFF WITH HER HEAD!"

Three of the characters are wearing these impeccable black veiled headpieces and dresses which were created by Nasir Mazhar in 2021, originally for balletLORENT.

Gaga's string orchestra wore draped black taffeta gowns made by AGRO STUDIO with custom headpieces all created by Lara Jensen.

As the lights dimmed and the stage transformed into a sepia-toned wasteland, re-emerged not as a pop powerhouse, but as a ghostly relic of beauty undone. Lying among skeletal remains and grains of dust, she conjured a scene straight from a tragic gothic fable.

For this act, titled “And She Fell Into A Gothic Dream,” Gaga wore a custom Dilara Findikoglu corset mini dress—a distressed, doll-like creation that whispered of innocence lost and romance decomposed. The off-white, almost bone-colored garment featured delicately frayed edges, an asymmetric hem, and panels of antique lace that seemed stitched together by time itself. Every rip and raw edge told a story of longing, survival, and sorrow.

The dancers wore skeleton masks made specially by Sarah Sitkin!

Gaga stepped back into one of her most iconic songs—"Paparazzi"—but this time, she didn’t just revisit it. She rearmed it.

As the familiar opening notes rang through the desert sky, Gaga reappeared in a custom Manuel Albarran armor bolero and matching helmet—a direct visual homage to the Mugler look she wore in the original "Paparazzi" music video.

For the high-octane performance featuring Gesaffelstein, Gaga slipped into a custom Marni catsuit, based on the house’s Fall/Winter 2025 collection. The original red suit—featuring beaded embroidery of a black wolf—was reimagined for Gaga as a skin-tight, asymmetrical bodysuit, fused with nude illusion mesh and stitched with jet-black sequins that glinted like sharpened claws.

To elevate the glam rock look even further, Gaga threw on a custom coat made entirely of hand-cut blue and black paper feathers, inspired by the brand’s Spring/Summer 2025 collection.

A true blast from the past are her Savannah vinyl corset boots from Penthouse.

Her female background dances all wore custom costumes by Courtney McWilliams paired with the Miista Imogen black lace-up sneaker boots!

As the opening of "Zombieboy" echoed, Gaga returned to the stage, wearing a striking custom look designed by Samuel Lewis and William Ramseur: a military-inspired royal blue satin bustle coat, tailored to perfection and cut with razor-sharp precision. The garment featured exaggerated puffed shoulders, a nipped waist, and a flared skirt with an almost theatrical silhouette, marrying 18th-century regency with gothic fantasy. The pièce de résistance? The coat’s intricate gold embroidery, stitched by the artisans of Altesa Embroidery, which shimmered like bone filigree under the stage lights—mirroring a skeletal ribcage and spine that gave the look both regality and decay.

But Gaga didn’t stop there. To crown the ensemble, she donned a custom Marni paper feather helmet, styled like a twisted jester’s crown with raven-black plumage erupting from her temples.

The studded harness belt, she wore during "Zombieboy", was custom-made by Jonathan Burdine in collaboration with Iggy Soliven.

For "Shadow of a Man", Gaga emerged cloaked in mystery and command, donning a custom Louis Verdad x Samuel Lewis creation that was equal parts military regalia and avant-garde sculpture.

The charcoal grey structured jacket, tailored to her frame like armor, featured razor-sharp lines and a high, asymmetrical collar that framed her silhouette like a shadow in motion. Bold black patent leather straps slashed across her shoulders and waist, adding a sense of futuristic restraint to the otherwise regal tailoring.

Underneath, she wore black stretch vinyl shorts by Los Angeles Apparel.

For the final look of the night, Gaga delivered a breathtaking visual transformation in a total couture creation by Matières Fécales (formerly known as Fecal Matter), a brand famed for its futuristic, grotesque, and avant-garde sensibilities.

The custom ensemble was a full conceptual look, comprised of a satin-stitched bodysuit featuring a haunting red anatomical cross motif—meant to evoke the feeling of surgical stitches, resurrection, and rebirth (and a nod to the "Abracadabra" music video!). The bodysuit alone was a spectacle, but Gaga layered it with even more drama: a translucent organza coat (cropped specifically for her performance), and an exaggerated feathered bustle skirt constructed from delicate white plumes that moved with every beat, adding an ethereal weightlessness to the performance.

The silhouette was further intensified with a sculptural feather collar piece—a headpiece of long, otherworldly white feathers shooting upward like wings, perfectly framing her head and extending the theatrical effect, created by Paul Battenberg-Cartwright.

On her hands, Gaga wore elongated gauze gloves created by artist Yaz XL, designed to resemble haunting, claw-like monster hands. The exaggerated fingers extended dramatically into crystal-embellished tips, catching the stage lights with every movement and adding an eerie elegance to her already ethereal silhouette.

To complete the look, she grounded the ensemble with custom white lace-up ankle boots by Chrome Hearts.

The dancers were all dressed in custom Luis de Javier white lace looks and Balenciaga Cagole white boots! The nurses, that wheeled Gaga in, wore custom ILONA red gowns and hats.

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perry-the-platypus-f1cs · 4 months ago

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Dadler and Graveson AU headcanons

1. when Phillip joined the marines Adler was adamant that he change his last name, Phillip of course was confused because why would he need to change his last name?

he knew his father was in the military but he never knew what his father did.Phillip agreed, confused now asking his father why, but Adler never tells him why. and Phillip only finds out why Adler made him change his last name when he graduates from boot camp and Adler shows up to the ceremony.

when Adler enters the room Phillip can see that all marine leadership in the room goes on edge, and even more so when Phillip hugs Adler and calls him "old man" what's even more weird is when a heavily decorated army general salutes adler. and then the entire Marine command in the room salutes adler.

2. when Phillip was between the ages of 1-10 Adler took every day off that he could Adler told everyone that unless they were at war nobody called him. Adler wanted to make sure his sons earliest memories of him were good ones.

3. when Phillip was a teen he was the kind of kid who would fight anyone, he was a good kid mostly, good grades, good intellect. but if anyone bullied any of his friends they would get punched. This got Phillip sent to the principles office with the other child and their parents Adler usually showed up but one time he was in a meeting and so Phillips uncle woods showed up.

let's say that the principal was shocked when he saw a man roll into the office in a wheelchair cursing like a sailor congratulating Phillip for standing up for what was right.

(Phillip also got burger town after that)

4. Adler regularly took Phillip to the shooting range when he was a teenager 15-18 he called it "getting the kiddos stress out" this also may or may not have been one of the reasons Phillip joined the marines, because one day at the shooting range a marine in full dress blues complemented his shooting skills.

#call of duty #phillip graves #russell adler #dadler #dadler and graveson #cod cold war #cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare

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kumkaniudaku · 2 months ago

Text

Fonder

Summary: Terry and Patrice have tough questions to ponder as boot camp draws closer.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC (Patrice Ellis)

Word Count: 4,223

Warnings: None

“Terrence! Terrence, you remember Paula, don’t you? Your uncle’s ex-wife!”

Terry didn’t know Paula or that she was once married to his uncle. His mother’s half-brother had notched a ton of wives. If she existed before he knew how to walk and chew gum at the same time, he didn’t remember. Still, Terry put on a happy face and allowed the mystery woman to leave pale pink lipstick on his cheeks because that was his duty as the guest of honor. In exchange for monetary gifts, congratulations, and well wishes, he was doomed to hear variations of his first name and hug unfamiliar faces to satisfy his parents. Maybe if he played nice long enough, he could return to the folks who truly mattered.

Under a hot late-May sun, members from his mother and father’s side of the family and a host of Terry’s high school friends littered the backyard for a combined graduation and send-off affair. If Terry were honest, he didn’t care for many of the adult faces in attendance. Invitations sent well after reasonable accommodations could be made by his forgetful father deprived a young man preparing to enter the world on a fast track of seeing the people he cared about most. Mike was in trouble again and under strict instructions to stay put. His older cousins on his mom’s side couldn’t round up enough cash to make the journey from St. Louis to North Carolina, and his crazy Uncle Myron didn’t have time in his schedule to deliver a fun but shitty DJ set to entertain his friends. A party for his enjoyment had been slowly zapped of all the things he treasured most.

If Terry had time to sit and think about all the avoidable missteps in the process, the smile on his face may have been wiped clean and replaced with a tight-lipped frown. But he chose to think about the positives. His friends were in attendance, Deidra had provided decadent strawberry cupcakes he’d miss for 13 weeks, and his girlfriend was in the prettiest blue dress he’d yet to compliment. He’d grin through a thousand kisses to get back to Patrice and the group of silly high school students making fun of Corey’s hot dog consumption techniques.

Paula’s quick squeeze on Terry’s hand snapped him out of his haze and back into the conversation between his supposed aunt and his mother. “Will $100 do?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Terry nodded, smiling. “Thank you.”

A $100 bill would do just fine. The mere thought of what he and Patrice could get into with that type of cash stole his attention and sent his eyes drifting over to the table full of recent high school graduates again. While the small group laughed at something Terry wished he was privy to, Patrice sat half-smiling and picking over the baked beans on her plate. He tried to will eye contact between them into existence to flash a goofy smile or crossed eyes that she always spared a few giggles for, but couldn’t telepathically convince her to look his way. Instead, Patrice kept her gaze fixed on a smattering of unfinished food until Napheesa struck up a new side conversation to break her out of her trance.

Terry had to get to get back. He’d already broken a promise to stay close. Making a habit of under-delivering couldn’t start before the biggest test of their young relationship.

“Ma, can I be excused?” Terry didn’t mean any harm in his interruption, but the situation was urgent.

Deidra studied her son with a curious look, following his eye line across the backyard and back before giving her blessing. “Go on,” she answered, her knowing smile barely contained and spreading to her son. “It’s your party. Go spend time with your friends. All of them.”

A quick kiss to DeeDee’s cheek and another wave to the stranger he’d come to know as Paula sent Terry into a near jog across the lush green grass.

He was free to enjoy the shindig thrown in his honor. A seemingly never-ending hour of shaking hands and accepting well wishes from familiar and unfamiliar faces alike felt like enough to labor to enjoy the fruits of friendship. He’d been promising to whoop ass in Uno since graduation day. Now was the opportunity to make good on the havoc he’d vowed to wreak.

Patrice saw Terry’s long legs and lanky body speed walking in her direction and perked up at the sight. He was like a mirage in the desert coming to save her from a teenage love drought. In reality, she was fine. Any time spent with her found family before they’d be forced to go their separate ways and relegate meetings to holiday breaks was a blessing. Though she hadn’t spent much time speaking, harmless jeering between best buds was amusing. She’d giggled a few times at Corey’s antics, Nate’s spot-on impressions of Marvin, and Napheesa’s reenactment of Mr. Turner’s droning final speech before they were ushered into the stadium to say their goodbyes to high school. Even Katrina had gotten off a few funnies when she typically served as the bane of Patrice’s existence. None of them were Terry, though. And, with him bolting across the backyard to join the group, they no longer needed to be.

"James!" A booming voice still coated in bayou flavor stopped Terry in his tracks and robbed Patrice of excitement all in one go. Yards apart, their eyes moved in sync to focus on Marvin waving his son over to the grill where another older man stood awaiting his arrival.

"Sir," Terry questioned, hoping his father was only calling his name to warn him about a hazard in his way or to check if his voice still worked.

Marvin gestured for him to come closer. "Al got somethin' to talk to you 'bout. Won't take long. Fifteen minutes, and you can get back to what you were doin'."

Terry wanted to protest. He was 18 now. Surely, that was enough of an adult to go against decisions forced on him by his parents. But he hadn't quite lost all of his marbles yet. The few left reminded him that his father was still a spry man and embarrassment wasn't worth the hassle.

For the first time since he'd kissed her cheek and said he'd be back soon, Terry locked eyes with Patrice. She tried to rid her shining eyes of disappointment and force a smile for reassurance. He returned a silent apology in the form of puppy dog eyes, hoping she could feel how sorry he was for another intrusion. Patrice nodded her understanding before directing her eyes back to the older version of Terry, and, for the umpteenth time, he was swept away.

Fifteen minutes was hardly an accurate estimation of how long Al could talk. While Marvin watched over his personal steak, Terry was forced to listen to the former Marine recount stories of Parris Island, SOI, and the perils of being a young serviceman. While Terry appreciated all the information, he didn't appreciate missing out on the raucous laughter within earshot of a supremely boring conversation.

At the thirty-minute mark, Terry prayed for a way out. A burning bush, perhaps? Maybe a slip and fall from one of the older folks in the bunch

Not enough to hurt, but enough to distract all in the vicinity and allow him an easy escape route.

As he listened to the balding man talk without taking breaks to breathe or solicit opinions, he caught a glimpse of Patrice and DeeDee fiddling with the sound system and the rinky-dink microphone they'd borrowed from his uncle. Their shared laughter made him smile without any awareness of the joke, capturing Al's attention.

"That your girl? The one your mama talks about all the time," Al questioned before sipping from a tepid beer.

Terry tore his eyes away from two of his favorite people to acknowledge his unrequested mentor's question. "Uh…yeah, that's her."

"Seems like a good girl," Al answered, taking Terry's shortness in stride. "What's her plan after high school? Sticking around for you to come back or something else?"

"Nah, she wouldn't wait around. She's going to A&T to get her English degree and teach, hopefully. That's the plan, at least."

Al nodded his understanding while swallowing another sip. "Y'all gettin' married when you get back?"

The still-developing portions of Terry's brain froze and rebooted in real time as he pondered the question. Though old enough to sign his life away for the United States government, Terry had never considered the possibility of marriage. Maybe in passing to Ashantias, a younger boy, but not as a possibility fresh off of homework reminders and after-school activities. Not until Al continued his spiel to an increasingly intrigued young man trying to make sense of new love and his new obligations.

"I'm just sayin', man. You finish boot camp, come back home, and go on ahead and tie that knot. Get out them barracks and get that extra money, man. You can figure out the rest later," he advised. "Shit, I did it. Hard work, but it ended up being worth it. She might be waiting on you to pop the question. You know how women are."

Terry shrugged as he battled with the information. "Treece is different. I don't know if she trynna get married. Not yet."

"Every woman trynna get married, son. The sooner, the better. Trust me."

Minds with more life experience and better radar for bullshit concealed in purported wisdom would've forgotten each word of Al's advice, chucking it into a pile of things to never consider again. But Terry hadn't had much life experience or a fine-tuned detector for foolishness. All he had was a burning desire to be with Patrice forever and the image of Patrice and his mother still giggling with each other while testing a static-bearing microphone.

Instead of shelving the racing thoughts in his head for a moment alone, Terry allowed them to fester as Al found another victim to verbally hold hostage. The far-off look in his eyes drew Patrice's attention from the other side of the backyard as she tried to get Terry's attention.

"What's wrong," she mouthed when they locked gazes.

Terry adjusted his slight frown and mouthed his response. "Come here."

A second chance at time together came with more urgency, quickening Patrice's pace as she slyly ducked out of the conversation and tried to scurry across the back lawn. She dodged Zorah and Zanah's game of freeze tag with other smaller cousins, calls for her attention from the group of teenagers trying to settle a silly debate, and the Spades argument slowly growing into a physical confrontation to zig zag her way to the Terry.

Like a runner sprinting toward the finish line, Patrice could feel excitement quickening her heartbeat, the sound thudding between her ears as Terry tried to meet her halfway. So close. Close enough to reach out and touch if fear of being seen by a host of adults hadn't forced them to keep the physical contact to a minimum. Three more steps. Two. Then one.

"Hey." In one breath, Terry rushed out his greeting before breaking into a smile.

Patrice mirrored his expression. "Hey," she spoke back, the sparkle in her grin rivaling the sun trying to peak through dense clouds. "What was all that about?"

"Nothing important," Terry brushed off before grabbing Patrice's hand. "You look…really pretty."

"Thank you, TJ. You look nice, too. What's all this on your face." A quick swipe at Terry's cheek erased lipstick from the spot.

"Paula. My bad," He laughed. A rush of jitters and excitement coursed through Terry's body, heating his body until his ears turned red. He took a look away to steady himself before returning his full attention. "You wanna go back over there or, you know, find somewhere quiet to…talk."

"Talk, huh?"

Goofy smiles exchanged between two people bursting with electric feelings lingered without the need for words to explain the true essence of Terry's suggestion. With the coast clear for a joint escape, the pair interlocked fingers and prepared to flee the scene long enough for some time alone until the loud screech of equipment feedback sent everyone's hands flying to their ears for protection.

DeeDee's signature laughter cut through the interruption. "Whoops! That's what they get for letting my old ass take charge of the technology," she joked. Sparse chuckles sounded from confused partygoers looking for more of an explanation. Recovering, Deidra continued. "Thank y'all for coming to celebrate my baby and send him away the way we know best. I know y'all didn't come to see me or his daddy, so I won't hold you too long. I just wanted Terrence to have a chance to say thank you himself. Terrence! Where are you, baby boy?"

Unmistakable sneering from his table of friends made Terry grimace and look to Patrice for support. She shared a sympathetic smile and gently nudged him forward.

"I'll get Nate for you. Go ahead."

Terry pushed away his desire to leave a chaste peck on Patrice's cheek and offered reassurance instead. "I'll be right back. Then we can talk inside or something."

As Terry set off to oblige his mother's request for a few words, Patrice made good on her promise. Profanities spilled from her lips like a seasoned trucker three times her senior in Nathaniel's direction, making the group snicker. She unleashed a verbal thumbs down in a hushed whisper for three minutes. Patrice planned for three more to satisfy a full school year of annoyance but stopped once the mention of her name over the speakers caught everyone's attention.

"He talkin' about you, girl," Napheesa squealed while pushing her elbow into Patrice's arm. "Listen!"

Corey rolled his eyes and sighed. "Nigga already sound like he in the military. Can't believe I'm losing my boy to the government. Thought we had beat jail."

"What's so bad about jail, nigga?" Nate questioned, offended.

"My fault. I forgot about your brother. It's still bad, but…you know. I apologize."

The silly back-and-forth about family mishaps did little to distract Patrice, who was focused squarely on Terry's speech as if he were Usher commanding the stage.

Terry nervously fidgeted with the cargo pocket of his shorts as he spoke. "I'm just gonna miss a lot of people. All of y'all are important and stuff. Some more than others, but we don't have to get into that right now." Marvin's throat clearing signaled Terry's approach to a fine line, making Terry chuckle. "I'm just joking," he conceded. "Thanks to everybody that helped and came all the way over here. Shoutout to my friends for playing clean-up crew. Y'all didn't know that, but now you do. And thank you to my girlfriend for helping my mama plan all this. Everybody say thanks to Treecey."

Before she could prepare, Patrice found several sets of eyes turned toward her, showing varying stages of gratitude for her involvement. Hand claps and a 'thank you' in unison made her wave back in embarrassed silence as she tried her best to share a smile with the crowd.

A split second of attention was enough to send her stomach in knots. Katrina kept her eyes on Patrice well after the moment had passed, surveying her nervous fidgeting for the perfect moment to intrude.

"That was real nice of him," she spoke up, startling Patrice. "Now I see why you been looking sad all day. I'd miss him, too."

Patrice rushed to fix her face. "He'll only be gone for a little bit, and then we'll find time to see each other. It's not that bad."

"Yeah, that's true. He probably ain't nothing like my sister's ex-boyfriend."

"What you mean," Patrice asked, more interested in Katrina continuing to talk than she'd ever been.

Katrina waved her hand, dismissing her own words. "Nothin'! He just went to basic training and stuff and broke up with her right after. He got deployed and met another girl. Now they about to have a baby." She paused to smile at Patrice. "But, Terry not gon' do that. You don't have to worry."

At least she hadn't before then. It never crossed her mind that Terry could come back different. He'd always be Terry in her mind – boot camp couldn't change that. Thirteen weeks away couldn't change that. Right? He promised to pick up where they left off the moment he returned. Now, seeds of doubt sewn by a gardener with ill intent had sprouted buds of uncertainty in the time it took for folks to clear out and go their separate ways a few short hours later.

A pink and orange sunset provided enough light for the ragtag clean-up crew to pick up wayward Styrofoam cups and discarded napkins around the yard. They goofed off more than they should, making stupid jokes and tossing trash at each other with no adult supervision to keep them on task. All sight of Terry had been lost once Deidra and Marvin requested his presence to wish the family a safe trip back to their accommodations for the evening.

Patrice moved around the patio in a haze by herself, filling her trash bag with ragged latex from celebratory balloons and mulling over Katrina's words when her phone buzzed in the pocket of the spandex shorts keeping her modest under her dress.

Pooh: Come inside pls

Brown eyes opened wide from excitement darted around the immediate area for any sign of extra attention and found none as pockets of teenagers meandered nearby. Patrice quickly scurried up the back deck's stairs, praying she remained undetectable until she could slide into the back door leading into the kitchen.

Crisp air conditioning instantly cooled skin hot to the touch when Patrice slipped into the darkened home. Fear kept her feet in place despite wanting to go on a search. Getting caught snooping would be tough to explain if anyone saw her aimlessly wandering in a house that didn't belong to her. Patrice had half a mind to go back outside and return to her task, but a whisper in the dark and the light illuminating the stairs caught her attention.

Terry stooped low enough to show his smiling face and gestured for Patrice to come closer. "I'm in my room. Come on."

Patrice quickly discarded her small cache of useless treasures and made the quiet ascent up carpeted stairs, careful not to make too much noise. Fear churned her stomach until she was inside Terry’s moderately clean bedroom, and risk was finally rewarded.

Silence greeted Patrice first – silence and a playful look from intense eyes she’d miss when Terry was hundreds of miles away in training to join America’s armed forces. Terry noted Patrice’s apprehension with a disarming smile before holding his hand out for her to grab. She latched on without a second thought and soon found her entire body wrapped in the hug.

They giggled at nothing in particular, rocking side to side like old friends leaving a rare coffee date with promises to see each other soon. Terry squeezed a little tighter and spoke into the crown of Patrice’s head. “Why’d you look so sad earlier? Somebody say something to you?”

“No,” Patrice lied, foolishly protecting someone who hadn’t extended the same kindness in return. “Just started thinkin’ about next week. I don’t want us to be different when you get back.”

“Who told you we’d be different?” Fire brimmed at the edge of Terry’s probing question, waiting to unleash the fullness of its power at the offending party.

Patrice sighed. “No one.” Lying twice in one conversation threatened a confession to come up from her throat like bile after rancid food. Patrice held the words down with a thick swallow before continuing. “But, like, do you think we’ll be different.”

“No,” Terry answered without much thought. “It’s only like three months. You’ll write, and I’ll write back when I can; then, before you know it, I’ll be back. The only thing that sucks is I won’t be able to help you move in. But I swear I’ll visit when I have my break after. I’ll take you back to campus. Swear.”

“Swear,” Patrice questioned, eyebrows playfully pulled upward as her smile grew.

Terry pretended to consider his options, drawing a quick swat to his chest. “Swear,” he laughed before hugging Patrice closer and kissing her forehead to soften her faux anger. “I swear. I’ll miss you, baby.”

Baby. A nickname she’d been called a million times before by family and strangers alike assumed a new meaning and sent Patrice’s body into overdrive. Her heart raced wildly. Her stomach felt like the home to monarch butterflies taking first flight. Her mind sifted through half-formed thoughts, each of them culminating in a distant future where they didn’t need to sneak away to hug or kiss each other. They’d be free to do as they pleased once careers were solidified, and the full allowances of adulthood permitted a different level of affection.

But now, despite sincere promises and a heart that would never intentionally deceive, uncertainty weighed heavy on a mind not yet mature enough to understand the world. Fear still gripped the depths of Patrice’s young soul. She wanted to probe for more, demand more answers to settle the uncertainty in her belly, and sit them down to enact a fool-proof plan to remain themselves after time had separated them in the most formative parts of their lives.

Patrice, the planning and coordinating maven, needed assurances. Baby, though? All she needed was a glimpse of the dazzling smile shining down on her to abandon all sense of dread and focus on the present. They had a week for the hard conversations. Today was almost over, and their moment alone would end even quicker once their absences were detected.

“Of course, you will,” Patrice smiled, looking up at her first and only love with her chin pressed into his chest. “I’m really hard not to miss. At least that’s what I heard from this one guy I know.”

“Just a guy, huh?”

For Patrice, answering Terry’s question took a backseat to receiving feather-light touches on her sides and soft kisses on lips still learning the ins and outs of sharing space with another.

Fingertips sliding down her body and settling on her backside pushed Patrice flush against Terry’s body, prompting her to hang her arms around his neck and enjoy the quiet sounds of lips coming together and pulling apart. If tomorrow were to bring a different reality, at least she’d have something to hang on to. One more perfect memory among so many others.

They’d lost themselves in the urgency of each kiss, forgetting they weren’t afforded the relative comfort of an empty and were, in fact, making out on borrowed time. Terry’s move to back them onto his bed was soon thwarted by the loud boom of his father’s voice.

“James! You in here? Your Uncle Myron finally brought his sorry ass ‘round to the house. Come to the front yard for a second!”

Terry cursed the interruption under his breath, feeling anger creep in at the universe for continuing its sick joke.

He pulled away from Patrice to open his bedroom door and holler, “Yes, sir! I was looking for my phone. I’m coming!”

Patrice stood adjusting her dress and trying to contain ragged breathing while she waited for Terry to make his exit. He turned back, preparing to offer a plan of escape, when she shook her head and smiled. “When you’re halfway down, I’ll go to the bathroom, then back downstairs. We’re good.”

“You sure? I can-”

“I’m sure.” Patrice forced a smile and shooed Terry forward. “Hurry up before he comes up looking for you. Then we’re both in trouble.”

Terry nodded, then slowly scanned Patrice from head to toe and back. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. Now, go!”

Silly smiles flashed in each other’s direction, briefly softening the blow of Terry’s absence until silence crept back into the room. Patrice was left with his scent and belongings to whisper unfavorable thoughts into her ears.

Terry was leaving. Inevitably, he’d be off to start a new chapter of his life, going weeks without communication in pursuit of high honors and the supposed privilege of fighting for his country. Patrice would realize her dream of becoming an Aggie, meeting new faces, and navigating unfamiliar territory with Napheesa by her side. They’d live separate lives for the first time in four years. No intertwined circles or luxury of evening phone calls and weekend hangouts to strengthen their bond. They’d be learning and growing on parallel paths, hoping the road led back to each other. Distance could tear them apart or live up to the old saying passed down from generation to generation.

Patrice attempted to shake free of baseless anxieties with a deep breath before slipping out of Terry’s bedroom and back to the clean-up shift relatively undetected. She took another sweeping look at her surroundings, committing each corner to memory.

They’d be fine. With no evidence to prove her theory or experiences to draw from, Patrice wrote the declaration that they’d be fine on the tablet of heart.

The heart would grow fonder. It had to. Neither of them had a plan for if it didn’t.

------

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#aaron pierre #terry richmond #terryxpatrice #terry richmond x black oc #rebel ridge

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ragingbookdragon · 6 months ago

Text

I Wanna Talk About Me

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 3.1K Warnings: Explicit Language

Author's Note: This is a direct continuation of this fic here! Enjoy!

**********************************************************************

She stood outside the gate, smoothing the fabric of the slim fitting, black dress, waiting for Jake to show up. The air was cool, and she ignored the continual whistling from the security officers stationed just a few feet behind her.

A sleek, black Dodge pulled up and parked before her, then Jake stepped out and walked around the side of it, casting a glance at her before he opened the passenger door.

“Your chariot awaits, princess,” he sarcastically said, and she rolled her eyes, walking up to him.

She took a moment to take him in full view, the way the dress blues fit him perfectly. “You look…good, Jake.”

“I am good,” he replied, taking a look at her too. “I see you managed to dress appropriately for the occasion.”

“You’re a dick,” she insulted, and put her foot on the step while grabbing the handle above the door. Jake’s hand found its way to her rear as he helped her up and she stopped, deadpanning, “Hand. Off. Ass.”

He snickered but didn’t remove his hand as he practically shoved her inside and closed the door behind her, then he looked over at the security guards who immediately stood straight and saluted. “You boys just keep this little secret, yeah?”

They nodded and he walked around the front of the truck, climbing in. As they drove, she kept fiddling with the clutch in her hand.

“You nervous?” he asked. “I’m not going to bite unless you ask for it.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m just not used to dressing up like this and going out to fancy restaurants.” She looked at him. “Still taking me to the Ritz?”

“Uh no,” he answered. “The nearest Ritz is in Cali.”

“You looked it up?”

He went uncharacteristically quiet for a moment then said, “I’m taking you to Wild River Grill in Reno.”

“That’s an hour away,” she said. “We’ll be getting back here at like 0200.”

“What are you a teenager with a 9:30 curfew?” he retorted. “Relax. We’ll be fine.” She cocked a brow and looked at him from her seat but said nothing. “You do look nice though,” he said lowly. “I like the dress.”

Her cheeks warmed and she smiled. “Thank you. I had to rent it from a boutique.”

Jake snorted as he turned on to the main highway. “Yeah, that enlisted pay isn’t all that, is it?”

“Hey, I’m an LDO thank you very much,” she griped.

He looked at her skeptically. “We still do LDO programs?”

“Uh, yes? You think I was going to spend my entire career being enlisted?” she shifted in her seat. “I did the same thing my old man did.”

“Your dad was Navy?”

“Mhm, retired as an LT after 28 years.”

“Wow, career man then,” he noted with impression. “So, you were a regular military brat too, huh?” he said smugly.

“Yes,” she answered exasperatedly. “I was, Jake.”

He hummed low in his throat. “My dad was Navy. So was my grandfather.”

“I heard,” she said. “I bet you grew up with expectations.”

“I did.” He looked to the left as he switched lanes. “It was expected that I would graduate high school and immediately go into boot camp.”

She looked over at him. “Is that what you wanted?”

He shrugged. “Never had anything else going for me.”

“You? I don’t believe that.” She reached over and squeezed his bicep. “I bet you played sports. What one? Baseball? Football?”

“Lacrosse, actually,” he informed. “And I was incredible at it.”

“You know it’s okay to be humble, right? I do promise it won’t kill you if you are.”

“And I would be humble if I knew I sucked. But I don’t. So, I have no reason to be humble before you.”

“Arrogance begets failure,” she muttered. “That’s why Mav beat you in dogfighting.”

“Rude.”

“Truthful.”

“Hurtful.”

“You’ll live,” she comforted and patted his arm.

***

As they walked in, a hostess smiled at them. “Good evening. Do you have a reservation?”

“We do,” Jake said, pulling off his cap. “Under Seresin.”

The hostess clicked a few times on the screen before she nodded. “Yes sir, a table for two.” She grabbed two menus and handed them to a waiting server. “If you’ll follow, they’ll lead you to your table.”

Jake placed a hand on the small of her back and gently led her as they followed the server to a small table near the corner. Like a gentleman, he pulled out her seat and helped her sit down before he took his own seat.

“Would you like me to take your cap, sir?” the waiter asked, and he nodded, handing it over. “I’ll put this up and be right back.”

As he left, Jake looked at her. “You okay?”

“Mhm,” she hummed, looking around. “I like this place so far. Comfortable. Classy.”

“Came here with a couple friends when we graduated Top Gun,” he said. “Good food. Good drinks.”

As the waiter came back, he placed the menus down. “I’m Graham, I’ll be taking care of you both this evening. Can I start you off with any of our wines, beers, or hard liquors?”

Jake scanned the menu and answered, “I’ll take a 10 Torr Secret Cove.” He looked at her. “You?”

She made a face as she scanned the cocktails and looked at Graham. “What would you recommend for cocktails?”

“Definitely the Apple’y Ever After or the Practice What You Peace. I love both.”

“I’ll take the first then,” she smiled. “And a glass of water with lemon on the side.”

“Yes ma’am. Any appetizers to start with? I recommend the Cheese Plate or the Caprese Bruschetta. Both are really light and leave enough room for entrees.”

She looked at Jake. “You?”

“The Cheese Plate, and add the chef selected cures.”

“Yes, sir,” Graham said. “I’ll go put those in and get your drinks.”

As he left again, she looked over the menu. “Jake…”

“Yeah?” he said, already scanning over the steaks.

“These prices are pretty high.”

“Uh huh. Good food usually is.”

“You aren’t worried?”

“Why would I be?” he asked, then looked up at her. “Don’t worry about the prices, pretty girl. You just order whatever you want.”

She narrowed her eyes and said, “What do you mean?”

“What do you mean, ‘what do you mean?’” he replied. “Order whatever you want.”

She glanced at the menu. “So, if I wanted a filet mignon with seared scallops and blue cheese cream…I could?”

Jake sighed. “Pretty girl, this isn’t a game of gotcha. Order. Whatever. You. Want.”

“Okay…just checking.” She looked at him. “You aren’t going to say something stupid like, ‘Oh wow, you know how to eat’ if I order a steak will you?”

“You’re a grown woman. I expect you to eat food like a grown woman. Which includes eating whatever you want,” he added exasperated.

“Okay, I got it,” she laughed. “But I’ll go ahead and say, I’m not really a steak person.”

“You look like a chicken tenders and fries type of woman. No offense.” He hummed. “I actually mean that with full offence.”

“Well, lucky for you I don’t take offense,” she said. “I do love a good chicken tender.”

Jake scoffed and shook his head with a grin.

When their drinks and appetizer came, Graham smiled. “Have we decided what we want to eat?”

Jake nodded at her to go first, and she said, “I’ll have the chicken piccata. But can you hold the lemon capers in the sauce?”

“Yes ma’am, I’ll let the chefs know. And for you sir?”

“Let me get the ribeye and the seared scallops with it.”

“Of course.” He gathered the menus. “I’ll get this put in. Is there anything else you need at the moment?”

“No, we’re good, thank you,” Jake said, and Graham walked off; he took a sip of his draft.

She looked at him, really looked at him for a good moment. Jake was, objectively an extremely attractive man. Though he’d be much more attractive if his attitude wasn’t as cocky as he was. But she knew that cockiness came from skill and the simple fact that he was raised to be who he was.

“Something on my face?” he asked, and she blinked.

“No, just looking at you.”

“Look all you want, pretty girl. This is me in all my glory for you to take in,” he smirked, and she rolled her eyes, sipping her cocktail.

Setting the glass down, she said, “So, tell me a little about you, Jake.” When he met her gaze with a raised brow, she added, “And I mean the real you. Not the man we all know and ‘love.’”

He snorted. “What do you want to know?”

“What do you do in your spare time when you’re not on duty?”

Jake took another sip of his beer. “I read. And cook. Go exercise. Visit war memorials. Museums.”

“What do you read?” she asked.

“Mostly non-fiction history about war and aviation.”

“Figures,” she smiled. “Did you ever read that World War 2 biography about Louis Zamperini?”

“Unbroken?” his eyes lit up. “I did. I loved it. It was such an amazing and powerful story.” He leaned forward. “Do you read them too? World War novels, that is?”

“I do.” She enjoyed that honest smile on his face. “Did you ever read the story about the USS Indianapolis?”

“Oh man, yeah, and did you watch the movie they made with Nicolas Cage?”

“Men of Courage?” she replied. “Yes! It was so heartbreaking…and tragic.” She looked at him. “You said you visit museums? Did you ever visit the Naval Aviation Museum in Pensacola when you went for training?”

“I did,” he said. “Every time I visit, I try to go. Just to see if I learn anything new.”

“Me too!” she grinned. “I think I’ve been there like ten different times. Every time I go, I always point out to people around me the carriers my dad and I served on.”

Jake smiled at her. “I forgot you do sea duty most of the time. Which carriers have you been on so far?”

“Uh, let’s see,” she murmured, thinking for a moment. “I’ve been on the Truman and Washington so far. Even did a stint on the Roosevelt destroyer a couple of years ago.”

“Ever think about trying for shore duty?” he asked.

“Sometimes, but it always feels more natural being on the water,” she smiled at him. “Kind of like you being in the air.” She leaned close. “What’s it like, Jake? Being up there, just you in God’s ballroom?”

He sat back and thought for a moment. “The first time I ever flew, I was ten. Dad took me up in a rental on an airstrip back home. And I remember sitting in my seat just, watching the ground get smaller and smaller until cars looked like ants.”

“Were you scared?”

“Shitless,” he joked. “But…dad, he kept telling me to look up at the sky and when I did…we were in the biggest, white clouds I’d ever seen before. And I could see the rays of sun shining down over the land.” He looked so far away in his memory. “Dad showed me how to handle the stick and I remember everything else faded away as I flew us through the clouds.” Jake’s expression was one of reverence. “And it was just beautiful. Like nothing I’d ever seen in my life up until that point. There’s…really no way to describe it.” His gaze met hers. “I knew then that all I ever wanted to do with my life was get back up there no matter what it took.”

She smiled softly at him. “It sounds beautiful, the way you describe it.”

He nodded his head gently, then asked, “What about you? Why’d you want to be an AM? Was your dad one?”

“My dad was actually an AT. My brother was an AM when he served.” She took a sip of her drink. “I was eleven and my dad brought me to the hanger one day. I was hanging around his office and he had a meeting to go to, so he left me with some of his AMs and asked them to watch me for a little while.”

“Oh, nice, give the caffeine and nicotine addicted eighteen-year-olds a kid to be impressionable on.”

She laughed. “Something like that.” She took a piece of the cheese on the platter and popped it in her mouth. “They started showing me all different pieces of the F-16. How to change out fuel capacitors, how to fuel one up, how to fix this and that.” She shrugged. “I don’t know, felt right with tools in my hands. Dad kept bringing me back to the hanger when I wouldn’t stop asking him about it and he let the guys teach me how to work on it.”

“Ah, so you were a natural grease monkey then,” he grinned, and she nodded.

“I was. I also spent a lot of time tinkering with machines at home. I can fix just about anything if I look at the inside of it long enough.” She took another piece of cheese. “I have been trying to change my rate to AT though. Wanted to get a better technical point of view than mechanical.”

“You been able to?”

“I’ve been tinkering with a few ATs in my squadron. Sitting in on fixings here and there. I don’t think they’ll let me change so far in my career, but it never hurts to learn all I can.”

“I can always put in a word with Cyclone,” he offered. “He might have some sway.”

“I appreciate that, Jake,” she smiled. “But I do enjoy being a grease monkey. Not going to lie to you about it.”

He smiled back at her as their entrees arrived and they continued on in conversation, diving into family beginnings and careers.

***

“Jake…it’s 2300…when are we going back to base?” she whined as he drove up the side of Audrey Harris Park.

“Jesus, get you out of bed past nine and you get cranky, don’t you?” he snorted. “What are you, eighty? Need to go to bed old lady?”

“Some of us have duty tomorrow,” she griped, and he pulled up to the edge of the side of the road.

“Just, look,” he said and nodded out the window and she did, eyes widening at the view of lights and colorful displays out past the land.

“Oh…wow…Jake, it’s…gorgeous.”

His eyes never strayed to the lights from her face, watching the way that awe spread across hers. Something in his heart lurched when she turned and looked at him.

“Jake, it’s beautiful.”

The corner of his lips turned up. “Certainly not the night sky like I’d like to show you, but it’s…close.”

“You wanna take me up in the air?”

“One day,” he said and looked at the steering wheel and quietly added, “I owe you an apology.”

“For what?” she asked.

“The other day at Hard Deck. I…was a dick.” He met her gaze once more. “You didn’t deserve that.”

She shrugged with a smile. “Eh, it’s you. I’ve gotten used to you by now.”

“Still though,” he replied. “I should’ve been…nicer.”

“Jake,” she said, laying her hand on his thigh. “It’s okay, really, it is.”

He glanced down at her hand, then gently laid his on top of hers, rubbing his thumb over her skin. “You like me,” he said matter-of-factly.

“I do,” she answered honestly. “But it’s okay if you don’t feel the same way. I know I’m not exactly your type.”

“And what do you think my type is?” he asked.

“Well…y’know…smart, funny, drop dead gorgeous?”

“You just explained like every guy on earth’s type,” he deadpanned.

“Fine, you don’t have a thing for an AM who spends most of her time covered in hydraulic fluid then goes back to her room and listens to shitty pop music and does crossword puzzles.”

“Jesus you’re really an old lady,” he breathed. “Crossword puzzles?”

“And Sudoku.”

“Oh my God, we have got to get you a social life.” He thumbed the back of her hand. “I happen to be…very interested in this particular AM who spends most of her time covered in hydraulic fluid.”

“No shit?” she asked, and he looked up at her.

“Pretty girl, I let people see who they want to see. A cocky, rude, arrogant asshat who can smoke just about anyone. But you…” he lowered his gaze again and sighed. “You see deeper. You want to see more.” He shrugged halfheartedly. “Pretty girl, you’re the only one who tries to put up with me to see me. And…that scares me.” His jaw tightened. “I don’t get scared…and you scare me. What you could be to me. What you see.”

She listened quietly then shifted, gently putting her hand on his cheek. “Jake…” he met her gaze, and she smiled softly at him. “I see you.”

“Yeah?” he breathed.

“Yeah. Big ego and everything underneath,” she whispered. “I see you.”

He reached up and cupped her hand to his face, turning his cheek to kiss the inside of her palm, then said, “I wanna take you out again.”

“I’d like that,” she answered, pulling her hand away and smiled at him. “I’d like it a lot.”

Jake smiled back at her and put the truck in drive. “I should get us back to base.”

“That’s probably best. Mind if I play some music on the radio?”

“No pop shit.”

“Rude.”

“My truck, my rules. Play country or classic rock.”

“Country?” she cooed. “Ooo, I have the perfect song for you then.”

And Toby Keith’s “I Wanna Talk About Me,” filled the cabin and he chuckled as she sang to him.

“Are you saying I only ever want to talk about me, myself, and I?”

She grinned and replied, “That is your favorite topic.”

He nodded. “It is. I love talking about myself. I’m incredible.”

They looked at each other as the chorus came on and sang down the highway, “I wanna talk me, wanna talk about I. wanna talk about number one, oh my, me, my, What I think, what I like, what I know, what I want, what I see! I like talking about you, you, you, you usually! But occasionally, I wanna talk about me!”

Jake reached over and laid his hand on her thigh, gently caressing it with his fingers as she rested her hand atop his, smiling out the window as they drove back to base.

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dark-lord-of-awesomeness · 3 months ago

Note

We have Shifty, shifter Stan, shifter Wendy, and shifter Soos. Now get ready for for SHIFTER FORD!!!!! (You know this was bound to happen)

This got crazy long, so here it is under the cut.

Ford hatches early in the hospital, before Stan is born, and it messes up his shift so he has an extra finger, and unfortunately the human doctors notice before Maurice can fix the issue, so now Ford has to keep up having his extra finger while Maurice scrambles to make sure each one of his hospital visits as a baby go smoothly, as Ford doesn't actually have bones to look at.

Ford hates his extra finger, as he sees it as him messing up his humanness. Everyone tells him he's a freak and picks on him about it, and every day he's terrified somethings gonna notice him and take him away.

So Stan, who similar to canon takes the role of his protector, is a life saver in his eyes. Ford feels safe with his human twin there draw all the attention and looking out for and comforting him. Ford decides he'll help Stan by being the 'smart' twin and helping him pass school, as he notices Stan struggles with a lot of the material.

Then he notices people like him more as he gets better and better grades. Specifically Filbrick and his teachers, who praise him in one breath and put Stan down in the next. The older he gets, the more he realizes being human is pretty easy! All he has to do is be the smartest and no one pays attention to his extra finger! So he doesn't have to drag Stan into a dangerous life style boating around! They can stay with people and be safe!

Ford never tells Stan he's a Shifter, and doesn't tell him the change of plans. This also means he's not as versatile as shifter!Stan, as hes too busy schooling to practice.

So they still have the science fair incident, and Stan gets kicked out, and Ford is furious.

With Stan.

This was Fords big chance! He's been doing so well as a human! People noticed him and he was going to go places and nothing would ever put him in danger because he'd be too important! And Stan ruined it! Stan doesn't have the same problems fitting in like Ford! He doesn't need the extra layers of blending in and the fear being taken away! What does Stan have to be upset about!

Everything gets worse when Maurice drags him to boot camp, and Ford stubbornly still goes to college at the same time. Now he's juggling human classes with Maurices criminal classes and he hates it. He doesn't want to be a criminal! That's Stan's thing >:( he wants to do science and be a proper human person! Unfortunately Maurice is right in that they do have things Ford needs to know, like who to trust and shapeshifter secret languages and such.

So after a year he finally graduates boot camp and can focus on his studies, and get down to what he really wants to do, which is become a famous scientist.

And track down and spy on Stan of course. Stan's his base, and he needs to make sure nothing tries to kidnap him to get to Ford. Obviously Stan's out there having the time of his life or something, but Ford still cares about him even if he's angry. Surely Stan's living it up somewhere! Stan's a human, he has it easy in this world!

Except Ford can't find Stan. He sees commercials sometimes with Stan using different names, but by the time he tracks them down Stan's long gone and disappeared again. Ford doesn't have a huge web of connections to rely on, because he didn't care to make a lot during boot camp since he wasn't going to become a criminal, so he's mostly relying on himself.

In the end the pressure of school and stress of trying to find Stan get to him and he has breakdown. Fiddleford is there, and now he knows Fords a shapeshifter because Ford is having a panic attack and can't stop melting. They both freak out before Ford explains everything and calms Fiddleford down as he explained there is no shapeshifter plot to take over and enslave humans or whatever he'd been babbling about.

Fiddleford agrees to help him track down Stan, doubling the search party and taking some of the load off of Fords shoulders.

For max angst they don't track him down until the trunk incident, finally figuring out he was last seen in some town in Arizona or something. At this point it's been years (canon doesn't say when the trunk happened, so now I get to decide) and Fords just moved up to Gravity Falls (because theres less influence from outside organizations that might want to kidnap him). Ford has just graduated and had to put his plan of studying other supernatural creatures on hold (to know their weaknesses and expose them so they can't ever be a threat to him again) and blames Stan for pushing back all his plans >:(.

Fiddlefords too busy moving to Cali with his fiance at this point to come with, but he demands Ford introduce them at some point.

Ford rolls up into whatever town Stan was in, irritated and hot and sweaty, realizes Stan's gone, again, and is furious.

Except he finds Stan's car So Stan must be around somewhere. Searches the town and sneaks around and overhears a conversation where some people are laughing about the guy they drove out to the desert in a trunk and left to die, wondering how long he'll last. That can't be Stan of course, why would anyone try to kill Stan?

That's what Ford tells himself on repeat as be drives out to rescue the person, because he's not about to leave someone to die in a trunk.

It's Stan of course, already working on chewing himself out and looking terrible and covered in blood and hey Fords here! Stan must be dead or hallucinating if Fords here! Starts babbling to Ford while his mouth is full of blood and Ford is desperately trying to drag him to his car and not cry as Stan basically apologizes for being born and is delirious. Drives the next closest town and calls Maurice (who in a move very similar to Stan, he's called so often Maurice sorta cares about him. Except in Fords case he calls to ask about if theyve found anything on Stan and to brag about all his college accomplishments. Not because he's lonely or anything, he's just proving to his spawner how successful he is without being a criminal).Ford can't take Stan to a hospital, because hospitals are Bad and obviously Ford can take care of his own brother!

Maurice shows up, sees Ford crying and covered in Stans blood and makes them go to a hosptial. Cue more angst as the doctor lists how terrible Stans doing and Stan breaks out the moment he becomes conscious and Ford has to hunt him down (again!!). Stans somehow made it back to his car to find Maurice, who was in the middle of stealing it for Ford. Maurice drugs hum with something and calls Ford to come pick him up, already done with this whole mess.

Then more angst as Ford drags him back to his house in Gravity Falls (which is still under construction) and yells at him the whole time about how hard Fords been looking for him and how stressed he is, etc, while Stans just 🥺 about Ford caring and also high on pain killers and whatever Maurice gave him.

Ford is now convinced that it's his job to keep track of Stan actually. The human worlds only dangerous to humans or something and now Stan's just gonna have to live with him forever so nothing else tries to kill him. And he's gonna go get a medical degree once he has some free time, can't trust those hospitals, they lost Stan. Also Ford cannot deal with the stress of hunting Stan down a second time. It's a full time job keeping up with him when he's on the move and Ford does not have the time.

Stan still doesn't know Fords a shapeshifter. Whatever minor shifting Ford does to get Stan in and out of the car he just waves away as drug filled hallucinations. Still isn't even sure he's alive.

I can't decide how Stan would learn about it. I think the funniest way would be him waking up in the motel Fords been staying at while he's waiting for his house to be finished, and sees Ford doing his Shifter stretching. Ford, too used to being alone or with fiddleford, didn't even think to do this somewhere more private and turns around to see Stan watching him. Instead of freaking out Stan's just convinced he's dead and this is the afterlife actually. Or in a coma and his brains playing death visions or something. Doesnt tell ford this of course, just nonchalantly accepts Shifter Ford for months before Ford realizes Stan doesn't think this is real.

Cue more angst.

#gravity falls #gravity falls au #stan pines #ford pines #shapeshifters #dark lord shapeshifter au

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alaskan-wallflower · 8 months ago

Text

doing research on vietnam and the draft to make actual historically accurate takes so here’s what i got

darry would’ve been drafted, however i believe he would’ve been able to opt out of it as the sole provider of money in the family (though im not sure—in 1970 president nixon set a law for fathers (ik darry isn’t a father but a legal guardian hence why idk if this would work) to prove why their absence would have been dangerous within the family-ill have to find out what year(s) jan 5 was called tho)

edit: also darry would’ve been called to fight in 1969 before the law nixon set in place…BUT if you think about it, the chronic back pain he suffers could’ve been a possible way for him to be exempt (i think he’d play up whatever cards he could to make sure he didn’t have to go-idk i feel like that’s more in character than him just leaving. i think he’d make every effort to stay and i think he could’ve made it work)

edit 2: darry would have been exempt due to his chronic back pain—“any injury that would impair someone’s full efficiency as a soldier will be exempt” (he also wouldn’t have made it through any boot camp activities either with the pain)

soda wouldn’t have been drafted

ponyboy would’ve been but he actually would’ve been exempt because he would be in college at that time-a full time college student was exempt (though i suppose it also depends on whether you think the events happened in ‘64 or ‘67 but regardless the draft ended in 1973 so idk if it would matter either way since pony would’ve graduated in either ‘72 or ‘75 anyway—i don’t think july 22 was called in ‘72 or ‘73)

edit: the draft for july 22nd was called in 1969, when pony would’ve been a full time college student (or in the case of choosing the musical timeline he would’ve been a junior or senior in high school, so regardless pony would have been exempt from the war because he would’ve been a full time college student in ‘69 or he would still be in high school)

johnny would’ve been drafted if he lived , however he would’ve been physically handicapped (unable to walk) and unable to fight anyway so he would’ve been exempt

dally would’ve been drafted with no way out (unless you wish to count if he had gotten shot and lived, in which case the area he would’ve been shot in would probably be the determining factor in if he was drafted or not)

edit: due to dallas’ criminal record i don’t think he’d have been eligible (though it’s hard to tell since his crimes (as far as i know) are all mild misdemeanors (petty theft, driving w/out a license, stuff like that) so idk if that would leave him exempt or not—there’s nothing online saying either way so idk—all that i’ve read is that you can sign a plea waiver but there were felons who fought in vietnam, so im not sure if he would’ve been exempt—but regardless thanks @curlyshepardconfirmed!

two bit would not have been drafted

steve would not have been drafted

tim would not have been drafted either

so realistically the only one who would’ve been drafted if he lived would be dally , depending on the route you wish to go on with him

hope this helps 👍

#the outsiders #ponyboy curtis #sodapop curtis #darry curtis #johnny cade #dallas winston #two bit mathews #steve randle #idk i’m like 99.9% sure darry has chronic back pain

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roniii-ii · 8 days ago

Text

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader; Bless the Broken Road

Fandom- Top Gun: Maverick

Pairing- Jake x fem!reader

Summary- After moving to Fightertown, USA, you decide to go to The Hard Deck for a drink. It was the most highly recommended bar in town, so why not? And you run into a bit of a familiar face. Is there still a spark there? Or are you just going to end up with your heartbroken?

Notes- This is my first Top Gun fic and I haven’t written an x reader fic in literally like. 3 years 😭 so please bear with me with this one y’all. And yes I wrote this while having ‘Bless the Broken Road’ by Rascal Flatts on repeat (don't judge). Also! @/geminiwritten helped me come up with some ideas for this fic and helped to flesh a couple parts out, so go give her love cause it was actually her fics that gave me the want to delve back into this and they’re all amazing! (Thank you Bee you’re literally amazing! 🎉)

Warnings- lots of fluff with a sprinkle of angst (it’s barely there), Jake is very sweet to the reader, italics, some misunderstandings, not proofread we die like Goose

Word Count- 6805

You never thought you’d find yourself in Fightertown, USA. Yet here you were. When your mom moved out here for a job opportunity, she asked you to move with her. You agreed, thinking it would be easier just to be closer to your mom. Of course, you had your own space, just a small little apartment. And your job paid well enough, so you were comfortable.

But living in this town only reminded you of a past you thought you’d buried over a decade ago back in your little town in Texas. The past that you’d forced yourself to bury when a certain blond haired man left and just…didn’t come back. And no, he’s not dead. You knew that much at the very least.

Jake Seresin had been your boyfriend in high school. Junior year of high school, he asked you out to homecoming, all embarrassed. But genuine. And you’d fallen for those green eyes, so you said yes. And god was that year and a half the most magical of your life, for a high school relationship anyway.

And then he sprung on you that he was going to be joining the Navy. Of course, you weren’t going to demand he stays. He had expressed his interest in the past, but it was in passing when military recruiters had come to their high school during college fairs. But you both had a conversation about it. You both agreed that it would be easier if you weren’t officially together anymore when he left. Letting him focus on boot camp and so you wouldn’t be tied down, simple as that. Though, of course, it was far from simple.

So the day came that he left for boot camp. You cried, he hugged you and kissed you goodbye, saying he’d call as much as he could. And he did at first. But when he graduated from boot camp and got his first orders, the calls became almost nonexistent. You got updates through his parents when they knew things. But when they moved away a year after Jake’s first deployment, that whole ritual ended.

And that was years ago. You’d had a couple relationships in that span of time, but nothing that stuck. Nothing that felt like him.

You decided that tonight, you really needed to just relax. You’d been in San Diego for two months and hadn’t given yourself much of a break. Moving into your apartment, helping your mom move into her place, work. Finally, things didn’t feel so chaotic. And as much as you loved your mom, you were an adult. You needed to have some time to yourself.

So what better than to find a bar in town to go to on Google? When you typed in the searchbar, a place that had outstanding reviews called The Hard Deck popped up. Good service, nice atmosphere, and it was right on the beach. You took a quick 15 minute shower and got dressed in something super simple, not bothering with makeup before slipping out your door.

Luckily, the bar was only a 10 minute drive from your apartment building. When you got there, it was only 5:30 pm, but it already seemed like there were a good amount of people here.

You got out of your car and walked inside, looking around. It was certainly naval themed, and considering the amount of khaki uniforms and men and women wearing flight suits you could see? It was definitely popular with the people from the naval base here.

You squeeze your way towards the bar and lean against it, still taking in everything around you when an older woman came over to you from behind the bar. “Hi, hun. Can I get you started with something?” She asked.

“Surprise me.” You decided to say and she smiled, giving you a little wink. She disappeared and placed a beer in front of you. “Beer?”

“Best damn beer in town. Why so surprised?” “Most people take me for a wine drinker.” She looked you up and down as she smiled.

“And are you?”

“No, not really.”

She smiled wider. “I figured. What’s your name, hun? I’ve never seen you in here before.”

You gave her your name and shook her hand. “I just moved into town a couple months ago and figured it was time I got out of my apartment.”

“Well, welcome. I’m Penny. If anyone gives you any trouble or you need anything, you just give me a holler.”

You smiled and raised your beer to her. “I will. Thank you, Penny.”

“No problem, sweetheart.” She quickly moved to serve someone else at a different part of the bar. You already had a report with your bartender. You counted that as a personal win.

You slowly and quietly nursed your beer, taking in the aesthetic of the bar. It was nice and you could understand why it was so highly rated and recommended. It was cozy. There were plenty of booths and standing tables, not to mention a fair amount of space at the bar. And almost everyone who happened to bump into you threw out a quick and respectful “sorry ma’am” before moving on. So at least the people were enjoyable too. On one side of the bar, there were a couple pool tables and a dart board. Both of which currently had khaki clad men around them. Oh- and one woman.

Said woman seemed to have just won the game of pool. She cheered before turning to the one man that wasn’t in uniform, a man in an open Hawaiian shirt and a pretty impressive moustache, and threw both of her middle fingers up in his face. He looked wildly unimpressed while looking down at her while a man wearing aviator glasses just started laughing at the woman’s antics. You couldn’t help but stifle your own giggles too. They were amusing to say the least.

You kept glancing around before your eyes landed on a jukebox against one of the walls. You were surprised to even see one. The last time you’d seen one was when Jake had taken you to this little diner back in high school. It was a cute place and he’d insisted on dancing with you. You were embarrassed beyond belief, but you couldn’t help the way you smiled with the way he spun you around and held you close. Not to mention the women behind the counter thought you two were absolute sweethearts.

You blinked and shook your head. Why were you thinking about him? You were supposed to be trying to relax, not make your heart hurt over the one who got away. You were too busy just looking at the bartop to realize someone had sidled up next to you. He was going to call for Penny when someone nudged him fairly hard and it caused him to stumble in your direction.

And spill his drink directly into your lap.

You gasped as both drink and ice hit your legs, immediately soaking into the jeans you wore. “Oh shit!”

“Ah- damn. I’m sorry about that darlin’!” You noticed a bit of a southern drawl came out with that pet name. “Let me make it up to you and buy you a drink, on me.” And now you caught the sudden hint of flirtation.

“No, no, it’s alright. Just get me a couple napkins and we’ll call it ev-” you had glanced up for a second before having to do a double take at the man’s nameplate.

Seresin.

There was no fucking way.

Your head shot up to look at the man who’d just accidentally spilled what was left of his drink on you. And you met green eyes that, even after all this time, hadn’t changed.

“Jake..?”

Jake Seresin hadn’t changed much in the years since you’d seen him last. Though he wasn’t quite as lanky as he used to be was your first thought. But what were you expecting? He’s in the Navy. His blond hair was almost perfectly styled, probably regulation, not messy like you were used to. His facial features had become more defined now with age. Sharper nose, not so full of cheeks, a more chiseled jawline. And he had a playful smirk gracing said features. By God himself, Jake had somehow gotten a thousand times hotter and just waltzed back into your life as you were thinking about him.

That smirk on his face had fallen, however. He gazed at you with wide eyes before a more genuine expression took over his face and he said your name. God the way he said your name- okay! Pull yourself together, girl.

“Holy shit, is that really you?” And you couldn’t help but smile back at him.

“Hey Jakey. How you been?”

He made a face at you, raising an eyebrow. ‘You know I absolutely hate when anyone calls me that.”

“No. You hate when most people call you that. I was your exception.”

He gave a charming smile that made your heart flutter and ache at the same time. “Damn, it is so good to see you. Hold on.” He leaned his forearms on the bartop. “Pen, dear? Could we get some napkins over here? I accidentally spilled my drink on this fine young lady here.” He called.

Penny almost immediately was standing in front of you both, handing you napkins that you quietly thanked her for. At least this wasn’t one of your nicer outfits, just an old pair of jeans.

“You sure you didn’t do it on purpose, Hangman?” Penny asked, raising an eyebrow and setting her hands on her hips. Jake raised his hands up before you quickly jumped to his defense.

“Oh- no, Penny. It really was an accident.” With your reassurance, she nodded and moved away again before you looked back up at the man next to you. “Hangman?”

He chuckled a little and nodded. “I’m a pilot, it’s my callsign.”

You smiled a little wider. “You’re a pilot? Jake, that's amazing. I remember you talking about wanting to do that in high school.”

“Yep. I’m a fighter pilot in a squadron stationed right here in Fightertown.” He smiled and you couldn’t help but smile back. He was still so perfect to you. Just as easy to talk to as if no time had passed between the two of you. But that was also a huge elephant in the room that it seemed neither of you were ready to address. “That’s actually most of my squadron over there playing pool.”

Your gaze was redirected to the pool tables where you’d watched the woman flip off the tall man in the Hawaiian shirt. “That’s amazing Jake. I’m really happy for you.”

“Did you wanna meet them? Only if you're not busy of course. I wouldn’t want to just steal you away if you have plans.”

“No plans. I’d love to.” You smiled at the way he seemed to light up a little and gestured for you to follow him. He still seemed to be the Jake you knew back then. But you weren’t going to get your hopes up.

– – – – –

Catching up with Jake over this next week was practically magical. You got his new number and you texted when neither of you were working. You even told him that your mother was demanding to have him over for dinner soon so she could see him again, which he immediately said he’d love to..

And not to mention, he’d introduced you to his friend group, which quickly became your friend group too. You got names and callsigns, which confused you a bit. At least Bob would be easy to remember. Everyone had been extremely nice when meeting you. You and Natasha, being the only women in that group, immediately clicked and were fast friends.

Saturday, when they all had time off, you all were back at The Hard Deck. You all were squished into a booth together, chatting away while Jake was off grabbing another round of drinks for everyone.

“So. You still haven’t told us how you know Hangman.” Reuben said as you sat on the end of the bench, pressed to Natasha’s side.

“Well, he and I grew up in the same little town in Texas, so we’ve at least known of one another since we were little. But he and I actually dated for a while in high school.” You were smiling a little at the memory. No matter how much you tried to keep that buried, you couldn’t help but think about it. It was a fond time. And Jake coming back into your life had dug a lot of those feelings back up.

When you realized no one had made a comment, you looked up and looked around at everyone. Most everyone was looking at you like you were crazy, except Javy, who just had a knowing look in his eyes.

“What?”

“Well it’s just that Hangman can be a bit of di-” Mickey was saying when Reuben elbowed him, causing him to start whining and complaining.

“You talk like you might still be in love with him.” Bradley said from his spot across from you. You couldn’t help the way the heat seemed to rise to your face. Because he wasn’t wrong.

Jake was just…something else. You knew it was more than just nostalgia over your first love. It had always been more than that. No matter how hard you tried to move on when he basically disappeared from your life, you just couldn’t. Everything reminded you of him, especially back in Texas. And now he was here. The universe had given you the gift of having him back, you just didn’t want to push things. Sure, he still acted like that boy who was absolutely taken with you back in high school. But literal years had passed since then. It was like you were getting to know him all over again and you didn’t want to rush into something, if there was anything that was going to happen that was.

“Oh Jesus, you are.” Natasha groaning caught your attention again, confusing you even further by the pure distaste in her tone as she sipped from her beer. “You better watch yourself, girl.”

“Okay- there was a much gentler way to put that, Phee.” Bob said, looking at his pilot in slight disbelief. Natasha met his look with one of her own with her eyebrow raised.

“I am a girls girl and I am just trying to warn her.”

Bob sighed and turned to look at you with a kind smile. “I think what Phoenix is trying to say,” he shot his partner another look which she waved off a bit, before he looked back at you with another smile, “is that you should remember people can change. Especially in that kind of time.”

“I…realize that. Is there something about Jake I should know?” You asked, beyond confused.

“Well, he’s known for being a bit of a player.” Reuben put simply.

“Flirts with anything that has legs.” Bradley said, causing Mickey to nearly choke on his beer with laughter.

Now you were really confused. Sure, in high school, Jake was a bit of a flirt. He’s always been good looking and you knew that. He certainly knew it too. But he was far from a player. He’d been so dedicated to you while he was with you. He never even spared any other girl a glance. The only one he paid any attention to was you. It made you feel extremely secure in your relationship with him while you were together, to the point you never questioned him when he had told you he loved you. Because he didn’t just say it.

Had he really changed that much..? Now you were really starting to think things over. Was the way he’d been acting recently really him anymore? And it must have showed on your face because Javy nudged your foot under the table, getting you to look at him.

“Don’t overthink this. I’ve known Jake for a while now. Trust your gut.” He said with a smile. You smiled back when Reuben cleared his throat.

“Bar. He just sidled up next to a woman.” Everyone's attention immediately went to the bar since they were all nosy. Even Bob was watching from over his cup of peanuts. And sure enough, Jake was leaning against the bartop with a gorgeous woman standing next to him. They seemed to be talking, at least she was.

She was being so obviously showy to attempt to get his attention. You’d encountered enough of those kinds of people in your lifetime to see it from a mile away. And you couldn’t help the pang of jealousy that struck you, tightening your grip on your beer bottle. But you had to remind yourself.

You and Jake were just friends reconnecting. You stopped being more when he left for boot camp. You had no room to feel jealous over a girl fawning over him. And touching his arm. And looking at him like she wanted all of him. Okay nope, you still felt jealous. And even felt a little sick to your stomach with dread. Because from what your new friends were saying, it was likely that he’d take this girl up on her forwardness.

But you saw Jake get the drinks from Penny, thank her, and then walk away from the girl, who looked offended by being blown off by him like that. You felt a sense of satisfaction at the upset look on her face. The entire squad was looking between each other in shock.

“Oh my god, did he just-” Bob looked between Natasha and Bradley.

Bradley was just as shocked as he looked at Natasha. “I think I’m dreaming. What just- OW! Phoenix what the hell, why’d you just kick my shin?!” He glared at the woman and she just smirked a little.

“Nope. You're not dreaming.”

“I hate you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at their antics. You found yourself feeling relief when he walked away. Maybe they were wrong. Or maybe they were right and he just wasn’t interested in this specific girl.

“See?”Javy’s voice drew your attention. “Told you not to overthink it.” And before you could question him about the knowing look on his face, Jake rejoined them at their booth.

“Beers all around. Ah- except for you, Baby on Board. I got you your normal Sprite, keep your glasses on.” Jake said. And you caught the deadpan look Bob shot him as he accepted his drink from Jake. You had seen his snide remarks a few times already in the couple of times you’d hung out around the Daggers in the past week. But you could tell he did it just to get a bit of a rise out of people, not to piss them off. At least you hoped it wasn’t.

You lightly hit his arm as he slid into the booth next to you. “Jakey, be nice.” You chided him lightly, the nickname falling from your lips naturally, just like it used to. He looked at you with dread written all over his face when the table started to snicker.

“Jakey?” Reuben asked and the whole table erupted in laughter. You swore you could see Jake’s ears actually go pink from embarrassment.

“Oh shut it, Payback.” Jake snapped, shooting you a little glare. But you could see there was no real malice behind it. There was almost a hint of fondness when he looked at you. Or maybe you just imagined that.

You just smiled and shrugged. “Whoops?”

“Oh yeah, sure. I’ll never hear the end of this now.” You couldn’t help but laugh and Jake eventually laughed along with you, even if he still looked embarrassed.

But it seemed that Javy had other plans. He wasn’t going to let this topic of the woman at the bar go so easily. You all were laughing and talking when you heard Javy clear his throat, catching both your and Jake’s attention.

“So. Hangman. What was that whole thing with that woman at the bar?” Jake raised an eyebrow.

“Who? You mean the girl who was starting to get a little handsy?” You felt that pang of jealousy again just at the mention of her but shoved it down. “She’s just not my type.”

“Last I checked, everyone was your type.” Javy teased, only earning a chuckle from Jake. He didn’t deny it and that hurt a little. You glanced away and caught Phoenix’s eye, who was giving you a look that screamed I told you so. You were going to say something to her when Bob poked her in the side, getting her to jump. You thought you heard him tell her to lay off you and she started whisper-shouting at him. You swore, they bickered like an old married couple.

“Well, this girl wasn’t. I wasn’t interested in talking to her.”

“Like how you turned down that girl when you and I were here yesterday?” Javy prodded again and Jake rolled his eyes, just trying to blow it off. This only got Javy to chuckle. “Careful, Hangman. Keep turning down every girl like that and everyone will think you’re off the market and got a reason to turn them down.”

When Javy said that, Jake glanced your way and you met his eyes. And it felt like the air was stolen from your lungs. The way he was looking at you, like there was something there. The way his green eyes seemed to soften while looking at you. You felt your heart rate increase as you looked back at him, unable to breathe or look away.. There was no way this was how this went down, right?!

And then, the moment was over. He looked back at Javy with a casual smirk. “Come on. If I was off the market, you would’ve already known, Coyote. I’m still open to anyone.” And now it felt like your breath was gone, but in a completely different way. That one hurt. He must really not be interested anymore.

You couldn’t exactly blame him. I mean, you just had to look at him and his career. He was an attractive man, a part of a special squadron of elite fighter pilots, and excelling in his career. You should just feel happy that he’s back in your life as your friend.

…

You couldn’t help but want more though.

– – – – –

Jake

Jake couldn’t shake the way you had looked at him when Javy started pressing him. It had been two weeks since that conversation and he couldn’t shake it.

He had to be real with himself, he couldn’t shake any look you’d given him in the past three weeks since reuniting. He tried to play it off as he was just thrilled to have you back in his life. After so long apart, seeing you again? Having you around at almost all of his squads outings? It was like he completely shifted. His mood improved dramatically. Was he still egotistic and a bit of an asshole at work? Of course he was, when was he not? But he was just happier.

He also couldn’t deny how he felt whenever you stood between Reuben and Mickey as they argued over what was better, Star Wars or Star Trek, and laughed at their bickering. Or the way he felt whenever Bob nerded out to you over a book he was reading or a show he was watching and you listened, completely enraptured as he spoke. Or how he felt last night. When everyone had gone to The Hard Deck after work. And Bradley had dragged you from their booth, very begrudgingly he might say, to dance with him. And the way it made you laugh and your eyes light up when he spun you around.

That inherent feeling of jealousy.

But did he really have the room to feel that jealousy? It had been literally over a decade since he’d broken it off with you. And over a decade since he’d stopped calling. God, he was an idiot. Why would he ever think that you’d forgive him for that?

He had just gotten out of a shower when there was a knock on his apartment door. He looked at his phone and looked beyond confused. Who the hell was knocking on his door at almost 11 o’clock at night, on one of his nights off?

He threw on a pair of boxers and grey sweats, foregoing a shirt for now, when the person knocked again. “I’m comin’, keep your shirt on!” He opened the door and stared. “Coyote, what the hell are you doing here?” Javy pushed his way inside and Jake deadpanned. “No please, come inside, make yourself comfortable.”

The sarcasm was laced in his tone, but Javy did exactly that. He sat down on Jake’s couch as the door was shut. He leaned against the door and stared at his friend and before he could speak, Javy interrupted.

“When are you going to ask her out?” Jake was taken aback by that statement.

“Who are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb, Jake. I know you. I’ve known you for years now. I have never seen you act this way over a girl. Sure. Some girls you’d see more than once. But ever since she came onto the scene? You haven’t so much as looked at another girl. Everyone notices.”

Jake scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Okay? What’s your point?” He asked.

“My point?” Javy looked at him. “The Jake Seresin I know wouldn’t be afraid to flirt upfront with a girl. He wouldn’t hesitate to take that leap. But here you are, hesitating. You’re being subtle when she’s looking and practically making heart eyes when she’s not.”

Well, Jake had been found out. He expected Natasha or maybe even Bradley to catch on and piece things together. He shouldn’t have been surprised that Javy did, though.

“Well- it’s complicated, okay? We have a history.”

“That has never stopped you before.”

“Well this is different!” Jake huffed as he came over and sat next to him. “I hurt her because I was an idiot, okay? I told her I would call as much as I could and then I just…stopped. I was an idiot, I recognize that, so shut your mouth, Javy.” The other man’s mouth closed. “And I wouldn’t blame her if she never fully forgave me for it if she knew the full reason.”

Javy sighed and set a hand on his shoulder. “Listen. I get that you’re groveling over your past decisions? But you need to get over it.” Jake looked at him. This sounded like the worst pep talk ever. “Hear me out man.”

“I don’t have much faith.”

Javy rolled his eyes before continuing. “You were, what? 18, 19 at best? You were a stupid kid. I’m not asking you to give me all the details. What happened between you guys isn’t any of my business. But I’ve seen the way she looks at you when she thinks no one is looking. I may have only known her for a few weeks, but she’s a lot like you in certain aspects, so I feel like I know her pretty well. She looks at you the way you look at her.”

Jake felt his heart speed up a little at that, before sighing. “Javy. My reasoning for what I did is beyond dumb. Who’s to say she won’t be mad and tell me to fuck off for it?”

“Well, then I think she’d be missing out. And isn’t it better to lay everything out on the table and have the possibility of not dating her, than keeping it in and you guys continuing to dance around each other?”

Jake sighed. He knew that was the right thing to do. He was just scared. And that wasn’t like him at all. Which only scared him even more. He didn’t want to lose you now that he had you back.

“I don’t know, man.”

“Listen. All I’m saying is the Jake I know wouldn’t run away from a fight or a challenge. And I can tell you love this girl. I see it in the way your eyes soften when she shows up at the bar. From the way you talk about her and look at her? I’d say she’s worth the risk.”

Javy saying that flipped a switch in him. He was right. You were worth every risk to him. He would risk anything and everything for you. And if he didn’t take this leap now, he never would.

He got up from the couch and went into his room, throwing on a white t-shirt and one of his brown flannels. He threw on a pair of boots and walked back out, grabbing his keys from their hook.

“Go get her, Jakey!” Javy called.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Would you prefer cowboy?” Jake only flipped him off as he exited his apartment and went down to his truck. It was now or never.

– – – – –

You

You were practically hanging off of your couch in your apartment’s living room, in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs and an oversized sleep shirt. You had been having trouble sleeping recently, something you’d struggled with on and off since you were young. So you were trying to bore yourself to sleep by watching old reruns.

It was about a quarter past 11 when there was a knock on your door. You sighed and got up, answering the door and finding Jake standing there.

“Hey.” That was all he said and damnit, why did he have to say it so softly and make your heart swell?

“Hey. What’s up, is something wrong?” He looked almost upsettingly good at the moment, standing on your door. Hands shoved in his sweatpants pockets, the flannel he was wearing open to show the almost too tight white tee he was wearing. Was he trying to kill you?

“No. I’m okay. Did you wanna go for a drive?”

You rose an eyebrow. “Jake, it’s 11:30 at night.”

“Actually, it’s 23:22.”

“You smartass, you know what I mean! And quit it with military time.” He chuckled and leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. Your eyes flicked to his arms for a second before looking back up at him.

“Come on. Neither of us has work tomorrow, I can tell you can’t sleep. For old time’s sake.” He flashed that charming smile of his and you just couldn’t say no. It was hard to say no.

“Fine. Just let me get changed into something more suitable.” You let him come into your apartment before disappearing to your room. You traded the oversized shirt for a hoodie and threw on a pair of pajama pants, slipping on a pair of slip-on sneakers. You came back out to find him looking at a couple of your family pictures on the wall and smiling.

“Okay. I think I’m ready to go.”

He turned to you and smiled, gesturing for you to follow. “Perfect. Let’s go.”

You grabbed your keys quickly and followed him out, locking your door behind him before going down to the parking lot.

“You still have this beat up old piece of crap?”

“Excuse you! It still drives just fine, so why mess with perfection?” Jake had been driving the same beat up Chevy pick up truck since she could remember.

“I’m just surprised this thing still runs.” You saw him shake his head and you could only assume he rolled his eyes at you. He opened the passenger side door for you and held his hand out to you, causing you to smile. “Oh what a gentleman.”

“Course. I gotta be, darlin’.” The pet name and the feel of his hand holding yours caused your heart to flutter.

He helped you up into the truck and got into the driver seat, pulling out of the parking lot and starting to drive, the radio playing music quietly to fill the silence. You couldn’t help but glance at him every now and then. Seeing him dressed so casually rather than a flight suit or uniform was something to see. And his hair wasn’t perfectly done. It was messy and a bit unruly, but it looked good. He looked good.

“So. Where are you taking me?” You asked and he smiled a little.

“It’s a secret.” You rolled your eyes and shook your head before looking out the window. “Doesn’t this bring back memories?”

You turned back to him and smiled. “It’s a little different from Texas.”

He laughed softly. Truly, genuinely laughed. And your heart fluttered again at the sound. You were so done for. “Yeah, guess you're right. There’s a lot less flat fields. But you remember how I used to sneak you out of your window some nights, right?”

“Of course I remember. If I hadn’t trusted you, it would’ve been sketchy when you’d drive into the middle of nowhere.” You both laughed as one of his hands rested on the stick and the other held the wheel.

“Yeah, guess it could seem freaky. But it was so nice to just drive out and lay in the truckbed and watch the stars.”

“Is that what we’re doing now, Mr. Seresin?”

You saw him smiling in the light of passing streetlights. “Why, yes ma’am.” You couldn’t help but smile as well at his tone. He backed into a parking spot near the beach and looked at you. “Go get in the back.”

You climbed out of the truck and opened the tailgate, climbing into the back and sitting down. This section of beach didn’t have many lights, especially this late. So when you looked up, you could see the stars. Suddenly, you heard music. You realized that Jake had turned up the radio. The song that was playing was Bless the Broken Road by Rascal Flatts.

“This song of all songs.” He laughed as he grabbed blankets he kept in the back seat and climbed up next to you, offering you the softer of the blankets.

“I used to play this song all the time whenever we’d go on drives.”

“Yeah, to the point it drove me insane.” You covered up with the blanket as he got settled next to you. “It does bring back a lot of memories though.”

“Good ones, I hope.” You looked at him, and he was watching you as you nodded.

“Yeah. Good ones.” You assured quietly and he smiled before you both looked up at the sky. It was quiet and luckily wasn’t too cold. A benefit of living in San Diego. The only sounds were of the radio and the waves crashing softly against the sand of the beach. The silence between you both seemed to hang heavy. That elephant in the room was getting a bit annoying.

“So I-”

“Jake, I-”

You both looked at each other and started laughing with how you both had tried talking at once. It seemed like such a cliche, but maybe a cliche wasn’t such a bad thing.

“Go ahead.”

“No, please. Lady’s first.” He insisted.

You smiled a little before you sighed. It was now or never. And not only did you want an answer. You felt like you deserved one. You’d been in the dark for long enough.

“Why did you stop calling?”

You kept your eyes on him, watching him sigh and look away from you. He rubbed scratched the back of his neck before looking at you.

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I didn’t want to keep leaving you in the dark over it.”

“Well, I’m listening.”

It took him a few more moments of silence, seemingly trying to get his thoughts in order. “Because I didn’t think it was fair.” Before you could question him, he just kept talking. “We were broken up, sure. But we both knew that it wasn’t because we stopped loving each other. It was so it was easier on us and less distracting. But I got my first deployment orders so fast after boot camp and-” he sighed. “I didn’t want to be the person you were stuck on. I didn’t want to make you waste all this time waiting for us to happen again when it’s possible we never would have.

“And I know that sounds like me trying to excuse myself. I really am not trying to do that. I realized later down the line just how stupid that is. It’s not an excuse in the slightest. But it’s the only reason I’ve got.”

You were quiet for a bit as you took in his words. “Don’t you think I deserved to have a say in that? I was willing to wait.”

“I know you were. And of course, you deserved that choice. But I was a stupid kid who loved you so fiercely that I wanted what was best for you, even if that wasn’t me. I still do.”

You felt your heart leap into your throat as you looked at his side profile. The way his eyebrows were drawn together and his jaw was clenched as he leaned back on his hands. It was obvious he was frustrated with his past self’s decisions.

“Which part?”

“What?” He looked at you and he stopped, looking into your eyes.

“Which part? You still want what’s best for me or…you still love me?” You swore you heard his breath catch as you asked that question, also leaning back on your hands now. Your hand barely brushed his and it felt like sparks flew.

“Would it be selfish to say both?” His voice was quiet, as if he was afraid speaking too loud would break this fragile moment between the two of you. You felt his hand slowly rest over yours, making you let out a shaky breath you didn’t even realize you were holding.

“Yeah, it would. But what’s wrong with being a little selfish?” He smiled a little at your playful comment, gazing at you gently as he lightly squeezed your hand.

And before you knew it, he’d leaned in and kissed you. It felt brand new and like it was habit all at once. You closed your eyes and kissed him back. It was simple. There was no rush for either of you in that moment. His other hand came up and cradled the back of your neck to keep you close. You felt like you were drowning in the best way. Drowning in him. His taste, his touch, his scent. You never wanted it to end.

But you both did need to breathe. He pulled away and kept his hand on the back of your neck, pressing his forehead to yours. You both took deep breaths, just basking in each other’s warmth and presence.

“I am still helplessly in love with you. And I’m sorry I stopped calling.”

You shook your head. “I get why you did it. And don’t worry. I’m also still helplessly in love with you too, Jake.” He smiled and kissed you again. It was quick and simple, but god it was perfect. Everything was perfect about him. About this moment. Once he pulled away, you continued to speak. “Even if Nat tried her damndest to ward me away from you.”

Jake rolled his eyes as he looked at you. “Well, Phoenix can shove it. I’m just glad you didn’t listen to her.” You smiled and curled into his side. His arm wrapped around you, holding your waist to keep you pressed close to him.

“Nah don’t worry. I know you. You may have an even bigger ego now than you did back in the day. But you’re still my Jakey.” Your teasing tone made him roll his eyes, but both of you ended up laughing.

Once more, it was quiet again. The only sounds being the early 2000s country coming from his radio, the waves, and your breathing.

“You know.” You looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe Flatts was onto something. ‘God blessed the broken road that led me straight to you’.” He was grinning like an idiot when he sang that line from the song in a low and playful tone, leaning down towards you.

You groaned and pushed his face away, causing him to bark out a laugh. “You are insufferable, Jake Seresin.”

“And you love me for it anyway, darlin’.”

You smiled and gently grabbed the collar of his flannel. “Damn right I do.” Before pulling him into another kiss that he happily reciprocated. Maybe he had a point.

And you were thanking whatever force was listening for leading you both back to each other.

END

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