#Christmas Theme Coffee Mug | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thewintersoldierdisaster · 8 months

Text

a/n: i played myself on this one. posted that little barzy blanket thief headcanon post a million years ago and then i had to write this! the pro shop doesn’t sell the themed comfy, which i think it should but whatever. couldn’t resist writing this one and it just got away from me. full disclosure this was written before christmas but i didn’t want to post it in the middle of posting the other christmas fics so i held it back for a little bit! enjoy!!

word count: 6.2k

tw: brief unprotected sex, fingering, dirty talk, protected sex

summary: mat’s a blanket thief and tries to make it up to you

In theory, the king sized mattress that you’d bought for the new house was meant to stop Mat from stealing all of your blankets in the middle of the night. What with king sized sheets and blankets and comforters to go along with the king sized mattress, the thought was that Mat would have more than enough of his own coverings without having to take yours too.

Wrong. So wrong.

Every night for the first week in the new house, Mat rolls himself into a little burrito of blankets, cocooned up in the warmth that you’re missing. He’s oblivious to it too, which is extra annoying for some reason. It’s not even like he normally sleeps all rolled up in the covers. Usually Mat’s a restless sleeper, all that energy trying to escape even when he’s asleep, and he’s starfished on the mattress or rolling from one side to the other. Only after games or travel days does he pass out like the dead, after, of course, working you into the mattress and making sure you both have at least one orgasm.

For whatever reason lately, even when he’s got an off day, he’s been sleeping like a log, moving only to pull the covers over his shoulders and rolling them around his body.

“Mat,” you hiss his name, pulling at the comforter. He doesn’t budge at all. “Mat!”

If anything, he wraps himself tighter in the blankets.

You let out a frustrated little growl and pull harder, planting your foot flat against his outer thigh, or where you assume his outer thigh is, and kick a little, trying to get some leverage. Mat grunts a little in his sleep and shifts his lower body away from you, taking the blankets with him.

You flop back against your side of the bed, exposed to the elements and freezing. Stupid fucking Mat and his “the bedroom has to be at sixty-five degrees so we get the best possible sleep” arguments. A chill runs down your spine and you scowl to yourself, yanking at the little bit of sheet you managed to keep him from taking, wrapping it around yourself and snuggling up close against his back for a little warmth.

The next morning, as usual, Mat’s awake before you and you’ve got the covers back, having subconsciously pulled them over your body when he left the bed. Groaning at the thought of having to leave the warm bed, you drag a hand over your face before slowly getting up and padding to the bathroom to brush your teeth and wash your face. Feet shoved into Ugg slippers that have seen better days and pulling a sweatshirt over your head, you make your way down to the kitchen where you find Mat making himself eggs at the stove. You lean a hip against the kitchen island, watching him for a few minutes, the way his muscles work as he’s cooking, bare back displayed just for you. His sweats hang low on his hips and you want to press your hands against his lower back.

“Staring’s rude, Squeaks,” he says on a laugh. Without turning from the stove, he gestures to the counter with the spatula in his hand, “coffee’s hot.”

“Stealing all the blankets from your poor frozen girlfriend is also rude,” you reply deadpan, reaching up for your favorite mug and pouring yourself a generous serving of coffee. You doctor it up with sugar cookie flavored creamer and wrap your hands around the ceramic to warm them up before taking a sip.

Now he turns to face you and his eyes go wide and his eyebrows lift up his forehead. “Ah, shit. I’m still doing that even with the bigger bed?”

“Mhm,” you confirm with a roll of your eyes. “I’d say we should upgrade to a California King, but you’d probably keep doing it.” An amused smirk plays on your lips and Mat grimaces.

He sets the spatula down and flips off the burner before coming over to stand in between your legs. You keep your mug held up by your chest as a barrier. “I’m sorry, babe,” he brushes the tip of his nose against yours. His hands fall to your hips, sliding up underneath the fabric of your sweatshirt. His palms are warm and rough against your skin and you shiver a little. His hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts and you can’t help yourself from pushing your chest further into his hands. “You should’ve woken me up, I would’ve given you the blankets back.”

A startled laugh bursts out of your mouth and Mat looks briefly offended. The pads of his thumbs freeze on your nipples.

“What?” He asks, flicking a nipple with his fingernail. You press your thighs together. “I can share.”

“If you,” you start, stuttering a little as Mat’s fingers roll over your nipples, “think that it’s just that easy to wake you up, you’re delusional.”

Mat huffs a laugh and you yelp when he pinches down hard. The menace. He knows he’s a heavy sleeper. You reach behind you to set your coffee mug down on the counter, afraid that the hot brew is going to spill everywhere. “Aw, come on,” he teases, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, “it’s so easy to wake me up.” His hands continue their work under your sweatshirt and you feel your panties growing damp.

“Mmm?” You hum, letting your knee rub up against the outside of Mat’s thigh slowly, opening yourself up to him. “I kicked you twice and not even a peep.” Your hands come up to lock around Mat’s neck. Your fingers play in the shirt bristles of Mat’s hair and you wish, not for the first time in months, that he would let his hair grow in again.

He lets his hands slide down your sides again, one over your stomach and one around your back. “Your mistake,” he says, pulling you closer so your core is flush up against the hard ridge of his erection. You grind against him mindlessly, tension building low in your stomach, already forgetting why you were annoyed. “I don’t respond to kicking,” his hand works its way underneath your sweats and grabs a palmful of your ass. The other hand remains frustratingly warm against your lower stomach, the tips of his fingers just barely brushing against the elastic of your panties. “Gotta be nicer to me, baby.”

“Oh yeah?” You breathe, wiggling against him, scratching your nails absently against his scalp. “What do you suggest?”

“I dunno,” he shrugs, kneading your ass with one hand. “Could’ve wrapped that pretty mouth around my dick.”

Fire pools in your stomach even as you giggle. “And how would I have penetrated that cocoon of blankets you stole?” You ask tartly, raising an eyebrow. Before Mat can answer, you continue, “besides, blow jobs are a reward for good boys.”

Mat’s ears go pink, but he smirks at you. “Just like getting your pussy licked is for good girls?”

Your cheeks heat and arousal floods between your legs, a little gasp punching from your lungs. You try to press your thighs together, but Mat’s hand is lightning fast, sliding under the band of your panties and cupping you in one warm, broad palm. You squeal at the sudden contact, grinding down onto his hand. “Maaat,” you whine his name, his fingers stroking gently between your folds, teasing at your entrance. He uses his grip on your ass to drag you closer to his chest and you allow him, knees feeling weak as his fingers play with you.

Your hands drift down to his biceps, gripping them for dear life to keep you upright. “Stop teasing,” you hiss, the tip of his middle finger sliding inside of you. You clench around him, chasing his hand and your pleasure.

“So fucking wet, babe,” Mat grins, dropping his forehead to yours. His hand never stops moving, drawing you closer to the peak of your pleasure. “So good for me.”

All the blood in your body rushes to your cunt at the praise and your back is arching, pressing Mat’s fingers deeper. He holds the pad of his thumb firmly over your clit and squeezes your ass, slanting his mouth over yours to muffle the moan that escapes when he rubs against your clit. Your toes curl in your slippers and your head falls back, legs trembling with the force of your orgasm as it washes over you. Mat’s fingers guide you through the aftershocks for a few lazy moments and you drop your chin to your chest, breathing hard.

“Why was I mad at you?” You mumble, laughing breathlessly. You wiggle your hips, starting to get overstimulated and uncomfortable with Mat’s hand still down the front of your panties. He takes the hint and pulls his hand out of your pants. His fingers are wet with your arousal as they brush against your lower stomach and you shiver happily.

Casually, he sticks his middle and ring fingers in his mouth to suck them clean, releasing them with a wet pop. “‘Cause I steal blankets,” he replies, without really thinking. He realizes his mistake a beat later, hazel eyes going wide and jaw dropping open. “Aw, fuck. If I haul you up on the counter and eat you out will you forget I said that?”

“Nope!” Your giggle turns into a shriek as you try to escape Mat’s lunging hands. He digs his fingers into your sides, tickling you mercilessly. “Nooo! Mat! Stop! No tickling-“

“Gonna make you forget about the blankets one way or another,” Mat laughs, holding your squirming body tightly. Your ass presses against his crotch and he hisses, biting gently on your shoulder.

“Never! If I forget, you’ll just steal them again,” your words are stuttered from laughter and you fight Mat’s hands. He’s stronger and manages to wrestle you to the kitchen floor, pinning your wrists above your head, straddling your lap, knees on either side of your hips. His sweats ride low and the chain around his neck sways with the momentum. His cock bobs behind his sweats and you swallow harshly. Mat grins down at you, flattening his body to yours, his cock pressing insistently against your stomach. He kisses the edge of your jaw as you wiggle under him.

“You look pretty warm to me,” Mat teases, rolling his hips against yours. The hard heat of his erection makes your thighs tremble.

You wrinkle your nose at him, fully aware that he has the upper hand in your positioning. “You’re going to be late to practice,” you say, even as your hips lift to his subconsciously.

“Always plenty of time to fuck my girl silly,” he says lightly, bumping his cock against your cunt again. “As long as she forgives me for being a blanket thief.”

“Mmm,” you whine, heat prickling up your spine, “you’re forgiven. Just…I need you.”

Mat’s teeth scrape at your jaw and one hand lets go of your wrists, moving between your bodies and tugging your sweats and panties down in one swift move. The cold kitchen tile against your bare ass has you yelping and instinctively bucking your hips off the ground, up into Mat’s hips. He soothes a hand over your inner thigh before pulling his sweats down enough to free his cock. You crane your neck to look down at him, grinning when you see the tip of him, groaning when he bumps it against your clit. Shocks of pleasure ripple through your body and you whine again, heels kicking against the floor, dripping for him.

“Gonna give you everything, ‘kay?” Mat mumbles, gripping the base of his cock and guiding it to your entrance, letting the tip slip inside of you. His head falls forward on a groan and you grind down on him, trying to get more.

“Just not - can’t come inside,” you babble, bucking your hips up into his. “Not without a condom.”

“I’ll pull out,” he promises and you know he means it. You’re on birth control and neither of you is ready for kids. “Gotta fuck you good. Make you come on my cock and gonna finish in your mouth.”

His words are punctuated with harsh thrusts that have your back sliding against the floor. Your free hand roams Mat’s body, scratching against his chest and arm, fingers tangling briefly in the chain around his neck. You egg him on, reaching down to dig your nails into his hips. “C’mon, Mat. Harder, please!” You beg, meeting him thrust for thrust.

“Fuck. Fuck, so good. You’re so perfect, baby,” Mat grunts, leaning down to kiss you and changing the angle so he hits harder and deeper inside of you. “Gonna fuck you everywhere in this house. Every wall, every floor.”

Your body tenses up with pleasure, gasps and moans leaving your lips along with Mat’s name. Your orgasm builds heavy and fast in your stomach, clit throbbing from the drag of Mat’s pelvis against the swollen, sensitive nub. “Gonna - Mat, please!” You cut off in a wail when his free hand finds your clit and pinches it, sending you over the edge of pleasure, sparks dancing in your vision, arousal leaking from your cunt down the curve of your ass. Your hand slaps against the floor, fingers scrabbling for purchase as he continues fucking into you, the hard, hot drag of his bare cock making you stupid.

Mat’s hips continue pistoning into yours and you’re faintly aware of the slapping of skin against skin underneath his babbling. “Jesus, so fucking pretty when you come. Love that face, love that I made you make that face,” the words fall from his mouth without him even focusing on them, too busy working his cock in and out of you.

You watch his shoulders tense up, feel his thrusts falter a little and you know he’s close. “Mat, not - no baby,” you remind him, pushing at his shoulder, hand slipping down to his chest, stomach, hip.

“Fuck,” he groans, pumping into you once more before pulling out completely, the sudden loss of him inside of you leaving you feeling too empty. You slide your own hand from his hip and let your fingers skate over your clit lazily, not really working yourself towards another orgasm, but just easing the empty feeling. Mat’s hand grips the base of his cock, jacking himself once, twice, three times before his entire body goes taut and he comes all over your sweatshirt covered chest, too far gone to even give you a chance to try and get your mouth on him. “Sorry, baby, sorry. I’ll buy you a new one. I couldn’t—“ he mutters around the groans and slick sounds of his palm sliding over his cock.

When he’s done, the hand holding yours above your head loosens and Mat flops down onto his back next to you. His cock is softening against his thigh and you have a literal puddle of his cum warming your skin through the material of your sweatshirt. Your ass is cold against the tile, wet where your arousal had dripped down the curve. You roll your neck and look at Mat, watching his chest heave while he catches his breath. His cheeks are pink from exertion and his limbs are completely limp.

“We’re disgusting,” you comment on a laugh, afraid to move.

“Why didn’t you say the tile was so cold on your ass?” Mat replies, lifting his hips so he can pull his sweats back up. You watch with a little pout as his cock disappears under the sweats, a little wet spot forming and turning the fabric a darker grey.

“I was a little busy getting railed on the kitchen floor,” you deadpan. “That I’m going to have to clean with, like, bleach now.”

Mat rolls onto his side, props his head up on his elbow, and gives you such a mischievous, shit-eating grin that you kick out your foot to make contact with his shin. “What’s with that look?” You comment, wiggling your sweats back up over your lower body. He whines a little.

“Just thinking about how hard up we were that I had to fuck you on the floor,” he laughs, his fingers coming over to tug on a piece of your hair.

“If anyone hears about this,” you warn, half-joking, half-serious, “I swear to God that I will never give you a blowjob again.”

A laugh startles out of his chest and Mat promises he won’t say anything, defends himself that he doesn’t usually talk about your sex life with the guys anyway.

“That includes Beau,” you warn him, carefully wiggling into a sitting position, wincing when Mat’s cum slides down your chest and pools in the fabric of gathered on your lap. “This is so gross, Mat.”

“He’s my best friend!” Mat yelps. “I tell him everything.” You whip your head in his direction, eyes wide and mouth dropped open a bit. There is no way Beau knows everything about sex life. Mat backtracks, his hands up in surrender, “not everything. I didn’t mean everything. He knows a lot, but not about the time we almost killed each other in the shower or the time I almost —“

You clap a hand over his mouth, muffling his ramble. “Enough. Oh my god. You seriously need to get a filter,” you can’t help the little disbelieving laugh that works its way out of your mouth. Shaking your head, you mutter to yourself, “to think this all started because you’re a fucking blanket thief.”

Mat opens his mouth under your hand to defend himself and you can physically see him gearing up for a long ramble, so you shake your head. “No, nope. Go get yourself cleaned up for practice. I need to get myself in a completely different headspace for the day,” you laugh. “Fucked on the kitchen floor was not how I pictured my week starting.”

Mat licks your palm so you’ll pull it away from his face. You grimace at him and wipe your hand on his bare chest, the faint smattering of dark hair over his chest tickling your skin. “Don’t say that’s gross, Squeaks,” he teases, leaning in to kiss you, “I’ve had my tongue all over that body.”

You narrow your eyes at him, “it’s the principle of the licking. Now leave me, I have to figure out how to get this sweatshirt off without making more of a mess and it’s not going to be cute.”

He laughs at you and gets to his feet, dropping a kiss to the top of your head. “Whatever you want, babe. I’ll be back down in a few to finish making breakfast.”

You’d almost forgotten that Mat had been cooking when you came downstairs. Thank God he’d turned off the stove. As he heads back upstairs, you drop back onto your back, arms spread out to your sides. What a fucking morning.

——-

Mat’s out of town for a few days, a mini road trip that has him gone from your bed for nearly a week, and so you get the bed and blankets all to yourself. You’ve more or less forgotten about Mat’s thieving habits when you have the thick comforters wrapped securely around your body.

So when Mat comes home on a Saturday afternoon, lugging a giant shopping bag along with his suitcase and duffel bag, you’re a little curious and a lot confused.

“Plane snacks?” You tease after accepting a hello kiss from him.

“Those didn’t even make it out of the Tampa airport,” he grins, setting the bag on the couch. “This is even better.”

You lean over the back of the couch and watch as Mat pulls a blue and orange something out of the bag. He shakes it out and you recognize it as the extra long Islanders-logo patterned, hooded Comfy that’s being sold in the pro shop at the Northwell rink. Mat holds it out in front of him with a little “ta-dah!” and a big, cheesy grin on his face.

“What is that?” You ask rhetorically, hand reaching out of its own accord to touch the fleecy fabric. It’s soft, you’ll give him that.

“It’s one of those Comfy things, for you to wear when I steal blankets,” he laughs. “I haven’t forgotten what happened last week.”

Instinctively, your gaze cuts to the spot on the kitchen floor that you’d scrubbed three times with bleach. Mat’s eyes follow yours and his grin turns into a feral little smirk. “Haven’t forgotten that either,” he continues. “But try it on.”

“This is ridiculous,” you say, grabbing for the hooded blanket. Pulling it over your jeans and t-shift, your voice is muffled, “you could always just stop making a cocoon out of the blankets - oh!”

It’s extremely soft, the Comfy. The hood is oversized enough that the hem of it flops over your eyes, obscuring your view of Mat, and keeping your head nice and warm. The sleeves hang a few inches past your hands and the bottom of it comes to your mid-shin. It’s like wearing a space heater. You wrap your arms around yourself and sway a little, giggling.

“I actually love this?” You can’t believe it. There’s so much room and you know that if you were sitting on the couch you could tuck your legs up under the fabric and still have plenty of space. “Okay, we still have to train you not to steal blankets, but this is a nice temporary solution.”

Mat’s laugh is delighted and you flip back the hood to look at him. “You’re adorable in that,” he says, coming around the back of the couch to get into your personal space. “Gonna share with me?”

“Absolutely fucking not,” you giggle, dancing away from him, the fleece swishing around your legs. “This is my reward!”

“For what?” Mat cocks an eyebrow at you.

“Putting up with you,” you retort, hands on your hips, knowing you look insane in your new getup.

Mat grabs for the fabric, snagging it between two long fingers and pulling you into him. “Babe,” he kisses your cheek, “you give just as good as you get.”

You cuddle up against his chest, head tucked under his chin and arms wrapped around his waist. “Missed you,” you mumble into his shirt.

“Missed you too,” his arms tighten around your back. “How about we do something fun tonight? I’ll take you out for dinner too.”

——-

The Comfy works wonders even though Mat continues to steal the blankets. More often than not, you’re wearing the giant hoodie to bed, tucking your legs up underneath and curling up in a little ball.

Mat loves the stupid thing too - if you’re wearing it while laying on the couch, he’ll crawl up underneath it too, laying on top of you, chest to chest, like a giant weighted blanket. The head hole isn’t quite big enough for both of you, so usually the top of Mat’s head is bumping up against your chin while he rests his cheek against your chest, groping and mouthing at your breasts.

“It’s hot under here,” he complains, voice muffled. He’s kneading one of your breasts in his giant hand, lazily grinding his half-hard cock against your thigh.

“The Comfy is only meant for one person,” you sigh. You’re getting sweaty and worked up from Mat’s body heat. “It’s a giant fleece blanket, what did you expect?”

“Dunno,” Mat says against your shirt, licking your nipple through the thin cotton. You arch your back, pressing your breast into his mouth. “Wasn’t really thinking.”

He bites the underside of your breast and you wince, even as a spark of pleasure fires low in your stomach. You’re surprised that you don’t have a permanent mark there - Mat’s a biter.

“Story of your life, Mathew,” you murmur affectionately. “How about I take the portable sauna off and you fuck me into the couch properly?”

Still under the Comfy, Mat tries to sit up, gets tangled in the fabric and before you know it, you’re both falling off the couch and landing on the floor in a pile. Your knee drives into Mat’s thigh, your elbow in his stomach and he grunts with pain. Your head takes a glancing hit to the edge of the coffee table and you see stars briefly. “Fuck,” you drag the curse out for a few extra seconds. Mat’s wiggling underneath you, trying to get out from the confines of the fabric.

“Are you okay?” You ask, trying to roll off of him and help pull the fabric away from his body. Mat’s face is bright red, but he looks okay.

“No one can ever know about that,” he says seriously.

You laugh and he breaks, cracking up too. “How about we never discuss our sex life outside of the relationship cone of silence?” You hold out your hand for him to shake.

“Deal,” he shakes your hand once, snorting a laugh. He leans up into a sitting position. “Can I still fuck you into the couch?”

“I think I’d be kind of insulted if you didn’t,” you pull the Comfy over your head and toss it off to the side before crawling into Mat’s lap so you can wind your arms around his neck and kiss him deeply. Mat’s hands roam up your back, under your shirt, pulling you closer to him. You rock your hips, grinding down over his cock and Mat moans into your mouth. He braces one arm around your lower back and gets up on his knees to lift you onto the couch, pressing you back into the cushions. He settles into the cradle of your hips, your thighs coming up to wrap around his waist, ankles crossing at his lower back.

He grinds his cock against your cunt and you whine into his mouth, breaking the kiss to say, “want it hard and fast, Mat. Don’t be sweet, just fuck me hard, okay?”

Mat’s pupils are blow so wide you can’t see any of his hazel irises. He nods like a bobble head, “yeah, fuck yeah, baby. Whatever you need.”

He makes quick work of your pants, leaning back on his knees to get both of you bare from the waist down. His jaw goes slack when he sees just how wet you are for him, his hands holding your thighs open so he can just stare for a bit. “Jesus,” he mutters and your cheeks warm. You kick at the back of his thigh, startling Mat.

“If you don’t get a condom on in the next thirty seconds,” you say, fighting past the blush that’s heating your entire body, “I can’t guarantee that I won’t just take matters into my own hands.”

Mat laughs hoarsely and springs into action, reaching for one of the little side drawers on the coffee table. A strip of condoms is hidden away there just for times like these. Your hands are already sliding down your stomach to tease at your throbbing clit. Mat catches sight of you and smacks your hands away, the condoms in his other hand. “Oh no way,” he growls. “I still have twenty seconds.”

You laugh and start a little countdown, making Mat’s fingers fumble on the foil wrappings. He scowls at you and shifts so one knee is pressed firmly against your cunt. You break off into a surprised moan, head thrown back against the couch cushion, “Mat!”

He shifts his knee, moving it slightly so your throbbing clit catches against his leg hair and you whine, grinding down harder on him. “You’re not gonna touch yourself,” he warns, finally getting the condom open and rolled down his straining erection, “are you, baby?”

“No, no,” the words stutter out of your chest as Mat keeps moving his knee against you. Your hands fly out to clutch the couch cushions and Mat grins down at you.

“This pussy’s mine,” he says, planting one foot on the floor and keeping one knee bent on the couch so he can stabilize himself. You whine at the loss of contact from your cunt, but the noise gets choked off in the next second when Mat grabs your hips and thrusts into you in one swift punch of his hips. His hips smack against yours as he bottoms out and you cry his name in a babble of breathless chants.

“Told you,” he grunts, pumping into you and using his grip on your hips to push and pull you closer, your ass hitting high up on his thighs. “Mine, fucking mine.”

Your legs lock around his hips, thighs trembling, heels pushing against the top of his ass. “Oh - god, more! Mat!” Your fingertips turn white from how hard you’re grabbing at the couch cushions, your body sliding up with the force of Mat’s thrusts. Your breath hiccups out of your lungs, fire burning in your veins. Every hit of his cock against your g-spot has you screaming his name.

“Fucking -“ Mat grunts, jaw slack as he watches where his cock splits you open, disappearing into your soaked cunt. “Gorgeous. Fucking all for me, baby.”

You need more, just a little more to push you over the edge. Mat usually pays attention to your clit, helping you finish, but he’s pounding into you hard and fast, just like you asked, so you reach a shaking hand down and circle your fingertips around your clit, arching your back with the added stimulation. Mat growls over you and bats your hand away, not stopping his pace.

“Told you no touching,” he huffs, pulling your hips flush against his and holding you there, his cock throbbing inside of your cunt. “Ask for it, baby.”

Tears slip out of the corners of your eyes and trail down your temples. You whine, “wanna touch my clit, Mat. Need it.”

Instead of touching you, Mat’s hands tighten on your hips and circle them slowly over his cock, your clit pressed tightly against the dark hair at his base, making you moan, eyes squeezed shut hard enough for you to see stars.

“Come on, baby,” Mat mumbles, watching you fall apart. “Come for me, gonna make you cum. Right here on my cock.” He pulls his hips back, all but the tip of him leaving your body and you babble at him, trying to grab at his wrists to pull him back in. “Who’s gonna make you cum?” He asks, snapping his hips back against yours, harsh and fast.

“You!” You wail, dragging out the word for several seconds, barely breathing as Mat bullies the orgasm from your body, holding your hips to his as you clench around him, shaking in his grip. Pleasure loosens all of your limbs as you gush around Mat, crying his name.

He strokes his thumbs over your hipbones and pumps into you a handful more times, but you’re barely aware of him filling the condom with a shout of your name, your head fuzzy with post-orgasm haze. Mat breathes heavily over you, slumping slightly to the side as he finishes, loosening his grip on you. You blink sleepily up at him, a lazy, satisfied smile forming on your lips. “What?” He asks, voice raspy and smoky.

“Just really like your face,” your smile turns a little wicked, “‘specially when you’re cumming.” You wrangle your features into a caricature of his orgasm face. “Looks like this.”

Mat pinches your hip and pulls out of you, wincing when he takes the condom off and ties off the end. “Yeah? Yours looks like this,” he throws his head back dramatically, squeezes his eyes shut, and drops his mouth open, letting his tongue flop out like he’s a corpse on a terrible soap opera.

You bark a laugh, kicking at him. “I do not!”

“Do too,” Mat grins, leaning down to cup your jaw and kiss you with tongue and teeth. “Good thing I think you’re the fucking hottest woman on the planet.” He climbs off the couch to toss the condom and you watch his ass as he walks away. It should literally be a crime to have an ass that tight. Your clit gives a pathetic little throb as you watch him, used and abused but so ready to go another round. You slip a hand between your legs, rolling the swollen nub between your fingers gently.

“Can we implement like naked weekends around here?” You ask, popping your head over the back of the couch. Mat’s laughter echoes through the kitchen.

“You know I’m never gonna say no to that,” he replies, and then in the next second, his t-shirt is flying through the air and landing on your head. “In fact, let’s start now.”

——-

You get in late from girls’ night - it’s close to one in the morning - and you know Mat’s asleep. He’d texted you around midnight, a typo-filled message that essentially said he was going to bed, but if you wanted to wake him with a blow job he wouldn’t be opposed to it. You’d snorted a laugh at the message, hiding your screen from the other girls while you typed back a definitive no. He’d replied with a pouting selfie that you ignored. You figure he’d gone to bed shortly after that since the boys have a game later in the day.

The house is dark when you get home, just a few of the under cabinet lights on in the kitchen so you don’t trip on anything.

You make your way slowly up to your bedroom, unsteady on your feet, discarding your shoes and clothes as you go. All you want to do is curl up in bed and pass out.

There’s a lump of blankets on one side of the bed that tells you Mat is passed out under there. Sure enough, when you get closer, you can see one of his bare feet poking out from the bottom of the covers. You smile faintly to yourself, getting rid of the last of your clothes and rummaging around in a drawer for a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. The alcohol has your body feeling overly warm so you don’t bother with retrieving your Comfy from the closet. You’ll manage with whatever blankets you can wrestle away from Mat.

The bed is nice and warm from Mat’s body heat and you settle happily on your side of the bed, cricketing your feet a little to really warm things up. Mat hasn’t wrapped himself all up yet, so you scoot closer to him, planning on pressing your chest against his back and spooning him, but instead of feeling bare skin or the cotton of a t-shirt, your fingers are met with a familiar fleecy material.

“What the fuck?” you forget to whisper and your voice is loud and echoes around the room. You squint and pull back the blankets that are partially covering Mat’s head.

The royal blue and orange of the Islanders’ logo comes into view and your jaw drops when it finally clicks that Mat’s wearing your Comfy to bed. The hood is secured over his head and his hands are tucked into the sleeves.

“Oh my god!” You shove at Mat’s shoulder and he startles.

“Hnghh?” He grunts, rolling onto his back, yawning.

“You took my Comfy!” You jab at his arm and Mat’s eyes crack open.

A faint, sleepy smile curves his lips. “Hey, babe,” he mumbles, reaching a hand out for you. “Have fun with the girls?” He stretches, blankets shifting around.

“Don’t ’hey, babe’ me!” You grumble, pulling at the blankets. “You literally gave me that because you take my blankets. Now you take my Comfy?”

Mat yawns again, jaw cracking. He doesn’t look apologetic at all. “It’s warm,” he whines, grabbing your hand to pull you closer. “And it smells like you.”

You go to him despite yourself, scooting over and curling up against his side, tucking your shoulder under his armpit. Your legs brush against his and you frown. “Are you naked in my Comfy, Mathew?” You yelp, pulling at the fleece fabric. “You cannot be serious!”

“I have boxers on!” He laughs in protest, swatting your hands away from him. “I’m not gross.”

“Yes, you are,” you grumble, growing sleepy again. “I want a new one now that you’ve taken this one.”

He slings his legs over yours, arms holding you close as he kisses your forehead. “I can share, Squeaks. I’m a generous boyfriend,” he laughs against your hair. You press closer to his warmth, burying your face in his chest.

“You failed sharing in kindergarten, Mat,” you tease quietly. He slaps your ass gently and you giggle, curling up closer to him.

“So mean to me,” you can hear the pout in his voice. “Definitely not sharing now. Gonna buy my own Comfy.”

——

When Mat comes home from practice three days later, he’s toting another giant bag that he hadn’t left the house with.

You eye it suspiciously and he’s laughing like a lunatic as he pulls out another Comfy, declaring, “we match, Squeaks.”

“Oh my god,” you laugh. You didn’t think he was actually serious about getting his own.

Mat pulls the fabric over his head and does a little twirl for you, holding his arms out. “How do I look?” He asks, striking a dramatic pose, pushing his lips out in an exaggerated duck face.

“Like the hottest oversized fleece hoodie model in the world,” you reply, reaching out to grab the fabric and pull him in for a kiss.

#mat barzal #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal x you #mat barzal fic #mat barzal imagine

950 notes · View notes

roosterforme · 5 months

Text

The Younger Kind Part 63 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: The arrival of the fourth member of the royal family means that Noah gets to meet his little sister. He has a lot to teach her, and he's planning on starting today.

Warnings: fluff, new baby, hospital, age gap (18+)

Length: 1200 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.

Several months later....

You were exhausted, and everything still hurt a little bit. The best word to describe the night of sleep you just had was restless. There were nurses in and out of your room all night long, and the harsh fluorescent lights were enough to wake you up at odd times and make you wish you were at home. You could hear the faint sound of babies crying as your husband, who had curled his large body up and spent the night in the arm chair, leaned down to kiss your forehead.

"I'll go pick up Noah and bring him back to meet his sister. You want me to get you some coffee?" he whispered, letting the baby doze in the bassinet next to your bed.

"Please," you told him, tipping your head back so he could kiss you. His lips were always perfect, but there was a reverence in his touch today that left you a little breathless.

His fingers brushed your cheek and trailed down your neck before he stood tall and paused to look at your daughter who was the most precious, tiny thing you had ever seen. Bradley's smile grew and grew as he leaned a little closer to her and adjusted the pink pacifier in her mouth. "I'll be back with your brother," he told her, and then with one more kiss pressed to your forehead, he made his way out of the room to get Noah from Penny's house.

You sighed and stretched out in the bed, letting your gaze skim the placard that was affixed to the bassinet.

Noelle Bradshaw

Born: April 22nd

Length: 19 inches

Weight: 6 pounds, 14 ounces

"I love you." Your whisper was soft, but you watched her squirm a little bit in response. Part of you wanted her to wake up again so you could hold her, but you knew that she was probably as tired as you were. The Christmas theme of her name would always make you and Bradley smile, and you fell in love with it as soon as he first mentioned it to you. The theme for her nursery was purple watercolor flowers, but you made sure there was a pretty green pine tree painted on the back of her door.

You felt yourself starting to doze while you waited for your boys to come back, and just as you heard Noelle start to stir, the door opened slowly. "Mommy!" Noah called out, running right past the bassinet and his sister with a gift bag in his hand. He climbed up onto the bed near your feet as Bradley shut the door behind him with a coffee cup in his hand.

"Be careful, Bub. Mommy is really tired," he said softly, but you already had Noah snuggled up at your side, and he was pulling a mug from inside the bag.

"Me and Daddy got you this for your coffee, but you can still use the other ones at home, too."

"Thank you, sweet Noah," you told him, kissing his head as you read the purple mug which said Noah and Noelle's Mommy. "It's perfect. Are you ready to meet her?"

"Of course," he said with a casual shrug, but when Bradley scooped up the wriggling newborn, Noah's eyes lit up. "She's so little."

You watched as Bradley held her close, his nose bumping her much smaller one playfully as he whispered her name. She really was so little. Even the pink cap on her head was dwarfed by his hand as he cradled her and kept her safe. You sipped your French vanilla coffee and ruffled Noah's hair as Bradley said, "Little Duchess Noelle," while he knelt next to the bed with her in his arms. "Meet your big brother, Prince Noah."

Your son was so gentle as he reached for his sister, it made you gasp as tears filled your eyes. He'd been waiting months, asking about her every day, and now his tiny best friend was here. You watched as she pulled her hand free from her swaddle and reached out to him.

"Hi," Noah whispered, and sure enough her little fingers wrapped around his thumb, and he watched in wonder as she yawned. "Hi, Noelle."

"I think she loves you the most," Bradley said with a grin in your direction. "I'm just a peasant, obsessed with my royal family."

You shook your head before you leaned closer to him. "You're a Daddy in shining armor."

He kissed you while he laughed and held his daughter in one strong arm. He laced his fingers with yours and asked Noah, "Are you going to teach her everything you know?"

"Everything," he said, poking at her arm as she smiled at him.

"Like what?" you asked, taking another sip of your coffee.

Noah thought it through for a few seconds before he said, "Like how Daddy's not really allowed to cook anything. And what kind of snacks are the best."

Bradley groaned as you giggled. "Those are some important life lessons," you agreed. "What else?"

"Well I'll have to teach her how to feed Skittles and where all the stuff is at home."

"Yeah, Bub. You've got a lot of work ahead of you. Think you can handle it?"

Noah was nodding as Noelle reached for his cheek while she yawned again. "Can we all go home soon?" he asked. "I really do have a lot to show her."

You and Bradley had to hold back your laughter, but you managed to say, "Hopefully we can all go home later today. But until we do, I packed you some coloring books to work on. Want to do one with Daddy while I feed Noelle?"

The four of you all ended up in the hospital bed together for a few hours. Noah worked his way through most of his books, and Noelle fell asleep again. Bradley got you anything you needed, and when it was finally time to go home, he was in full dad-mode. You watched the way he got both kids and then you situated in the Bronco. He double checked to make sure everyone was buckled in before he pulled away.

"I'll take care of everything for the next few days," he whispered as he reached for your hand. "You can rest and feed Noelle, and I'll take care of everything else."

"And then we can take care of everything together," you promised.

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

The end!

This family of four has been so much fun to write about! Thank you for joining me on this long journey! Thanks for sharing your thoughts and ideas along the way. Who knows...maybe we will see them again! Big thanks to @beyondthesefourwalls

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@chassy21

@solacestyles

@daisyhollyxox

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@shanimallina87

@little-wiseone

@ccbb2222

@xoxabs88xox

@thedroneranger

@cherrycola27

@fanboyswhore9

@xomrsalliej4787xo

@desert-fern

@horseslovers2016

@mattyskies

@hookslove1592

@blahehblah

@sadpetalsstuff

@local-spidey

@schoollover

@lex-winchester

@magicalmorg

@nicole01-23

@jessicab1991

@happyrebelruins

@samsgoddess

@ughthisisntright

@bellaireland1981

@sagittarius-flowerchild

@mygyn

@yuckosworld

@daggerspare-standingby

@nessjo

@trickphotography2

@lyn-js

@marve2014

@furiousladyking

622 notes · View notes

pinkrelish · 2 years

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.

singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader

✶Eddie's month began with a rough start, but as the days passed, and your time together grew, his mood improved. He opened up to you, and you listened. Then things escalated. Slow dancing in the garage? Openly flirting while hanging Christmas decorations? This wasn't what he was supposed to be doing with his coworker who was leaving in a few months. And to make matters worse..

"I swear I didn't hang that," he promised while Adrie held both your hands, giggling under the mistletoe.✶

NSFW — slow burn, fluff, flirting, mutual pining, mild sexual tension, light angst, depictions of poverty, mention of blood, reader wears eddie's work jacket, 18+ overall for eventual smut, drug/alcohol mention/use

chapter: 6/20 [wc: 16k]

↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12

AO3

Chapter 6: May I Have This Dance?

Eddie opened the cabinet above the coffee machine in the breakroom, and took out his mug to replace it with a themed one of Garfield attempting to coax Nermal under a sprig of mistletoe for a kiss. He stepped back, admired the change in seasons, and clung onto the giddy elation before the impending stress wove knots into his muscles.

He’d be getting a lot of use out of that mug in the coming days..

————

Eddie disguised his crisis well.

He knocked on your desk while keeping the glass door open with his foot, “Hey, can you make me another pot of coffee?”

It was a favor you were happy to oblige. Pausing from thumbing through the filing cabinet, you smiled at him over your shoulder. “Sure!”

And later, he came to you again–diverting the stress from entering his eyes by focusing on the kindness in yours.

“Do you mind if I eat alone today?” he asked, flopping his black notebook back and forth for you to frown at.

“Fine, but you owe me.” And of course, he made it up to you the next afternoon, eating his sandwich made with the scraggy ends of the loaf, and no side container of leftovers, and downing it with a mug of coffee.

Adding onto that, Eddie concealed his problems through other means. Blocking out his suffering, disallowing it from bothering others, but to you, it was no bother.

You leaned over your desk to look into the garage, and asked Mr. Moore when he was passing by on the way to his office, “Did Eddie leave somewhere?”

“Awh, he’s probably out on a smoke break,” he said, rubbing his knuckles along his grayed beard.

“Another one?”

“Yeah, guess so.” He shrugged, inadvertently confirming your fears. “Been takin’ alottavem the past couple’a days.”

You had an inkling of what was going on when you caught Eddie eating his lunch earlier. Alone, scribbling in his notebook for the third time that week, dipping a knife into an unbranded metal can labeled PEANUT BUTTER and slathering the Government supplied commodity on a plain saltine cracker.

Sustenance to live, and hardly at that. You weren’t about to let him hide his misery behind excuses meant to keep you ignorant.

After closing, when everyone went home but you and Eddie, he poured himself the last of the coffee to stave off his hunger, and you shot up from your desk.

“Hey! I’m going out for a sec. I’ll be right back, ‘kay?”

He backed his lips off the mug mid-sip in order to remind you to be safe because it was dark out, and you really should wear brighter colors for cars to see you, and to slow down before the sharp turns because there could ice on the road and you could get hurt, and, and–

“Bye!” You cut off his worrying by riding past the doors with your eyes on him, not where you were going, narrowly missing a street pole by centimeters.

~~~

Back in record time–beating the previous record by default because you’d never had this idea before–you hopped off your bike, loaded your hands with the two paper bags sitting in the handlebar basket, and ripped the stapled receipt off them. You finagled your way into the garage.

“Eddie!” you shouted his name as you entered. And louder again as you approached him from behind. Tempting as it was, you didn’t want to scare him, but part of you hated raising your voice, as well. It felt blasphemous to disturb the scene which captured your heart time and time again.

He was at the workbench in the back corner, sat on a stool with his heavy boots on footrests, knees angled out, bouncing his legs in a rhythm offset from one another–most likely parroting the drumbeat of the tinny music funneling from his headphones so loud he’d surely lose his hearing one day.

The smooth expanse of his shoulder shifted and flowed under his coveralls as he worked, hunched over a set of parts he was cleaning. He settled his forearms on the edge of the creaky wood and swirled an old toothbrush into a bowl of cleaning solution, and scrubbed at the hunk of metal in his hands, setting it aside on the stained towel when he was finished to let it dry. A diligent worker, through and through. Tendons in his tired hands straining to hold the next slippery piece as he circled the bristles over the grooves craggy with grease. Muscles in his jaw tensing from the way he clenched his teeth in between mouthing the lyrics to the music vibrating his brain.

Concentration bundled itself between his eyebrows and above his scrunched nose.

It was endearing to watch him work; watch the menial things he was good at for no other reason than to familiarize yourself with all assets of him.

But good things must come to an end, for you had a better one in store.

You caught him right as he was dropping into a reserved headbang on a chord progression you could hear wailing from where you stood. “Hey there, handsome.”

He panicked, and knocked the headphones around the back of his neck. “Shit, I didn’t hear you come in.” He paused the cassette player clipped to his pocket with a sharp click, and after fixating on your sly grin for a second longer, he dropped his gaze to the oil-soaked paper bag in your hand. “Food?”

“The burger place down the street messed up my order,” you replied in soft amusement. “Do you want the extra?”

He didn’t need convincing.

~~~

The sounds of your togetherness filled the open room–wheels rolling on concrete, crinkly wrappers in your hands, and the grateful noises of him devouring his dinner. Sitting parallel to one another on the creepers, you rolled back and forth, brushing shoulders with Eddie on each pass, stuffing your faces until your taste buds dulled with french fry oil, and sparked with blooms of tangy ketchup.

Wordlessly, he told you he was ready to talk by coming to a stop past the point of your shoulders touching, and resting his arms atop his wide-spread knees, holding the last bites of his burger in front of his face.

You twisted around to observe the width of his back rise with a deep breath.

“Child support is late again. Happens every December, but it’ll come a day or two before it’s officially considered late in January.” Deepening his voice, he put an edge of distaste when speaking about Adrie’s mom, “She has the money–her and her husband have good jobs–so it’s just to be petty and get back at me, or whatever. Like being tied to me years later should affect our kid when I don’t even speak to her.”

“Eddie..”

He shook his head to dismiss the pointless pity imbued in your tender whisper of his name. “Doesn’t matter. Money’s tight, but we get paid tomorrow, so that’ll help.. I figured you knew something was up when I stopped eating with you, but anywhere I can save helps. I want to make sure Adrie has a good Christmas this year.”

Realizing something, he raised his hand to ward off any criticism you were about to give him, having been trained to expect it from others since his daughter was an infant. “I want to make it clear.. Adrie always has food,” he stated slowly, and from a place of loathsome apprehension in his chest.

“It never crossed my mind she wouldn’t.” You pushed yourself backwards on the rolly board, and leaned into him, bicep to bicep, gazes met. “I know you’re a good dad” –He glanced away– “You are, Eddie, and I know how well you take care of Adrie, even when shit like this happens. And Christmas will always be special because of how much you love her, not because of what you buy her.”

“But I want her to keep up with her friends, and bond over whatever they’re into.”

“I know you do..”

Even to his detriment, through the sacrifices he made, he’d make sure his daughter had whatever she wanted.

You ran a purposeful knuckle along his tensed tricep. It didn’t earn his eye contact, but he did relax his hand, dropping it to peel down the rest of the wrapper and finish his burger while you spoke. “Maybe they’ll mess up my order again tomorrow, and we can eat lunch together.. And maybe Robin’s mom will make an extra casserole for dinner tonight, and I can leave it in the breakroom, if that’s okay?”

“I’d appreciate it.” No malicious pride. No toxic masculinity. No senseless denial. Eddie accepted your offer with gratitude, and packed his trash into the paper bag while you still ate, settling in with his arms hugged around his knees, ensuring some part of your bodies remained touching–in this case, it was your shoulders again.

The sweet, trusting pressure of yourselves melding into each other’s comfort.

Then, while the candidness was raw, it was your turn to point your attention elsewhere as you asked something you were shy to voice out loud, “Uhm, when we were at Adrie’s school, her teacher kept saying something about, like, you not carrying her, and babying her, or whatever.” You gestured vaguely as if you weren’t eavesdropping the entire time. “And I’d been meaning to ask if I’m–uh?–too affectionate with her? Like if it’s weird, or something I shouldn’t be doing? You’re the parent and I never really asked if it was okay before picking her up, and hugging her, and–”

He cut you off.

“No, no, no.” His assurance was delivered swift, and earnest. “How you are with Adrie is fine by me. More than fine. It’s–It’s–Seriously, it’s great having her look up to someone who isn’t me.”

“What about what her teacher said?”

“I don’t care,” he scoffed. “I know she means well, but it’s not like Adrie’s going to be a kid forever, and if I want to coddle her, who gives a shit. Now, her teacher is great, and I don’t want to diminish what my uncle, and people like Steve and Nancy have done for my family, but for most of Adrie’s life, it’s just been me and her, and even if she annoys the living fuck out of me sometimes, she’s all I have, and if I want to carry her around, I will.”

“You have me now, too.”

You heard yourself say it.

You heard yourself say it aloud, after he said his daughter was all he had, and now you had to follow it up with a tongue-tied spew of clarifications.

“Just, you know, it’s not only you, Adrie, your uncle, Steve and Nancy, and her teacher. You have me now, too, as your friend.. I mean, we are friends, aren’t we?”

Warmth spread through your body. From your ribs, outward, where he jabbed his elbow into your side. Thrumming where his weight pressed into you, sending his hip into yours. Pleasure–blooming–from his silly grin to your romantic heart, to your platonic fingers snagging the fabric of his coveralls around his thigh to stop him from shoving your board away. Yearning. Sprung from the grease dirtying your skin being the same as the black streak above his eyebrow where he wiped his bangs off his forehead.

“Yeah.. Yeah, I think after this, you’re my friend,” he agreed, accidentally kicking over the takeout bag in his teasing. “No qualifier of reluctancy, or addendums, or prefaces. We’re friends.”

Yeah, definitely friends.

Friends who could calculate the exact degree of the arc of the other’s smile through memory alone, having stared at their lips for longer than friends ought.

————

And you played the part of companion quite well, you thought, when Eddie cursed as he came in from the garage with his hand cradled to his chest.

He ducked into the bathroom, and before the door closed, he was pushing it open on his way to the breakroom sink. “Shit. Don’t we have a first aid kit?” he asked.

“Oh! I left it in the women’s restroom after I got a paper cut.” You pushed yourself away from your desk, and found it in the cabinetry, bringing it to him as he scrubbed Dawn soap over his left hand, from upper wrist to fingertips. “Is it bad?” you asked cautiously. Blood was.. fine. But anything needing stitches was more than your red zipper pouch could help with.

“I’m okay,” he grunted, voice deep with the resonance of an inconvenience, more so than true pain. “Just one of those shitty surface cuts that doesn’t stop bleeding.”

The moment Eddie’s hands were dripping with diluted red water instead of blackened motor oil droplets, you tore a paper towel from the roll, cupped his palm, and folded it over his pinky and outermost knuckles. You bent over to keep his hand over the sink, and accepted the sharp jut of his elbow tucked into the softness of your waist.

The scrapes were shallow, as he said. You pressed your thumbs over the superficial wounds until the white paper dotted bright crimson–same color as his cheeks–and he remained silent. He didn’t deny your doting. Didn’t disrupt the gesture, nor break the spell.

It was a nice moment. Until you opened an alcohol wipe and swabbed it over the afflicted area. His mouth twitched at the stinging liquid cooling on his skin. As it dried, you made brief eye contact and shied away from his suspicious squint, like you had a secret to tell him sealed behind your lips all morning.

“What’s that look for?”

While pulling out two beige bandages for his knuckles, you answered in feigned indifference, “Oh, nothing. Just.. y’know.. Mr. Moore promoted me to Office Administrator, and maybe it came with a little raise, and who knows, an extra sick day or two.”

“Nice!” He angled his hand so it was easier for you to wrap the Band-aid around to the side of his palm where there was a wet, angry cut. He was trembling from the rush of adrenaline, endorphins, and relief he didn’t get more injured from his strained muscles giving out while wielding a power tool without protective gloves on.

“So now I have the confusing job of being both the person who cleans the toilets, and also organizes payroll.” You drew your eyebrows in. “Whatever organizing payroll means.”

Eddie watched you turn over the pouch to shake out the slots where the more grown up, adult bandages usually resided, and came up empty. Instead, a metal tin with Sesame Street characters clattered on the countertop. You popped it open.

“Hope you don’t mind,” you said.

Cookie Monster and Big Bird were gingerly wrapped around his pinky, protecting him from further harm.

Bright, cheery colors in contrast to the grime nestled into the crevices of his skin, and the dark blue coveralls he wore today. Your delicate touch. And his rough calluses. Your soft, chapstick-slick lips. And his cold-weathered mouth lifted at the corner. Your obedient body turning with his. And his face drawing near. Your tender, weak grip on his injured hand. And his sneaky fingers reaching past you.

He took three extra Band-aids and put them in the pocket below his embroidered name patch.

Eyelashes fluttering at the sensation of your forearm resting against his stomach, you chided him in the faintest exhale, “That’s stealing from the company, you know. I could write you up.”

Pleading with you amidst a persuasive smile, he begged, “If Adrie sees I have a cool Band-aid, and she doesn’t get one too, she’ll be upset.”

“That’s not fair.” Not like you cared if he took things from work, but if the Band-aids were for Adrie, you’d give him the entire tin, and he knew it. “You play a mean game, Eddie, using my greatest weakness against me.”

He took another Bert and Ernie, and slipped them in with the others, patting his pocket flat.

In a defeated sigh, you crumbled under the smug display of his proud chest, gaze trained on the cursive lettering composing his name, the motor oil blackening his cuticles, and the grease stain on his coveralls from the french fry he dropped earlier.

“Who’s the pushover now?”

“Considering you’re robbing me of Sesame Street Band-aids to bribe your daughter out of a tantrum?” You looked him up and down, from his half-closed eyes to the ketchup stain. “Still you.”

He hummed a warm reply, and twitched his other hand closed, curling his fingers over yours for a split second. A movement stunted by the bandages. Likewise, you drummed your fingertips on the heel of his palm, and let go.

“Wear your gloves next time, idiot.”

“Yes, dear.”

————

Taking on the role of Office Administrator meant one thing to the both of you: less time together.

The interactions were fleeting; sneaking a glance at each other when Eddie made an unnecessary trip to the breakroom to get his jacket for an equally unnecessary smoke break. But it meant he’d pass by Mr. Moore’s office twice while you were being taught how to fill out ledgers and spreadsheets. Two possibilities for you to become enamored with his hair flowing from underneath his bandana, and two chances for him to capture your interest with his charm–his larger than life presence stomping past the door with his chin held high and his hands in his back pockets, looking at you out the corner of his eye, and giving you that tight, knowing grin.

It was lonely working in the mornings, having a short lunch at your desk while scheduling business meetings with salesmen for Mr. Moore, and clocking out at 4PM to help take care of things at home while Robin was managing the night shift, and her dad was on bed rest.

You missed Eddie.

Eddie missed you.

————

It was a cold, bleak mid-December night after a dreary day of clouds and wind. The service bay doors were closed, except for one to allow the draft to carry out lingering exhaust fumes. Darkness smothered the world beyond the auto shop, interrupted intermittently by the odd car stopping at the streetlight. Turn signals blinked. Headlights peered into the warehouse, shining light on the single truck in the empty garage.

Blissful, tranquil winter. Crisp, throat-aching air. Bites of frost sinking into flesh. Numbed fingers. Frozen teeth nipping at the bone. Undisturbed. Quiet. No music.

“Man, it’s freezing in the lobby,” you complained loudly upon entering Eddie’s domain and crouching in front of the space heater next to the workbench.

The pair of legs sticking out from under the truck shifted.

Surprised by your sudden appearance, and grumpy about the loss of hot air directed at him, Eddie beat his wrench on the wheel axle to show his annoyance when you giggled and refused to move. In fact, you hunkered down, rubbing your palms together, hogging all the warmth while having the audacity to wear his tan work jacket.

He tapped the heel of his heavy work boot at you. “I thought you left for the day.”

“Did you really not notice me at my desk for the past hour?”

After waving the tool at the underside of the truck he’d been staring at for the better part of the evening, he then tucked his chin to make a snide remark, “Do you think I keep track of your whereabouts at all times?”

“Yes.”

No response except for a sour expression. Predictable. It was in his best interest to roll his head to the side, and pretend to be working by muttering mathematics to himself. You, however, stood up, and sidestepped the heater to read the buttons on the stereo radio, and dug for the cassette you slipped into the jacket’s pocket before coming out here.

Snap. Click. Whirr.

The black tape spun on the wheels, and from the speakers strung at the back corners of the garage, music began.

Eddie’s groan rose above the plucky piano keys. “Oh, please don’t tell me you’re subjecting me to Christmas music.”

You shushed him, “It’s just jazz.”

Ella Fitzgerald’s warbling hum filled the concrete walls. Her stunning voice and evocative, blunt lyrics soothed your eyes closed. Face-burning words you weren’t ashamed of. You let them take you. Dipping and swaying your shoulders side to side as the piano lulled you into its drunken blitheness. Guiding you two steps to the left, the right. A lazy turn. Paused on the cusp of anticipation. You stopped. Blinked lovingly at the boots beneath you.

“May I have this dance?”

Metal clinked to the ground. Eddie gripped the edge of the car, and pulled himself out. Pushed himself into a sitting position on the creeper, focusing on your hand extended to him, and climbing his gaze upwards. To the smudges of pencil lead and blue pen ink on the inside of your fingers from where you gripped the writing utensils, to the coffee stain on the cuff of his jacket, the name patch, the roundness of your cheeks from your hopeful smile.

“My hands are dirty,” he said.

“I don’t care.” You urged in all gentleness, “Don’t turn me down because you’re shy. I’ll teach you.”

Teach me, he mouthed.

A delicious secret emerged.

Excitement, charismatic boisterousness, unhesitating–eager–sincere excessive vulnerability, bursting to be the shameless youth he used to be and oh so endearing–Eddie sprang into action at the upkick in tempo. The namesake of the song vibrated under his ribs–I’ve Got a Crush On You–and the garage blurred in your dizzy eyes.

Eddie, Eddie, eddie eddie eddie, eddieeddieeddie. Hawkins’ reject, the town’s outcast, Eddie, in all his awkward, standoffish exterior built to protect his sensitive heart, swept your right hand into his left. Raised them. Compelled you into a fast, tight spin under his arm, and at the rotation’s completion, you sank into each other’s embrace like a released breath.

You used the solid curve of his shoulder as leverage, and fit your other hand in the space between his thumb and index.

Eddie didn’t lead.

He demanded you follow.

His muscles were braced with ego as he ushered you backwards. Large advances towards you, forcing you away from the truck, and half-turns to the side with an appropriate pressure at your waist to follow him to the unoccupied center of the garage. But his modest hand grew longing in the distance as you struggled to keep up in the short chase. The thick jacket meant for durability kept him wanting more, and he used it to reel you in. Draw you near. Bodies untouching, but radiating heat in the hushed sigh of winter rolling in from the service door.

Not once had you managed to sound the question on your parted lips, but he understood it, and answered.

“You’re not the only theater kid,” he said softly. “It was the only elective I liked. Had to learn to dance for a few parts over the years, and if I may judge by your reaction, I’m not half-bad.”

You laughed, “Wh-Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

The smug grin he wore waned to something more humble in nature. “Mm-nn. I never wanted to interrupt your stories. It’s more interesting listening to you talk about how you played a witch in a slutty Off-Off-Broadway rendition of Macbeth where you managed to snap both your stilettos in the first Act, than it is for me to go on about how I played background character #4 in my second senior year of high school and mostly used the class as an excuse to make props and shit.”

“Eddie,” you whined. Once upon a time, during your first days working here, he told you to leave him alone for jabbering on about the theater works you and Robin were a part of, and now he reveals this? “I didn’t even think you were listening when I told you those stories. And again! Why–didn’t–you–tell me?” Your words were minced from you shaking his shoulder.

“I didn’t think it’d be relevant,” he explained, speaking in that shy mumble of his.

“We could’ve been dancing this whole time.”

Eddie hung his head back, and bounced his brows upward. “Mmm. You make it sound like you’ve been wanting to do this since we met.” His hum, his words sent his Adam’s apple crawling up the deep shadows his jaw cast on his throat. Vibrating from within his alluring chest, and coming from the plump lips which appeared less blemished since the last time you were blessed with studying them up close.

The tube of Carmex you found in his pocket was doing wonders.

Basking in the overhead lights as flowers did in the sun, he listened to the end of the song fade. He willed his eyes half-open as it switched, dropped his face to lock onto your gaze, and obeyed the slower rhythm. Languid lurches into your compliant hips to the smooth saxophone. Step, step– With a pivot, guiding you around the floor in an unpredictable routine. One which kept you guessing. Had the rolled cuff of his pants brushing against your ankle, and his body coaxing you into a quick reverse turn at the piping trumpets on the following track. Broached the intimacy of his scent in your nose. Of course he didn’t smell great after a long day of working, but.. By your racing heart rushing blood in your ears, you had to admit, you didn’t find it as gross as you should, either.

Breaking you from your trance of staring at the frizzy baby curls sticking to the dried sweat on his neck, he suggested, “Dip?”

Your surprised shriek bubbled into a scathing yelp of Mother Fu–.

Impatient, ineloquent, and forgetful of manners. It was by the grace of your muscle memory you grappled for his upper body before your eyes could adjust to the upside down car cruising by the shop, puttering to a stop at the intersection. The arch he put in your back was wicked. Sinful, even. Supported by his strong arms.

Merciful, he righted your world. And in reconciliation, he observed you with the same obsessive interest he showed when he made you laugh. Watching for your reaction, and when it was adoring, he relaxed the apology from his features.

He hooked a finger around the lock of hair stuck at the corner of his mouth, and pulled it free; clasped your hand again–the other was slipped under the back of the jacket, and he settled his forearm around your waist, hot palm on your spine.

You took the cue. You climbed the scope of his shoulder to wager your dignity on the tight muscle at the crook of his neck. When he didn’t object, and his easy grin remained, you ventured under his unruly mane and found the back of his neck. You slipped your thumb into his collar, and rested it along the naked skin of his nape.

He shivered.

A car passed by.

The gossipers of Hawkins watched a mechanic and his boss’ receptionist-turned-Office-Administrator stare into each other’s eyes, and sway.

The distance between you two was unassuming, except for the tastes of more when the music encouraged, twirling yourself under his lifted arm as two separate beings, and rejoining as a pair, rocking back and forth, side to side, smiling from the exploration into something new.

The drum beats ebbed to a drowsy cadence.

Minutes passed. The embrace became familiar. Your held hands were sticky with shared dust and nervous sweat. His exhale mingled with your inhale. The steady sway was a polite shuffle in either direction, any direction. It didn’t matter. The embrace was the point.

“As Office Administrator,” you started, “I wanted to throw a party next week, the day before our holiday off. It’d be right after work, if you wanted to hang out, eat, and maybe bring Adrie?”

Before he could answer, you lowered your voice to an all-too-candid beg, “Please? I promise it won’t be boring. Mr. Moore said no one’s thrown a work party before, and I’m terrified no one but Kevin and his three dogs will show up.” You put a compassionate squeeze on the back of his neck. “Please don’t let it just be me, Kevin, and his three dogs.”

The bottom of Eddie’s two front teeth showed as he spoke on the verge of a grin, “I thought he only had two.”

You whispered dramatically, “It’s three now.”

He pretended to think over the offer, shifting from foot to foot.

“Eddie.”

As if he could keep up the act when you craved his name like that. “I’ll go,” he placated you, but not before inclining his head, viewing you through his messy bangs and long lashes. “And of course I’ll bring Adrie.”

You celebrated by punching up your linked hands–yours smelling of pencil shavings, and his of burnt brake pads. Eddie used it to maneuver you into another turn. Smooth, suave. A true gentleman.

“Would you help me decorate too?” you dared ask. His answer was an apathetic grumble. “And maybe bring any non-denominational wintry decorations you have because all I could find in town were very red and green, and very Christmas-leaning.”

“You’re not sweetening the deal.”

“But it’s a ‘yes,’ isn’t it?”

Another dissuasive grumble.

Whimsy, breathless lyrics about fresh love trilled from the speakers. The cassette was on its last song before needing to be flipped.

“Do you really listen to jazz?” he asked, skirting into the territory of curiosity as his frame rocked you to the left.

“I listen to a little bit of everything,” you answered honestly, engaging in a fluid stride to the right. “Are you asking because of the music you listen to?” At once, your expression went wry, and his widened to barely constrained intrigue, like you were two steps ahead of him, reading his private thoughts. “The kinda stuff you blast when you think I’m not around.”

“You’ve heard that?”

Not helping the pink hue stemming from the hot base of his neck beneath your palm, you were quick to tease him, “Well, I’m not exactly competing in the Tour de France, y’know. You don’t wait for me to ride away before starting up your little concerts in here when you tell me to leave early. Bet you play air-guitar ‘nd everything when I’m gone, like a dork.”

Visibly curbing his habit to lick his lips, not desiring the swipe of dust it’d come with, Eddie narrowed his eyes, and cocked his head back to regard you down the slope of his nose. “Yeah? And what do you think of the music I listen to?”

“Unsurprising. Suits your image.” Engaging in a bit of intentionality, you worked your hand from his nape and introduced your fingertips to his other shoulder, wrapping your arm tighter around him, and you were enveloped by his warmth doing the same. The waistband of his coveralls rubbed against the metal zipper of his bulky jacket you wore as you moved in unison. “I recognize the big stuff. Metallica, Iron Maiden, Judas Priest..” You shrugged. “Accept?”

The tip of Eddie’s nose came into focus, then his big eyes searching yours as he turned his face side to side, examining you up close. “I wasn’t even playing Balls to the Wall. No one just casually names Accept like that. You like them!”

“Okay, okay, slow down, don’t get too excited,” you calmed him before he strained a tendon in the very finger he pointed at you. “I’ve couch surfed with a lot of weirdos, and lived with six roommates at one point. I’ve listened to my fair share of music through thin walls whether I liked it or not.. But yeah, I like metal enough, I guess.”

Though he unlinked your waltzing hands in his rush to assert himself in your personal space, his arm around your waist persisted–and if he were wary of crossing boundaries, he showed no heed when he employed his strength to press your chests together through the layers of clothes in a sense of spontaneity.

Your view was eclipsed by the thrill in his boyish grin, and then, his hair was slipping from your curious fingers.

“Wait here–!”

And he was gone. His body heat bounded away and out the back door. You were stunned with your hands still posed as if he were there.

You dropped your arms to your sides, and clutched the rugged canvas jacket around you, waiting, listening to the gravel crunch and a car door slam, peering out into the dark to see what became so important he left his dancing partner in the middle of the warehouse in utter confusion.

“Got it,” he said in his stride to the stereo.

“Got what?” It was rude enough to abandon you, and now he was ignoring you in his frenzy. You followed him to the workbench, and turned to the side to rest your hip on it. The heater thawed your shins while Eddie pried open a cassette, but you couldn’t read the front from how he held it in his palms.

Snap. Click. Whirr.

He leaned his ass on the table top and folded his arms over his chest, instilling a narrow distance between you two. His gaze was on the floor. Eyes falling closed. For once, he did not want to see your reaction.

The speakers crackled with static.

You startled.

It was a hard left turn from the somber jazz from before.

Drumsticks crashed on cymbals, setting the aggressive pace for a piercing guitar to enter on a screeching note, quickly devolving into thrashy chords sure to make the fingers sore, along with a bass and rhythm guitar that were getting lost in your pounding head.

Though he wasn’t watching, you schooled the surprise from your features, and relaxed your shoulders. The music wasn’t offensive in the least, but it was loud.

After the initial assault, and a quick bass solo, you were nodding along, enjoying the overwhelming beat pulsing in your throat making it difficult to breathe.

The shredding guitar wept to a softer bridge, and the vocals began.

The vocals began.

The vocals..

The lyrics were spoken–sung–with the last word being dragged into a melodic ballad as the instruments went silent. A rich note held by a man whose voice was neither deep, nor falsetto. Perfectly in the middle. Perfectly fitting your preference. Perfectly matching the one you heard most days, and thought about at night, when your bed was lonely and your body was flushed with heat.

Perfectly matching..

You snapped your attention to Eddie’s face. His eyelids twitched with movement. Individual curls of his hair swung in time to his head dipping to the tempo. His cheek jumped at the start of the next verse, and he dug his fingernails into his sleeve until they turned white.

“This is you,” you expelled in pure infatuation. “Eddie!” You clasped his bicep, and leaned in to him, excelling at matching his enthusiasm from earlier, and surpassing it. “Eddie, this is you!” He opened his eyes and slouched away from your efforts in a laugh, angling his face into his hair to hide his shy grin.

You ran your hand along his forearm and tugged, wheedling him out of the tight hug he had himself locked in, urging him to open up. “This is you singing, isn’t it? This is your band.” The cassette case was behind him. Corroded Coffin. Same name as what was on his sweatshirt on Halloween.

The second button on his coveralls snapped open, below the one he always kept unfastened. You didn’t know at what point you were bold enough to put your hand on his chest, nor gather the fabric into your fist while shaking some sense into him, but you did. You really did expose the tight white shirt clinging to his sticky skin. All for the sake of validating Eddie.

When he continued acting far too humble–shrinking into himself, and mumbling how it wasn’t that cool–you wasted no time embarrassing yourself by jumping on your tiptoes, telling him just how cool it was, you promised.

Reaching behind him, he slapped the volume knob down so you both could stop shouting.

“I appreciate the groupie attitude, but it’s not like we’re a big deal, or anything,” he said, awkwardly folding one of his arms on top of the workbench as he surrendered and turned to you. His other hand hesitated near the bottom of the jacket. “About once a month we get a gig in Indy. Doesn’t pay much, but it covers the cost of the trip, and we get a decent crowd, I guess. Uhm, the venue sells out.. sometimes. People know some of the lyrics. We sell a couple of shirts..” he trailed off upon making eye contact. “We only get to practice on the days I leave work early. Maybe on the weekend.. so.”

Overflowing with sincerity, you trusted your hands to behave themselves on his forearm, laying your decent fingers over the tensed muscle above his wrist where he wore his watch.

He canted his head, and gave you a cynical look. “It’s not like we’re famous or anything.”

“I think it’s so cool you’re in a band,” you stressed. “How come you never told me?”

Shrugging, he glanced elsewhere. “Being you, and being from New York, you probably know hundreds of bands who’ve made it big. I’m sure you’ve met way more impressive people.”

Is that what this was about? Not sharing his theatrical past, and now his band because he was insecure about not impressing you, of all things? Using a resentful tone when speaking about his life versus yours, as if the comparisons mattered when it took all of your willpower to not stare at his lips in this proximity.

“Who cares who I’ve met. You sound amazing. The music, your voice. Everything. It’s uniquely yours, and I can’t believe you didn’t tell me sooner.”

Eddie sighed.

Cozying into the position, he leaned his weight on the arm you cupped your palms over, and there was a pull at the hem of the jacket. You shifted closer. He looped his finger into the pocket and rubbed his thumb along the edge of it, seeking an absent-minded distraction as he explained, “I also didn’t want to, ah–I don’t know.. Scare you off. Like, if you didn’t like it, or thought heavy metal was Satanic, or some shit.”

“Scare me off?” At least, you intended to repeat it back to him as a question, but your laugh interrupted you. “Oh, Eddie. Light of my day, my neverending fountain of mirth, a true joy to be around,” you gushed at his exaggerated sneer. “If you didn’t scare me off the first week of meeting you, where you made it a point to glare at me for the mere act of speaking in your direction, I don’t think your very obvious music taste would.”

He looked at his boots for a moment to reflect on his behavior, but forwent an apology, and instead asked, “So, you don’t think it’s lame for me to be pushing 30-years-old, and still playing in a garage band?” There was a truncated tension at the end of his question, like he wanted to add more self-deprecation to it, but stopped himself. Good thing, too, because you were about to voice your adulations until you were rendered to a puddle of embarrassment.

Sparing no sarcasm, you furrowed your brows and screwed your mouth into a snarky grin as you rolled your eyes. “Yeah, girls find it totally lame when hot guys with long hair drive fast cars and play loud music and are in a band. It’s totally the most unattractive thing, especially when they have tattoos and are good singers. Definitely isn’t a turn-on at all.”

Too far, too much, too inappropriate–

The last sentence was over the line, and you could see it in his surprised eyebrows wrinkling his forehead, and his wide pupils boring into yours, and his cheeks reddening as your words sank in.

The garage went viscerally quiet.

He stopped fidgeting with the jacket pocket.

Mistake, mistake, mistake.

“Not just the vocalist,” he said, voice cracking on the whisper. “I play lead guitar, too.”

You spat out, “Very cool,” desperate for the relief of his face cracking into a flattered grin.

But no, Eddie didn’t grant you such comfort. However, he did spare you the chance to scratch at the anxious sweat dripping down your back when he rearranged how he was standing, and spun around to the stereo. “It’s pretty late, huh? We should probably get going.” He pressed his hips to the workbench as he organized the tapes into their cases. Then, he paused.

The case yours went to was blank. Nothing written on the dotted lines on the back, nor on the front of the tape.

“I need my jacket back,” he reminded you.

“R-Right.”

You shimmied it off, and handed it to him. He draped it over his arm, and clutched the bulk to his stomach, covering his front as he turned to face you again. “Here.” Holding out the black and white cassette with a stylized logo he drew himself, he gave you his personal copy of Corroded Coffin’s first recording session. “You take mine. I’ll take yours.”

“Are you sure?”

Staring at the mixtape compiled of the cheesy love songs you made over the course of a few nights, he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure.” And as he dragged his feet backwards–avoiding the space heater without looking–he said on his way to the tray where he kept his rings, “We should do this again. The whole.. dancing thing.” He gestured with the tape. “I’ll pick the music next time, too.”

With his back to you, he cleaned up his station, and let you know you could go. “I’ll lock up behind you.”

“You never answered if you were helping me hang decorations,” you found your voice. It was hiding behind a hammering heart, and shallow-filled lungs.

Outside, a car honked at a truck to take their turn at a green light.

The metal teeth on his jacket ground together as Eddie zipped it up. He sank his heavy hands into the pockets to weigh them down, and crossed his work boots at the ankle to about-face in a sort of pirouette, pinning you with his lopsided grin and mellow demeanor. “You know, I thought with all the life lessons I’ve had to learn over the past five years, I’d be able to resist a pretty girl asking me to do things for her.” He snorted and flicked his eyes to the ceiling, shaking his head. “But when they’re as beautiful as you, I just can’t.”

His gaze came crashing down onto you, and your tongue froze at the tip of your teeth.

“Alright, Casanova,” you let out in a shaky breath. “I’ll take that as you agreeing, and will see you bright and early, and without any complaints.” You left as fast as you could.

No, really. The Tour de France better have a spot open for you, with how fast you pedaled home to sit on your bed, cross legged, happily ruining your hearing from having the volume scrolled to the max on your Walkman, listening to Eddie’s voice, wondering at what point the endorphins would wear off and you were stuck agonizing over how blatant you were about calling your coworker hot. And how he called you beautiful in return.

————

Talking amongst the sputtering coffee machine beginning its brew:

“The fourth one–uh–Solivagant, is definitely my favorite!”

“That one’s instrumental,” Eddie pouted. “And here I was under the impression you liked my lyrics.. Mm, a little lower on your side.”

You put blu-tack on your end of the banner, and pressed it into the wall. “I do! But that one really got stuck in my head. The way all the guitars came together to play the harmony was just–Eddie! You did that on purpose.”

Stepping around to the other side of the lunch table, you threw your head back in a groan at the glittery Happy Holidays sign you wrongly assumed he would help you hang without turning it into a way to tease you.

“You’re the worst,” you grumbled on your way to fix the banner so it was even, and his side wasn’t higher by a few inches.

“Sorry,” he said weakly between his snickering. “Let me.”

There was no letting him do what he wanted. He was going to push his way into your space, regardless. Literally, shoving a chair out of his way with his hip, and standing behind you to peel the sticky tacky off the wall, and raising it from your face’s height, to slightly above your head, needlessly, infuriatingly, unhelpfully helping you. Barging in with his hand on your shoulder, and his body at your back. Closer, more intimate than the time at the grocery store.

His inhale swelled his solid chest against your shoulder blades, and his hum rumbled down your spine. “Am I supposed to dress up nice for your party?”

You twisted your head back to admire the underside of his freshly shaven jaw smelling of astringent spice. “Only if you feel like it,” you guessed. “The dress I’m wearing is pretty casual, but you don’t have to do anything special if you don’t want to.” After circling his thumb over the tacky corner of the sign, he dropped his arms, grazing them over yours, if only in passing. “I think the other guys are wearing button down shirts.”

His gaze drifted as he visualized his closet.

You stared. “Do you really not have one nice shirt?”

“I might still have the one from my job interview,” he said, tucking his chin to look at you, creating a silly amount of wrinkles along his burgeoning grin.

The front door chimed. Either Carl, Kevin, or your boss just walked in, and it was then Eddie realized the position he had you in. It struck him when his peppermint-candy-and-cigarettes breath caressed your fluttering lashes, and he could discern the bubblegum flavored chapstick on your lips, just like you could observe the balm on his.

If someone saw him trapping you alone in the breakroom against the wall with your backside pressed to him, there would be no delicate conversation about consensual workplace relationships. He’d be gone.

“Sorry!”

Eddie made his swift retreat–three, no, four steps away.

You widened your eyes at him, at his obviousness, and tried to communicate through your facial expression you knew what he was thinking, and everything was okay. You two were a bit too comfortable around each other, that’s all. It wasn’t something serious he needed to explain away. No one caught him. It was innocent, like slow dancing when no one was around. Innocent. Teasing.

“I, uhm– Y-Yeah, the shirt.” He forced his fingers to unclench into limp fists at his side. Face pale, yet hot. “It’s–I’ll wear it.”

Wringing your hand around the fridge door handle, you bent towards him, and raised your eyebrows higher, imploring him to chill. “Eddie, you can come in a t-shirt and jeans. It doesn’t matter. Adrie can wear whatever she wants, too. It’s just a casual thing.”

Totally casual. Like the body heat fading from the back of your green knit sweater where his chest became acquainted with the acrylic. Dissipating on his skin beneath his coveralls where the crown of your head met his shoulder. Very casual.

“Uhm–”

“So..”

You both started, and ended.

“Mornin’!” Mr. Moore’s gruff greeting came from the hallway.

Treating it as a warning, you each responded with an acknowledgement of your boss’ appearance as he walked into the room. “Good morning!” and “Salutations!” To which you shut your eyes in exasperation at Eddie’s unusual welcome, begging him to act normal while Mr. Moore poured sugar in his coffee.

After stirring in complete silence, he took turns smiling at you both, and meandered to his office, closing the door behind him.

Eddie shifted topics to the table where piles of garland remained coiled.

“Should we–?”

“Wanna just, uh, forget decorating for today, ‘nd do it tomorrow?” you spoke over him.

“Yeah,” he answered, nodding too enthusiastically. He tossed his hair out of his face, revealing the red tips of his ears for a split-second, and said, “Tomorrow, yeah. We can do the rest of this shit tomorrow.”

A very graceful conversation between two people who just had a very ordinary interaction without any explicit implications.

“We’re still having lunch together later, right?” you asked.

“Duh. You’ve gotta finish giving me your thoughts on the rest of our EP. The chorus for Taladasian Empire has some meta references to the other songs, I don’t know if you caught onto that, but the second verse mentions..”

Oh, he was adorable when he hyperfixated. Not only did it steer the conversation away from the previous blood-scorching incident, but it was rather nice to have a reason to stare at his lips move a mile a minute as he conjured an unprompted dissertation about his music’s lore, even as you were sitting at your desk, pointing at your ringing phone, and suggesting he should also get to work.

There were only two days left before the long holiday, and customers needed their cars before the shop was closed for the break.

————

Kevin sipped his coffee in the early morning sunlight filtering through the garage.

You garnered Eddie’s help whenever he was available, and the current task was dressing up your receptionist desk to look like a big present, complete with a gold bow flowing over the ledge where the candy bowl sat. Eddie crouched at one end holding a roll of wrapping paper while you unfurled it to the other, and measured it to the side facing the lobby.

Kevin watched the interaction through a unique lens, noting how Eddie bounced on his heels, appearing both bored and anxious to get back to work, but when he glanced over at you–at your face pinched in concentration as you fought with the tape dispenser with one hand–it was as if his worries melted away.

The boy calmed down.

Though Kevin didn’t come in often, the effect you had on the misfit was overt in the sweetest way. It reminded him of his first and last love, who had since passed.

~~~

Carl sipped his coffee as he stood in the doorway to the breakroom.

The lobby was taken over by a cheerful wonderment.

Eddie was hanging white and blue streamers from the drop ceiling tiles, while you decorated the windows with silver snowflakes. At first, Carl thought Eddie was pinning them up around the perimeter of the room because he lacked direction, but then he saw why he insisted on following you around, setting up the step ladder directly behind you.

Without discussing it, you reached out for Eddie’s arm as you stepped onto the cushiony lobby chair customers sat in when waiting for their cars, and he was at the ready. He lent his balance to you, crooking his elbow for you to slot your fingers into, and once steady, you let go.

The conversation picked up where it was left off, and the decorating continued.

Now that the glass door was unblocked, Kevin shuffled inside with his cold mug to get a refill, and stopped next to Carl on his way to the coffee machine.

“You sure those two ain’t datin’?” he asked.

Carl shrugged with his mug on the way to his mouth. “Apparently not. Ed said they’re just friends.”

At a sound in the lobby, they craned their heads to the furthest wall to witness Eddie beaming down at you. His smile was a rarity, and watching the enormous emotion take over him when you touched his arm and laughed at his joke; it was a sight worthy of remembering.

Kevin scratched at the side of his head, then straightened out the bill to his baseball cap over his wispy white hair, and squinted at the mischievous glint in Carl’s eyes.

“But David did say he walked in on them looking mighty flustered yesterday.”

“Did he, now?”

Swallowing the hot coffee with a wet smack of his lips, he emphasized a drawn out, “Yep.”

Kevin suggested, “Maybe the holiday spirit will take over, and they’ll confess their feelings under some mistletoe.”

“Uck,” he replied with a disgusted noise. “You’re always such a romantic.”

“You’re the one starin’ at them,” Kevin countered on his way to the coffee pot, shuffling from the arthritis in his knees, and focusing his energy into keeping his trembling hand still as he poured his drink. “Besides, I think his little girl would appreciate having someone like her in their lives.”

————

Four hours before the party, the auto shop was swept into a flurry of activity.

Carl and Kevin each had vehicles to work on; driving a truck out to the parking lot for a customer to pick up after you called them, and driving a car in. Working in tandem to the jolly Christmas music on the radio. Crowding the garage with discarded packaging from parts that would be gathered to be burned later.

“Guh–” You hung up the phone, and pressed a button to erase what you previously recorded after you stuttered over part of your script.

This outgoing message thing wasn’t going well.

Sighing, you picked it up and pressed the record button again. “You’ve reached David’s Auto Shop at..” you enunciated the number and address in an even tone. “We’re currently closed for the Holidays, and will open at 8AM, Mon–”

The smell of cigarettes should’ve been your first warning. The hand tipping your office chair back should’ve been the second. The general Eddie-ism of it all should’ve been the third.

Eddie blew a raspberry directly into the receiver.

“You! Why! That one was perfect. God, you are so–freaking–annoying. I swear. Obnoxious little..” Fuming, you hung up, and glared at him.

He cackled on his way to the garage. “Hey, since you’re not busy, can you help me roll this stack of tires to the Buick over there?” Before you could share the choice words you had prepared for him–before you could process the droplets of spit drying on your cheek–before the door could hit him on the way out–he spun and caught it and ducked his head back in. “Oh! Don’t forget your policy. Can’t say no to helping me, huh?” On his smooth exit, he winked and made a clicking sound with his mouth, flashing a gratuitous amount of teeth on the smirk.

“You are the absolute worst.” You grabbed your hoodie and followed him, pointedly not thanking him for holding the door open for you. “And you know what? I seriously regret ever telling you about my dumbass policy.”

“Really? I’ve only just begun to actualize the potential for making you do things for me. I’m loving it!”

~~~

Three hours before the party, you put the finishing touches on the breakroom before Robin arrived with the food you ordered from the bakery and deli at the grocery store. Some was excess that would’ve gone to waste; extra cupcakes, and cookies. Other things were ordered, like finger sandwiches, veggie trays, and an arrangement of cheese cubes with those cute toothpicks that have red and green cellophane at the top. You also gave her money for the makings of smores, bags of pretzels, and crackers, themed plates and cups to match. The works.

You cleaned the countertop free of appliances, putting them away in the cupboards to make space and give outlets to the crockpots Mr. Moore’s wife was bringing later.

Otherwise, you shoved a tall stool borrowed from the garage in the corner of the room, and placed the small TV from Mr. Moore’s office on it, intending to play Holiday programs while people funneled in and out.

~~~

Two hours before the party, the sun was setting on the horizon. Eddie moved his car to the end of the alleyway, and Carl rolled out a barrel to be stuffed with leftover cardboard boxes, and firewood he brought from home.

He and Eddie moved the workbench to the service door, and set up the bigger TV so people could watch the football game while standing around the fire.

~~~

One hour before the party, the garage was cleared of anything that a child could hurt themselves on or with, and the shop was hushed in wait. Eddie left first to get Adrie from school, and go home to change. The other guys did the same, leaving to collect what family they were bringing, while you stayed behind to stress over having enough food to feed everyone, even after Robin dropped off more snacks than you remembered listing, along with your party clothes.

————

The evening began trepidatious.

Guests filled the lobby like a sea of warmly-dressed sardines. Scarves, mittens, jackets brushed necks, hands, shoulders. Those recognizing each other hugged, while three rambunctious dogs wove through their legs. You introduced yourself to Mr. Moore’s daughter, Misty, and waved at her newborn. Carl’s teenage sons took the opportunity of their mom being busy to throw pebbles at each other outside. Mr. Moore’s wife and her brother and his eldest son were either setting up food or starting the fire. There was a moody girl of unknown origin moping in the corner. You lost track. It was hard to concentrate in the excitement.

You tugged your sleeves into your palms, and looked around the room for what must’ve been the hundredth time..

Eddie was late, and it was difficult keeping the concern off your face.

“Don’t look so worried,” Kevin said, landing a hand on your back as he shuffled by, carrying the scent of lighter fluid and smoke. “Your date’s still in his car. Probably workin’ up the nerve to come see you.”

“He’s not my date,” you corrected with a comically repulsed frown, hoping he’d buy it. “We’re friends.”

A twinkle danced in his stark blue eyes, and his open-mouthed smile peeked from beneath his thick mustache. “Look out.”

Look out?

A pair of tiny arms hugged you around your ass, and if it wasn’t for the tell-tale giggle, your stomach would be flipping with a much different emotion.

“Adrie!” You twisted and subtly scooped her arms higher on your hips before cupping the back of her head, and hugging her to your leg in the warmest greeting you could muster while your brain went to mush.

“You made it,” you said, staring, staring, staring.

Eddie pressed his lips together as he looked from his daughter to you. Happiness etched itself in every facet of his expression; in the tight smile he failed to control, to the tenderness of his half-closed eyes shining behind his lashes, his confident stance with his hands slotted into his work jacket pockets, in his washed hair falling to one side as he let his head loll from the heavy thoughts swaying his shoulders in a slow rocking motion. Everything about him was relaxed upon seeing you.

“You look beautiful,” he complimented with a magnificent amount of ease, as if he wasn’t a bundle of anxiety minutes ago. Yet, he didn’t withhold his praise. In gradual seconds–each longer than the last–he beheld your appearance in the highest regard, noting the vast departure from the jeans you usually wore.

The burgundy pinafore dress fit you snug, and the hem stopped high on your thighs. The thin white turtleneck underneath clung to your figure, and your black pantyhose matched your chunky Mary Janes.

It was one beret and a baguette short from being an outfit you wore for a skit with your comedy troupe, but he didn’t have to know that.

“Really beautiful,” he said to himself, taking you in, his whisper lost amongst the beginning strums of Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree playing from the garage.

Adrie grabbed at the dress around your waist, chaining herself to you in a needy act for attention, and you stroked your thumb over her hair in return, eyes refusing to leave her father.

“And what about you, handsome?” You signaled it was his turn to show off.

So far, the formfitting gray slacks with a faint plaid pattern were doing him justice, but you wanted to see the whole thing.

Peacocking, Eddie lifted an arrogant brow on the same side of his smirk, and put some confidence in how he unzipped his jacket, savoring the anticipation. Opening it slowly to unveil, unfathomably, a button up shirt. White with blue stripes. Untucked, of course. Dropping the jacket from his shoulders, he strutted in a circle, giving you the full view of his back–no rugged coveralls, no leather, no durable canvas, no sweatshirt–just thin polycotton blend stretched over his frame alluding to his musculature.

Working the jacket back up his arms, he presented one of his legs forward. “Think I gained some weight since I last wore these. They used to fit better.”

Oh. Oh, no. They fit perfectly.

While he was busy looking at where the slacks tapered to his black boots, you were commending other areas. Like his thighs, where the pants gave a slim shadow where his boxers ended. And a little higher, to the place the fabric bunched around, and forced the zipper to curve outward. The real deal. The whole package. The big show.

Jesus..

“You look good,” you croaked out with the last of the air in your lungs. He jerked his head up, and smiled his usual way–too wide, a little askew, showing more teeth on one side than the other. “Should’ve known you’d be just as handsome dressed up as you are in a t-shirt and jeans.”

“You hear that, Adrie? It was worth it being late, because I look extra handsome.”

“I didn’t say extra–”

“Who cares,” she whined at him. After demonstrating an ounce of patience while her dad took a shower, washed his hair, shaved, spritzed on too much cologne, and stood in front of the mirror debating over wearing his nicer clothes or his usual ripped jeans for an excruciating number of minutes, she was at her limits. “My outfit is way, way, way cuter,” she argued in her kid-like way, fighting for your approval.

You crouched to her level, and she twirled in a circle, copying him. “Oh my gosh, you’re right! Your sweatshirt is way, way, way cuter than his boring clothes. What does it say?” Somewhere above you, you heard Eddie suck his teeth.

Adrie pinched the red pullover and held it out for you to read along with her.

“Santa’s.. Widdle helper.” The pronunciation wasn’t her fault. Upon closer inspection, the text did indeed spell ‘little’ as ‘wittl’.’

“And who’s that?” you asked, pointing at the character jumping out of a Christmas stocking on the front.

“Tweety Bird!”

“Alright!” You held your hand up, and she high-fived you.

Thrown back into reality at a dog’s yip, and Mr. Moore’s survey of heads, you let go of the romanticized bubble you surrounded yourself in, where it was just you, Adrie, and Eddie, and took heed of the packed room lurching towards the smell of cooked meatballs wafting in the air.

“Everyone here?” Mr. Moore asked, and when a murmur arose, he rubbed his hands together, and announced, “Let’s eat! Game starts soon.”

The sardine conglomerate moved as one, making a concentrated effort to form a line from the breakroom, down the hallway, and ending where you stood at the glass door. Adrie struggled to accept being last in line, but you prepared many distractions for her; the first of which being Eddie’s present.

“I got something for you,” you said, and reached over the ledge of your desk, patting around in search of the special item. He expressed an unreasonable amount of suspicion. “You have to promise to wear it. Or else..” You gave Adrie a look, and she had a pout at the ready if he didn’t comply.

“I don’t like it when you two gang up on me,” he mumbled, eyeing you.

“Too bad. Here.”

Eddie snorted at the red, white, fuzzy, jingly accessory in your hand. “Really?” he asked, and laughed, “Would’ve worn it anyway.”

After a pause where he held the Santa hat in strange contemplation, he humbly knelt on his knees to Adrie, and asked her to do the honors, “Wanna put it on for me?” She did so enthusiastically, jamming the hat on his head, rattling the bell at the end of the cap, and calling him Daddy Santa while roughly combing his hair. He was sure to hold your gaze as he prompted Adrie, “Not real Santa, right?”

“No, you’re Daddy Santa. Real Santa is coming in two days! And he’s bringing me lots of presents because I’ve been good.”

You understood, then, the glaze of fatigue in the look he gave you. It’d be a few more years until Adrie thanked him for the miracles in her life, the food in her belly, the roof over her head, and as a father, he only hoped he’d fix his situation before she learned the full details of his sacrifices to raise her, to give her a room, to provide her with a bed of her own while he went without.

Still, he was in the constant battle of yearning for the acknowledgement, while fearing her growing up and discovering the real world.

A complex set of emotions to parse for both him and his daughter, and he had to do it alone.

“Ow, Adrie..”

Coming to his rescue when she began pinching his cheeks to a rosy state, you got her attention, “Don’t think I forgot about you, cutie pie.” From behind the ledge, you pulled out a pair of reindeer antlers on a headband, and slid them on for her, doubling as a way to keep her bangs out of her eyes.

Glee burst across her face in a smile which rivaled the dawning rays of the rising sun. Deep-seated satisfaction erupted in your chest at her joy over the small gesture. Her immediate desire was to be picked up by you, ready to be doted on, and in that moment, you wanted nothing other than to gather her in your arms. But Eddie stole her for himself. You were left Adrie-less. And the fact it bothered you, and the fact making his daughter happy affected you in a way you’d only begun to unpack last week when you asked Robin to drive you to the toy store at the mall, was complicated.

“You can’t coerce Miss Mouse into picking you up at your command,” he told her in a playful tone. “You’re a big girl now, and only Daddy’s strong enough to hold you.”

“Oh, puh-lease.” As if your tongue wasn’t already stuck out in disgust, it certainly was when he made a show of flexing his biceps. Under his jacket. Like that would prove anything.

Now, if he were wearing less..

You latched onto the change of subject in your mind, and moved on with the night, away from the poignant feelings of longing for something you hadn’t quite figured out yet.

For now, you made a sardine family. You, Adrie, and Eddie. Your hand in hers, she on his hip, and his kiss to her forehead, fond of one another. Huddled in shared conversation–the type where everything faded away. No one else. Just you, Adrie, and Eddie.

You volunteered to make their dinner. With Adrie clinging to his side, she was able to boss you into putting whatever she wanted on her plate, and you checked Eddie’s amused face every time she added another carrot or ham pinwheel, knowing he’d be the one to eat it when she was full. After hers, you made his, and after his, you made yours. Balancing them all on your palms and forearm, and bringing them to your desk, assuring Eddie he could have the office chair while you took the black stool.

Poor him, though. He sat with Adrie in his lap, desperate to maneuver around her antlers to get a mini cupcake in his mouth while you freely ate your sandwiches, and answered her questions about if reindeer were real, and if they could fly. (Yes, and yes.)

Other guests were present in the lobby, you knew, but at the impact of your knee prodding Eddie’s thigh, and his sly grin over Adrie’s head, they faded away once more.

Until a flash startled you both from your ga-ga gazing into each other’s eyes.

“Just saving memories!” Kevin exclaimed, scrolling his thumb over the disposable camera’s film cog.

And before you could blink away the spot invading your vision, he was gone. “Hope we looked good, at least,” you said to Eddie, not having a candid picture taken since you moved to Hawkins.

He snorted, and leaned around Adrie to see the meatball he was quartering for her with a plastic fork. “I don’t think you have to worry about that, sweetheart.”

Your heart fluttered at the endearment. He said it in a casual manner, not like when he was trying to fluster you. And the compliment was sincere, not teasing. It was sweet, with his arm around his daughter to keep her from squirming away, and the warm comfort of his leg against yours, body heat transferring from his slacks through your thin pantyhose.

A moment you’d like to remember. Including..

“Here,” you giggled.

He looked at the napkin you held out to him, and where you tapped at the corner of your mouth. “Oh.”

In true Eddie fashion, he used his tongue to edge at the green icing, following it with his thumb to get whatever he missed and sucking the rest from his fingers while still managing to entertain Adrie with questions about what she did in preschool today, and dipping a carrot in ranch, dropping some of it too onto his pinky and licking that off without hesitation too. A chaotic mess of a man.

~~~

As predicted, it didn’t take long for Adrie to get bored, and she wandered off to play with Kevin’s dogs. Eddie took it upon himself to finish the monumental task of eating the assortment of leftovers she surrendered on her plate. A real hero of the times, scarfing down the butter ring cookies she wore on her fingers, and downing the sip of juice she didn’t want.

The conversation between you two was the easy kind. Simple, flowing. He slouched to the side with his elbow on the desk, cheek to his fist, legs spread, listening to you talk about nothing.

“And as you can see” –You pulled open the second drawer to the short filing cabinet under your desk– “I’m all organized for the new year. Got my Post-it notes, a new set of highlighters, some of those fancy pens that make my handwriting look nicer. Living a life of luxury over here.”

“Very cool,” he replied in a hollow tone, implying it was in a mocking ‘you’re adorable’ kind of way, and not a ‘wow, you bought the Bugs Bunny themed sticky notes, that’s very cool of you’ kind of way.

You pushed the drawer closed with your foot, and rocked on your stool, grinning.

Beyond the circle of touching knees, fluorescent lights, and brave glances, there was an abrupt cheer at a scored touchdown. In the lobby, the mothers grouped the chairs together to adore the hiccuping newborn. In the parking lot, the teenage boys drove a remote control car around. The moody girl brought a skewer and marshmallows out to the fire. A Jack Russell terrier panted at your calf. Kevin patted Adrie’s head, and stooped to whisper a secret in her ear as they passed each other outside the glass door.

Eddie took the pom pom end of his Santa hat between two fingers and rattled the bell at you. He looked like he was about to speak, but someone special interrupted him.

“I’ve been sent on a mission. You have to come with me!”

You both turned to Adrie.

When neither of you did anything besides raise your eyebrows expectantly, and she didn’t give more context, nor information, she got impatient. “Come on!” she pleaded with a stomp, and grabbed your hand, and you grabbed Eddie’s sleeve on instinct, practically tripping him over your stool while she dragged you into the hallway.

After several feet, she stopped. You stopped, Eddie stopped.

“What’s the mission?” he played along, linking his hand in hers so you were one big circle. A sardine family.

She didn’t speak. Only grinned, and giggled.

Not catching on, you exchanged a confused shrug with Eddie, and asked her, “Is it a riddle?”

More laughter. Harder, more persistent tugs around your pinky and ring finger where she snared you. And a direct, focused smile aimed above your heads.

Slowly–slowly–slowly–

You straightened up from how you were bent over, and listened to Eddie’s clothes shift as he did the same. You followed the invisible line to where she was looking, tipping your head back in curiosity to see what was taped to the doorway exactly between you, and her beloved dad.

There was silence all around.

From the sharp leaves and red berries of the mistletoe, your gaze began its slow descent to Eddie’s. Passing over the red hat, the wrinkled forehead with messy bangs flattened onto it, the worried eyebrows. His sickly pale cheeks, flushed red lips. Suspended in time. Heart in your tight throat, pounding pulse, stomach twisting.

You searched the frightened sheen in his eyes.

“I didn’t hang that, I swear,” he whispered.

“I didn’t either,” you promised just as quickly.

It didn’t matter who did.

There was noise all around. The football game turned to a commercial, and heavy feet announced people entering the garage, and approaching the glass door, coming inside to refresh their drinks and nibble at the cheese cubes.

Quickly–quickly–quickly–

“She.. We’ve been watching a lot of Christmas movies, and she must’ve seen it in one of them.” Lowering his voice, he brought his hand up in a sympathetic gesture, trying to explain her behavior. You let go of his sleeve. “She doesn’t understand.. The meaning, and everything.” He paused. “Us.” Another pause, a tic in his lower lip like a tremble. “Working together, and stuff.” Voice almost mute. “That w-we can’t..”

As much as you wanted to smash your lips on his to stop him from overexplaining the multitude of reasons you two couldn’t, or shouldn’t kiss, (you’re at work, this place smells like meatballs, his daughter is right there, Mr. Moore’s shadow breached the lobby, the fact Eddie chose listing coworkers as his rationale for not kissing you and not because you two were friends, but then again, what if he was about to say that, that he only saw you as a friend, and maybe being coworkers was an easier excuse than saying he wasn’t into you like that, oh god–), you had to get out of this situation with grace.

“No, yeah, I get it. Uhm.” Think fast, think fast, think fast. “You know who else is under the mistletoe, hmm?” you drew out the hum to build tension, setting your sights on your target.

Adrie squealed when you snatched her up and spun in a circle, attacking her cheeks with an unrelenting amount of kisses; the type that were quick pecks with lots of kissy noises, so saccharine and fawning and annoying to listen to. Tender and pure and tempting to the man who made a conscious effort to release the pinch of frustration from his face, and remorse from his discontent sigh before answering your question.

“Can she have one of these chocolate snowmen?”

“Only if you’re willing to tire her out before we leave,” Eddie said, taking intentional steps towards you and Adrie on your hip, leaving the mistletoe and its implications behind. He placed a friendly hand along your shoulder blade. His other hand was more menacing on her back, as indicated by her eyes growing large.

He warned her in a stern tone, “If you have too much sugar and keep me up all night, you’ll never have another dessert again.”

She called him out, point blank, nose turned up in triumph. “You’ve already said that before, and I got cookies anyway.”

Your cookies, he said in a quick glance and eyebrow wag at you, before speaking to her again, “You got me there. However.. I would hate for Santa to find out you stayed up past your bedtime.” He sucked his teeth with a pitying shrug. “The consequences are steep. He’s very strict, you know.”

Adrie’s frown was serious.

Eddie was having too much fun using his one seasonal threat to get her to behave.

“Aw, don’t listen to him,” you soothed her. You lifted your chin so she could burrow her head against your neck, and amended, “Well, do listen to your dad, but I have something special planned for us, Adrie.” She roused out of her heart-wrenching pout, and hugged you harder, kicking her feet around your waist in excitement.

You smiled at him, but your gaze fell elsewhere, passing over the men in the hallway, and taking a last, long look at the mistletoe, seeing it for the confusing event it created, not the romantic scene it was known for. “I’ll take her for the night. You go watch the game, or something. Hang out with the adults. I’ve got her.”

The tiny room became overcrowded. Someone whispered, “Oh, aren’t they cute together,” and Eddie chewed on his inner cheek. He removed his hand from you, fingertips slipping over the back of your dress, catching the strap, then your side, below your ribs, above Adrie’s leg. Measured, methodical touches. Not accidents.

While his face lacked strong emotions, there were words in his eyes. Maybe they were an apology for the weirdness you now found yourselves in, or a thank you for taking her off his hands for a bit, or they were something else entirely. He didn’t say.

“You two have fun,” he expressed in his soft voice, and grabbed a cold soda on his way out.

~~~

A cold soda did not unwind him like a beer.

Eddie warmed himself by the barrel fire while the game played. Though any opportunity to talk with his peers rarely expanded past the usual topics of work and raising his daughter, and were frequently shadowed by what was happening on the screen, he didn’t mind the interruption. He knew the rules of the game enough to feel a sense of camaraderie when they celebrated. And really, he just wanted the time to think. Or not think. Definitely not think about how he reacted earlier, stumbling over his words to assure you he wasn’t some creep who hung mistletoe as a way to trick you into kissing him. Absolutely not agonize over his inability to articulate himself, and provide you with an out while also reminding himself why he shouldn’t listen to his impulse clawing to be released, and kiss you on the spot. And certainly not consider your mild response to the whole thing, and how your gaze lingered–for a millisecond–on his lips before you scooped Adrie into your arms.

Eddie ran the heel of palm along his jaw, back and forth, and worked it to the back of his neck, wringing his nape in tight squeezes to release the tension.

A beer was definitely better than soda, but so be it. He downed the rest of it, and justified going inside for another. Of course, his motives for going through the lobby weren’t to quench his thirst, but as he almost ran face-first into the glass door, his mouth went dry.

Your ass in the curve-hugging dress was the first thing he noticed. Noticed it because you were curled into the fetal position on the floor, pretending to die a dramatic death. Oh, and you were wearing a black cape adorned in shiny gold stars, and your mouse ears from Halloween, along with a crown.

The loud crunch of him crushing his soda can got your attention.

“You don’t always have to dress like a mouse for her; she knows who you are,” he said in cool nonchalance on his way to the fridge.

You pointed a pirate’s cutlass at him, regarding him down the plastic blade. “I’m the Rat King.”

The music on the portable radio changed moods from a battle march to a victorious, slow piece.

Ditching the mouse ears by throwing them aside into a small pile of other props, you instructed Adrie to exchange her rapier for a flower crown. “Ooh, ooh! And this is where Clara and the Nutcracker Prince dance. Yeah, hold my hand, lift your leg in arabesque. Just like that.” You walked around her, spinning her in a circle while she posed with her leg behind her, and when you let go, you granted her the stage to improv what ballet moves she knew through pop culture osmosis, clapping and gasping and cheering her on, both of you panting from the exertion of playing an entire cast of characters.

There was a pang in Eddie’s stomach. The usual stuff: wanting to watch, wanting to join, wanting to stop it. The jealousy of being left out of the intimate moment, the yearn to add a third to his and Adrie’s life, the grief of when things don’t work out and this was a mistake. Decisions, daydreams, the reality of you maybe moving away, maybe not. Maybe dating him, maybe not. Maybe making work a place he dreaded coming to again if he tried something and it ended in disaster.

He had no other job options.

And yet..

“Hey.” Eddie traced the rim of the chilled soda in his hand, collecting condensation. “Ah, the TV in there is playing those old claymation Christmas movies in a marathon. D’you guys wanna watch them with me?”

Teaching her to put her toe to her knee in the passé position, you asked, “Don’t you want to hang out and watch the game?” When he didn’t respond, you looked up at him. Immediately, your focus honed in on his shy habit of chewing on his bottom lip.

“Nah. Not really. I’d rather be in here.”

~~~

The breakroom lights were off, save for the dim set on either side of the sink lighting the buffet, and the air was humid from steam curling off the crockpots. On the table were three marshmallow snowmen held together by melted chocolate and pretzel stick arms; remnants of an impromptu competition of which he lost.

It was a warm and cozy affair, made more so by the three of you squished together to watch Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer on the small TV in the corner.

Adrie nestled deeper into her baby blanket. She had the quilt cocooned around her, running her fingertips over her mouth while she watched. Beside her, you sat with your hands laced in your lap, and at the end, Eddie slumped diagonally in his seat, propping his elbow on the back of your chair. Half paying attention to the stop motion film, half congratulating himself on getting this far. It took all of Jack Frost to work up the courage to daintily set his elbow at the very corner of your chair, almost making contact with your shoulder without worrying if he sweated through his deodorant or cologne yet..

But what if his breath smelled bad from the weird combination of food he ate?

Fuck–

The golden retriever lounging on the floor behind Adrie wagged his tail. Kevin’s distinct shuffle came down the hallway. “Well here’s where you three gone off to,” he said. His dog lifted his head, and licked his lips in anticipation for a pet. “Don’t mind me, just came in for another pepperoni slice, isn’t that right, Coop?”

Cooper panted at his name.

Adrie mumbled around her fingers, “I love your puppy. He’s the best.”

“Yeah, she adores him,” you added.

“Aw, you’re a good boy, aren’t ya?” Kevin bent down to praise his dog with a couple of pets under the chin. And when he was finished, he made a fuss about his old knees, and the cold weather affecting them, and the–whatever else he said.

Upon struggling to stand, Kevin sought a place to put his hand for assistance–and wouldn’t you know, the perfect spot was right in front of him. He clutched Eddie’s forearm for purchase, which incidentally took him off guard before he could brace his muscles, and pinned it to the back of your chair. Once the move was complete, Kevin stood and patted the spot he held until Eddie’s arm curved flush against your shoulders. Then he winked and walked off, no longer shuffling. Eddie stared open-mouthed at the determination.

His insides clenched with unreleased tension. The holly hung in the doorway. Things he wasn’t supposed to do. Anxiety, nerves heightened with the sensation of your solid body breathing beneath the weight of him.

Adrie mumbled something about what was happening on screen, and you said something back, nodding.

It’s not like this was the first time he put his arm around a girl. But it was the first time he did so with the burden of pessimism warning him not to.

He scrutinized the side of your face for any sign of acknowledgement that his arm was around you, but if you cared, you didn’t show it. You remained poised as ever.

You didn’t mind, outwardly.

So he didn’t either.

It was only in front of his boss that he lifted his arm to comb the hair off his neck when Mr. Moore entered. And as soon as he was gone, Eddie strung it casually across the back of your chair again, twirling a curl of Adrie’s hair around his finger.

And when Carl came in, you sat forward for the entire duration of his stay, eating a marshmallow while he was in the room. And when he left, you sank back into your seat.

The third time someone came in, neither of you moved. You followed each other’s lead and did nothing. Subconsciously–or consciously–finding the courage to fit your bodies together in a purposeful way, relaxing towards one another, and slotting into the cushiony space his arm allowed against his bulky jacket.

Time went on like that.

The conversation between you two was the easy kind. Wordless, intuitive. Exchanged in the permanent grin affixed to his face, and your tender hums of affection when you looked at him or Adrie. Somewhere in the silent conversation, he summoned the balls to stroke his thumb–only once–over the soft slope of your bicep, and coped with the aftermath of studying the profile of your lips tugging up at the corners.

~~~

The party came to its natural conclusion when the game ended. Eddie scooped what was left in the crockpots into mismatched tupperware he brought from home, filling up an old butter container with chili, and rinsing out the cookware to give back to its original owner. He placed cupcakes in their plastic clamshell packaging, and downsized the veggie tray into a manageable load. You played the part of an amiable host, and wished everyone a happy holiday on their way out, insisting you’d take care of cleaning up. Really, it was no problem. You had Eddie with you, and Adrie was helping by falling asleep with a crayon in her hand.

Eddie listened to you usher them out the door, and lock it behind them once they drove away.

In truth, he preferred them gone when you both made trips to his car, loading the backseat with the leftovers. Didn’t matter if they were room temperature carrots, or the mangled overcooked meatballs from the bottom of the crockpot, he accepted them.

He took inventory of the last containers on the breakroom table while you woke up Adrie, and for once, he felt okay.

Normally stress chewed holes in his stomach this time of year, but knowing the panic of not paying the electric bill before incurring another late fee would be eliminated by the generous bonus Moore gave him in the white envelope tucked away in his inner jacket pocket, Eddie felt.. alright. Like things would be alright. He put enough aside for his daughter to have one big present this year, and things would be alright.

“Ready?” you asked, holding Adrie’s hand in the doorway.

“Yeah, it’s just these two containers, and we’re good. Were we doing anything about the decorations?”

“Nah.” You waved him off. “We can take them down after the break.”

More than happy to get home and reap the reward of a full night’s sleep, he picked her up mid-yawn, and you carried the last of the containers to the car for him. While you found available space to shove the tupperware without it spilling, Eddie swayed with Adrie. He rested his cheek on the top of her head, and closed his eyes, feeling himself meld into the drowsy moment, comforted by her weight in his arms.

He heard the gravel crunch from your movement, and your shivered exhale beneath your jacket. It was his turn to put Adrie in her carseat, but when he caught the dewy glimmer in your eye, he thought he might hold onto her for the next eternity if it meant he could earn that soft awe from you again.

However, it was cold out, and he should hurry up.

“Uh, there’s uh,” you started, standing back while he buckled Adrie in. “There’s actually one more thing inside.”

“There is?” he questioned dumbly. He glanced at your incessant finger guns pointed towards the back entrance door, and tried to picture what he left behind.

“Yeah, if you could just help me real quick.”

He shrugged and tucked the quilt tight around Adrie. “I’ll be right back, okay?” She nodded, and covered the lower half of her face with the blanket.

Still cool, calm, and collected, Eddie followed you into the garage, through the glass door, into the lobby, down the hallway, and stopped when you stopped. In the breakroom doorway. Under the..

He struggled to swallow around the lump in his throat.

Adrenaline raced to his nerves, to his brain, to his heart jumping in confusion. The addictive buzz enabled him to remember each detail of your lips parting, the sound of your shallow inhale, and the sting of doubt on his cheeks when you spun around and pried out the noisy keyring from your pocket, shaking them until you found the one to the storage closet.

You turned the key in the door opposite him in the hallway, and reached inside, into the dark. “I, uhm.. I got a present for Adrie, if that’s okay..”

“You..?” He went silent at the large gift bag you held out to him, with the giant portrait of jolly Saint Nick on the front bulging from what was inside.

Second guessing if you were overstepping boundaries with the gesture, you faltered, “If it’s not okay, I can, I guess–?”

“No, no,” he finally said, screwing his eyes shut at realizing he just stood there like a moron. “No, that’s, that’s so nice of you. I-I don’t even know what to say. Just, yeah.. You didn’t have to do something like that.” He accepted the bag, and hugged it to him, crushing the decorative tissue paper sticking out the top.

“I signed it as being from Santa. I figured that was appropriate.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s perfect. Uhm.. wow.”

He was doing his favorite trait–where his smile evolved into an open laugh; a little obnoxious, and a lot flirty–and he could tell when you beamed up at him and your cheesy grin overflowed into a giggle, it was your favorite trait too.

And you kept the presents rolling.

“As Office Administrator,” you said with a spry loveliness in your sidling up to him, “I have some insider knowledge that someone put in a good word for you, and uh, it looks like you’re getting a pretty nice raise at the beginning of the new year.” There was no mistaking who. “And I heard through the grapevine that Mr. Moore is going to start pulling from his retirement in June, and Misty isn’t interested in running the family business, so he’s seeking out a new owner,” you put more than a hint of inflection on the end of the sentence, and gave him a look.

You shrugged your shoulder to your chin. “Anyway, do with that information what you will.”

Eddie stayed stupefied, speechless, staring down at the bag. Because you were you, you ended the conversation with a weak punch to his arm when a car drove into the parking lot.

“That’s Robin,” you said.

He watched you walk away. Down the hall, into the lobby. Putting distance between him and the doorway to the breakroom, where his regrets taunted him.

The sharp leaves and red berries were lost amongst the shadows, but their warning rang true. The reasons he shouldn’t kiss you. The talk he never had with Adrie, the potential expiration date even if things did work out between you two, the issue of seeing each other every day and knowing he couldn’t handle the habitual rejection of ignoring the other’s existence if things went bad.

New year, same old coward.

Except.

An idea.

An impulse.

A vicious desire.

He rejected the rejection. “Wait!”

You turned, and jumped at his sudden appearance. Eyebrows raised in surprise, a fresh smile lighting up your face in the gentle moonlight.

Eddie stopped you by grabbing your hand, wielding you closer with his rough fingers pressed into your sweaty palm until your arms entwined, and your jackets rubbed. He dropped his head to the side with a shameful shake, and ran the tip of his tongue along his teeth, building to an apologetic admission. “I’m doing that thing again where I forget to thank you,” he said, not needing to speak above a whisper as he gazed down at you, unafraid.

“Then thank me,” you replied, curling your fingers around his.

His wavering voice went deeper in his chest, “Words don’t feel good enough anymore.” The bag under his arm crinkled as he lifted a finger at Robin who had come to peer inside the window, and very quickly made herself scarce after witnessing the moment she was intruding on. “You’re too sweet, and I don’t even get to drive you home.”

You encouraged him in a laugh. “Then think of another way to thank me that’s not transportation based.”

A bad thought bloomed warmth across his cheeks. “I will,” he promised, nodding. “I’ll find a better way to thank you for everything you’ve done for me and Adrie. Something good.”

“Looking forward to it.”

You lingered for a second, waiting, and when you both remained kissless, you rocked your body into him, cozying your sides together with your joined arms squeezed between in a sort of goodbye hug. “Speaking of Adrie, you might want to get back to her before she becomes a popsicle.”

He inhaled sharply and snapped his head up. “Yeah, I should probably go start the car.”

“Have a good holiday, Eddie. Get lots of rest over the break, okay?”

“I will, I will.”

With an absolutely astounding amount of memories made today, you were both content to step away from each other and go home to begin the tossing and turning, sickly sweet, cold-side-of-the-pillow reminiscing about the brave glances, and daring touches.

You reached for the door handle.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

You stalled with your back facing him. Thinking you were sly, you checked the reflection to see what part of you his gaze was admiring, and you laughed.

Finally. He was making eye contact with you through the glass.

“Goodnight, handsome,” you answered, and left with your smile ducked into your collar.

The evening ended spectacularly.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #mechanic!eddie #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #the yes policy

4K notes · View notes

light-yaers · 3 months

Text

Take Care: Chapter Thirteen

Fic Masterpost | AO3 | Chapter List

Warnings: swearing, eventual smut, emotional themes.

A/N: so... yeah it's been 7 months. whatever! i'm back bitches!

Word Count: 7k+

Chapter Thirteen:

You gasped when you woke, folding yourself upright in shock. You only had a few seconds to stabilise yourself before the headache from hell hit you like a drill to your skull. Groaning, you brought your hand to your forehead, and you could have sworn you could feel your brain throbbing.

“Morning,” Roy said lowly, and you almost broke your fucking back as you turned to look at him abruptly.

“Fuuucking hell,” you whispered. That was all your voice could handle at that moment.

As your heart thumped incessantly in your chest, your eyes ate him up. Roy sat at the dining room table, legs crossed and donned in a pair of tartan pyjama trousers. A loose fitted white cotton t-shirt covered his top half, and his hair was just slightly ruffled. He brought a coffee mug to his mouth, and smiled to himself in amusement as he took a sip. Nothing of what you’d previously imagined Roy would look like in the morning was what met you there– it was so much better. He looked softer, and calmer.

Regretfully, you had to look away. It wasn’t just from the way your gut coiled, but from the stabbing pain that had begun in the middle of your forehead. “What the fuck happened last night?”

“Well, as the guys say it.”Roy stood slowly, and made his way to the sofa. Dropping himself next to you, he took another sip of coffee. “You got Danied.”

Your groans could have been heard all the way over at Nelson Road. The guys would already be there, prepping for a game later that afternoon. You wondered how badly some of them were suffering, or if their bodies were already used to dealing with Dani related hangovers. Yours, however, was not.

“I guess I went a bit overboard,” you croaked. “We were just having fun, and being festive, and possibly decking the halls far too much for my body to handle.”

Roy smiled. “Yeah, well it’s lucky you didn’t deck the halls with your fucking vomit last night, either.”

You scrunched yourself into a ball immediately, armadillo style, and grumpily shrugged the blanket you’d slept with over your head. You didn’t want the world to see you today, didn’t want to be exposed to the stares of your friends or neighbours, yet– here you were. In front of the one man you’d promised not to see over this holiday period. Drunk you hadn’t read the fucking rule book.

Gently, Roy placed a hand on your ankle. Your entire body buzzed, as a shudder ripped its way up your body from his point of touch. “It’s fucking Christmas. Don’t worry about it.”

You swallowed away the urge to be sick, but not from your hangover. Roy squeezed your ankle ever so slightly. “Where’s Phoebe?” you asked, trying desperately to change the subject and revert his attention onto something– someone– else, other than groggy you.

“My sister came by about an hour ago to pick her up.”

“And I didn’t hear them?” you exclaimed, muffled beneath the blanket.

Roy shrugged. “You were out cold.”

“Fuck my life,” you muttered, before you realised something. Quickly, you revealed yourself from beneath the blanket and smacked your hands into your lap. Your hair was everywhere, an utter mess, but nevertheless you looked towards Roy. “What time is it?”

Roy glanced at his phone. “Just after midday–”

“Fuck!” You practically jumped out of your skin. Scrambling up from your section of the sofa, and struggling to fling the blanket off yourself, you finally stood up. “The pre-game is at quarter past two, which means I’m already fucking late!”

Roy watched as you panicked, but nothing could be done to slap away the affectionate smile he held on his face. You busied yourself by pacing the living room and checking your various messages, a few of which were obviously from the guys themselves, and you cringed incessantly when you read them. When you started counting on your fingers, Roy hoisted himself from the sofa with a subtle growl.

“Will you calm the fuck down? You’re giving me hives.”

You shot a death stare at him. “I said I’d grab coffee with Rebecca at one o’clock, which I’m now probably not going to make. And I still need to shower, and get the stench of tequila off my body, and–” You stopped talking at the thought of alcohol, and had to place a hand on your chest to stop yourself from gagging.

Roy abruptly reached out and grabbed your bicep softly. “Stop fucking thinking about tequila.”

You swallowed painfully. “Sorry.”

Roy’s fingers squeezed you softly, and the sensation alone was enough to ground you. You inhaled deeply, and got the thought of booze and lateness and stress out of your mind as much as you could. All the while, as your eyes were stamped shut and your chest shuddered through struggling breaths, Roy was there. He held onto you thoughtfully and with patience; two qualities that Roy definitely wasn’t known for.

When you opened your eyes, you found Roy’s steady gaze on yours already. “Sorry,” you repeated. “I’m good, I’m fine.”

“And I’m Shania fucking Twain,” he said sarcastically. You let out an amused huff, and his face softened.

The mere seconds you had looking at each other in this way was enough to make your heart hurt beneath your ribs. Just a little bit, just a tinge, but it only acted as a reminder of how this– you and him– wouldn’t ever work. You saw it in Roy’s gaze, too, and when he swallowed the words that rested on his tongue, just waiting to be said out loud. Maybe they never would.

Roy gently removed his grip from you, but the softness didn’t leave his face for a second. “Can I get you a coffee?”

You relaxed instantly, hardly registering your problems in that moment after his offer. You didn’t care about time anymore, or the fact that you had plans; you only cared about him. All you could do was nod, hit with the sudden urge that you didn’t want to leave so suddenly. It was you that had instigated this Christmas meeting, you who had shown up at his house– drunk– with no other intentions, other than wishing him a Merry Christmas. The word ‘wholesome’ had never come to mind alongside your actions, but you were struggling with what to describe the situation now.

It was wholesome, and it was all you.

Until it wasn’t wholesome anymore, and certainly not all you.

“Last night,” you started, swallowing back some nerves that fluttered up from the pit of your stomach. “Before I fell asleep.” Roy took a small step back. “What were you saying?”

You looked at him as innocently as possible, despite the increase in your pulse. Roy’s demeanour changed instantly, as he quickly raced his eyes up and down your hungover form. Quickly, he swivelled around and headed for the dining table. He picked up a small package that lay in the centre, next to other Christmas cards and scraps of old wrapping paper, before he turned back to you.

Roy stopped a metre from where you stood and stuck his hand out slowly. “I got you a present,” he said softly.

As you took in the image of him, your make-up stained eyes almost started to well. You could feel the tears ready to form, and begged to whatever fucking god was out there not to burst into tears. You sucked in a breath, but scoffed it back out as an inappropriate giggle erupted from within you.

“Jeez, Roy,” you said, smiling. You stepped closer before taking the gift from him, and shot him a golden stare when you held it in your hands.

Roy smiled. “Sorry it’s late.”

You scoffed again. “That was definitely my fault for falling asleep with a beer in my hand.”

Roy chuckled lightly, and innately you knew you’d never forget the sound of it. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” you whispered back.

Tears welled in your eyes before you could stop them. Roy caught on immediately and stepped forward quickly, going to comfort you in whatever capacity he could– but you stopped him. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” you said, waving him off as if everything was fine. “I’m just hungover, and tired, and late– fucking late!” You remembered the entire situation so fast that you almost dropped your gift. “Coffee will have to wait. I need to run home.”

“I can drive you.” Roy offered, almost desperately, but you waved him off again.

“No point. You have a studio to get to, and I have a very tall blonde woman to try and meet before the Richmond game.” Quickly, you shuffled out of the living room and towards the front door. You clutched your belongings in your arms– your jumper, your scarf, your jacket, Roy’s gift– and attempted to slip on your boots as fast as humanly possible.

Roy appeared at the end of the hallway. He no longer looked soft, as he started stomping closer to you. “I’m not due at the studio till two o’clock. Let me drive you to Nelson Road, or fucking something–”

“Really, you don’t need to.” You tied your laces messily, knowing that you only had to survive getting out of his door and off his drive before you could finally burst.

This was just it, wasn’t it? This– him and you, the gift giving, the coffee, the softness– was all too fucking much. You regretted going to see him last night, you regretted infringing on his Christmas like this, and now he desperately wanted you to stay.

It was all a recipe for disaster.

You whipped yourself up to standing and dared to look at him. “Besides, I’ve already overstayed my impromptu visit.”

Roy furrowed his brows angrily, getting worked up. “You haven’t been here in a fucking month, fell asleep after two bloody minutes, and you think you’ve overstayed your welcome? Just– fucking stop, and I can drive you, and we can–”

“Roy.”

With the tone shift of your voice, Roy stopped. His chest rose and fell quickly; an attempt to calm down the erratic beat of his heart. You looked into his eyes deeply, and everything translated as clear as if you’d spoken the words.

We’re not supposed to do this, remember? This is what you wanted, and I can’t be here anymore without it being painful. Let me go.

He stepped back a little and un-balled his fists. He nodded, and bit down on his tongue to stop himself from choking, or saying something he’d definitely regret.

You nodded back. It was all that needed to be exchanged for you both to understand. Grabbing the handle, you opened his hulking, oak front door and stepped into the cold Richmond air. Before you closed it behind you, you turned back to him.

Roy looked defeated, tired, slumped. His arms dangled by his sides without strength, and the look on his face had you rethinking your entire decision to leave; love-sick, or swarmed with thoughts of what could have been, if only he hadn’t put a boundary on how far this thing between you could go. His jaw was the only thing that stayed rigid, stuck, like he was clenching every single muscle to stop himself from spilling words onto his porch.

You smiled sadly. “I’ll see you on the telly.” The front door slammed shut.

You grappled for air as you ran up the steps to the Dogtrack. Coffee with Rebecca had been postponed, and you’d savoured the time you had to recover and get ready before you had to shoot out the door again. You navigated the inside of the stadium like the back of your hand, until you emerged outside into Richmond’s box. Rebecca sat in her usual spot. You dropped yourself down next to her and sighed deeply, finally letting yourself relax after an eventful early afternoon.

“Hm.” Rebecca huffed in amusement. “Hello, darling,” she said with an air of knowing.

“Don’t.” You dropped your bag to the floor and crossed your legs sturdily, wrapping yourself up comfortably and warmly within your puffer coat.

“Good Christmas?” she still asked. You refrained from rolling your eyes, but knew you owed her an explanation.

“I got Danied.”

“Oh, how those boys love you,” she said, laughing to herself. “They were quite jovial in the locker room this morning. There was something circulating about you performing Elton John’s Benny and the Jets after dinner.”

You shut your eyes and tried not to cringe at yourself. “Was that all?” you said, opening your eyes slowly.

Rebecca shrugged. “Other than the abrupt departure and denial of needing a lift home while pissed beyond belief– no.” She smiled at you so widely that you couldn’t help but copy her. You sighed again and faced the pitch, praying innately that she couldn’t divulge you from a single stare.

“I’m never gonna live this down, am I?” you asked.

“I can drop it altogether,” she stated. “If– you tell me where you raced off to so suddenly afterwards.” You turned to her, your smile all but gone. You swallowed painfully, traipsing through a maze in your head at how you were about to go about this conversation.

You hadn’t told Rebecca about what had happened between you and Roy after the double date. You hadn’t told Keeley, either. It was a secret that you hadn’t intended to keep, but it had all seemed like the easiest option. To let things dissolve until the prying questions from your friends about yourself and Roy came to a close. That– and the fact that talking about it out loud made it all the more real.

Sure, it’d been a month since the talk, the deal, the confession– whatever you could call it without it being too sad. And sure, you’d told yourself everyday that it was the easiest option to take. Less complicated, no strings attached, all that jazz.

But– and it was a massive but– it didn’t mean you and Roy could immediately switch everything off when you were around one another. It didn’t stop those tired stares from earlier that afternoon, or the soft way Roy handed you your Christmas present (and the fact it was burning a hole through the lining of your bag, unopened).

You smiled sadly at Rebecca. “I have something to tell you.”

Rebecca shuffled in her chair, her expression dropping into one of concern. Quickly, she reached out and grabbed your hands with her own. “What’s going on?”

You sucked in, ready to speak, but were cut-off by the whirlwind that Keeley Jones took with her everywhere. She dropped herself into the seat next to you, making you and Rebecca flinch. “Fucking hell– I almost got stuck in the mob outside!” Keeley exclaimed. She turned to you both, and her face dropped instantly. “Oh god, I interrupted you, didn’t I?”

You smiled at her softly and let out a breathy chuckle. “You’re a sight for sore eyes,” you said gently, meaning every word. She embraced you without question– firmly, warmly, as if she was attempting to make you feel better without even knowing what was wrong.

“Right on time, Keeley,” Rebecca said. Keeley reached over you to grip Rebecca’s hand in her own. She took one of yours in her other, and the three of you held each other’s hands lovingly.

“What did I miss?” Keeley asked.

“Well–” You sighed. “Where to start?”

You told them everything, your girls. They listened, and squeezed your hands in their own at the right moments. They smiled sadly when you spoke, and looked at you like you were gold, and never interrupted. At the end, they hugged you from both sides.

The boys ran out onto the pitch, with Ted, Beard and Nate at the sidelines. The whistle blew, and the match started.

You tried not to think of him, but it was impossible. You thought of Roy as the ball was kicked into play in the centre; cameras on him, suit donned, hair slicked back and beard shaved to perfection.

You thought of him because you’d finally said it out loud– he’d turned you down, stopped this thing between you before it’d even had the chance to start, and it would be okay. In time, sure, but it would be okay.

When you got home that night, you remembered the present in your bag. It was wrapped neatly, too neatly for what you’d assumed Roy was capable of, and topped off with a small card. You opened it in the darkness of your bedroom and read the words slowly.

Just another thing to remind you of home. Roy.

You swallowed away the want to cry and opened the gift. Inside a small box was a strip of four photos, the kind you get from a photobooth. You stared at them in awe, flashing back to the night in which they’d been taken– a month before your departure from the club.

Yourself, Ted, Roy and Sam were shoved uncomfortably into a photobooth in a local Richmond night-club. The four of you were squished beyond belief, but that didn’t stop you from thinking of it fondly. A drunk and impromptu night, right before the beginning of Roy’s troubles with playing the game. It had been your idea to get everyone into the booth, and you’d practically dragged Roy in against his will. You and he were shoved into one corner so badly that you’d practically had to sit on his lap. Sam sat on Ted’s lap beside you, and they smiled together into the camera. Each photo showcased a different laugh, a different smile, but not from Roy– until the last picture.

That’s when you’d draped your arm around his shoulder and looked at him face on. He’d looked back, and, in that millisecond of softness behind his eyes, the photo had been snapped.

You’d totally forgotten about that moment, had never actually seen the photos until now. Roy had picked them up. He’d kept them all to himself for this long. Even after the end of his career, his time at Richmond, all of it. He’d kept them.

It had been there once, the possibility of something. It had been there more than once. You and Roy, Roy and you. It was snapped up in moments like then that you hadn’t realised until the end of his career. He may not have realised it either, until that time in his Jeep where feelings had seeped into the leather of those fancy car seats.

There was only so much you could think of the what could have been before it all became too much. The one that got away, the right person, wrong time, whatever it was. You’d been thinking about all of that since after the double date, but you didn’t want to think about it anymore.

There was nothing you could do about it but move on. You couldn’t ponder or think in hindsight or imagine a different possibility. You had to move forward, and that’s what you were taking his gift as. Recognition that it was there, but now it was gone.

You clutched the photo strip to your heart, just for a moment, and then you let it go. Perhaps this was exactly what you’d needed. Perhaps it was what Roy had needed, too. In some backwards way, it made everything clearer. There was no bad blood and there never would be. Your feelings were free, and a weight had lifted from your shoulders.

At the end of the day, you’d run after Roy Kent once, and it had still resulted in this outcome. At the end of the day, you’d both confronted what you felt and still picked the option that was best.

For the first time in a month you slept soundly, without thoughts that rattled around your head. Your mind was clear, so was your heart. Christmas in Richmond had finally come to a fucking close.

A few weeks into the new year, Roy Kent was restless. His routine was static now. The constant grind of getting up, of filming, of dealing with the press. He was still a favourite on the telly, and you still watched him religiously. Alongside your own sluggish work, getting home to a new episode of Soccer Saturday spurred you forward. It kept you in the loop, in the know, and despite Roy being on the other end of the television screen, it kept you in his life.

Pluto Press had become worse. There was no reason for you to deny it, and no way you even could. You’d been there for eight months now, and were very much out of the honeymoon phase. You hadn’t touched your novel since before Christmas, and you were feeling the repercussions of it.

On the other side, Roy was feeling that same shift. The disconnect from the football world was grating on him more and more, and with every match missed or only seen from the insides of a studio, parts of him were disintegrating alongside.

He texted you a lot.

Jeff won’t stop talking about his wife. I can’t fucking stand it.

Did you watch last week's game? I can’t believe Bumbercatch scored that shoddy fucking goal.

Isaac is really struggling right now, isn’t he?

You replied to them all, because Roy was always right about football to an extent. You’d noticed it, too. Isaac McAdoo’s sudden struggle with being captain. The pressure that was placed upon his shoulders last season suddenly came to light.

At every game you saw live, you noticed it even more. Perhaps that was a knowledge that Roy wouldn’t ever have now, but only saw over VTs.

During the final week of January, you grabbed lunch with Sam. Sat opposite him in a small Richmond cafe, something lurked in the air. He scanned his menu a dozen times before he picked something, and smiled whenever he caught your eye, but you knew something was up.

“Hey.” You reached across the table and grabbed his hand. “What’s up?” you asked sincerely.

Sam let out a long sigh, and his shoulders collapsed. “Truthfully, I cannot pinpoint it. We are doing well in the FA Cup, the days are starting to get longer, yet I feel this immense pressure that I cannot explain.”

“Hey, it’s okay.” You squeezed his hand and smiled. “Richmond are under a lot of pressure. I’m not surprised that you’re feeling it as a player.”

“It’s Isaac, too,” Sam said smally. “He has not been himself for a month now. We’ve tried to help him, to reassure him and show him how hard we’re working, but it doesn’t seem to be sinking in.”

You retracted your hand and went for your glass of wine instead. “Hm,” you hummed.

Sam’s eyes widened. “You’ve noticed it too, haven’t you?”

You nodded, taking a sip from your glass. “He’s overthinking it all. I can see it as clear as fucking day.”

“I know. I just wish he could see it, too, so he could start easing the reins. He has been tough to be around, you know.”

“How so?”

“During debriefs, he yells at us. On the pitch it’s even worse. You saw him during our last game.”

You thought back to Richmond’s match from the week prior, where Isaac had started on Colin after a missed assist. He wasn’t himself in the slightest, and his team were trying and failing to deal with the repercussions.

“What’s Ted doing about it?”

Sam shook his head. “I do not know, but I hope he does something soon. We are up against Leicester City next week, and we need to be ready for it.”

You smiled at him apologetically, trying to offer hands on support. There was nothing you could do to fix this for the guys, which was always a hard pill to swallow. You missed them so vibrantly. Half of your days at work were spent thinking about the next time you’d get to watch them all play, or drop by during training, or see them like this with Sam; outside of the office or the stadium.

“Anyway– enough about football. How are you doing? How’s work?”

You grimaced immediately, but tried to hide it by taking a large gulp of your wine.

Sam saw through your facade, and frowned immediately. “Is it that bad?”

You slammed your glass on the table. “Define bad?”

Sam copied your grimace, but sat higher in his chair. “Come on, lay it on me.”

You sighed deeply, and readied yourself to word vomit all over the table. “It’s not even the hours, or the commute, it’s everything else. They delegate work to me like I’m two levels higher than my current position, and sure, it’s nice that they trust me for that, but what I’m paid hardly covers my job description, let alone the extra work. I have no time to write anymore, my boss is a creep, my colleagues never want to grab a drink after work anymore, the centre of London fucking sucks, and– well–”

You inhaled, paused, and exhaled again.

“It’s not AFC Richmond. It’s not you guys.”

Sam’s smile filled you with warmth, and it was his turn to reach across the table for your hand. He squeezed your fingers affectionately, and you thought about whether or not to tell him about Roy. It was probably best not to divulge everything to him, not because you thought he’d spill to the team, but because you were trying to move on still.

Still.

“You know you are always welcome at Nelson Road. We miss you too.”

“God, that just makes it worse.” You dropped your head into your free hand. “I know Rebecca would find a job at the club for me in a heartbeat, but Keeley has taken over my role and is so much better at it. She deserves the spot more than I do, and I just– I can’t fathom asking for favours.”

“What about Roy?” Sam asked, and your body stalled. You sat up straight, and slid your fingers away from him quickly.

“What about Roy?” you repeated.

“Is there nothing you could do for him? You know, a personal assistant, or his agent, or something like that.”

You snorted immediately. “Are you joking?”

Sam smiled in amusement. “I’m just saying it could be a good opportunity,” he joked.

“Oh, fuck off,” you huffed.

“You have always been an unlikely pair, you and Roy,” he said. “You make a good team. Plus, I have never seen someone put him in his place like you have. It takes a strong person to do that.”

“Enough,” you said, smiling. You finished off your wine and looked sadly at your empty glass. “I need another fucking drink.”

“Get a bottle,” Sam said. You perked your brows at him excitedly. “I have– what is it called?- gossip.”

“Sam Obisanya has gossip. What the hell has been going on?”

Sam shuffled on his chair in excitement, and your heart melted. You loved him so. “Keeley encouraged all of the players to get this dating app–”

“Bantr,” you said the name before Sam even could.

“Ah, she has got to you, too.”

“Long ago. But go on.” You rested your elbows on the table and dropped your chin into your hands, ready to hear everything.

“Well, I have been talking to someone.”

“Someone,” you repeated, widening your eyes.

“Yes. And, well, she is intelligent and smart and loves literature.”

“Awh, Sam!” You almost exploded out of your seat, too full of excited energy to care about others sitting around you in the cafe. “Have you met up yet?”

“No, not yet. But I hope to ask her soon. The guys are being very supportive.”

“Well, you’ll have to tell me all the gory details when you finally meet up.” You grinned at him mischievously, and he slapped your arm playfully.

“I don’t kiss and tell!”

“For me, Sam Obisanya, you will kiss and tell.”

For the remainder of lunch, you and Sam gabbed like you’d known each other since you were children. It always felt foreign whenever you were reminded of just how little time had passed. You’d only known the guys for less than two years, yet Richmond and the team had become your home. You’d only known Roy for that same amount of time, and… well. Look what happened there.

In fact, not to your knowledge, these same thoughts littered the minds of every member of AFC Richmond alike, every once in a while. For Rebecca, she thought of her departure from Rupert, and how much she’d grown in that time without him. For Keeley, she thought of her career, and what else she could do to open doors for herself as a businesswoman. For Isaac, he thought of his leadership, and how he’d never be able to replace the likes of Roy Kent.

And for Roy– he thought of you, and what he’d halted before it’d even started. He thought of Richmond, his old team, and what he’d left behind after he’d all but abandoned them.

Secretly, Ted thought of Roy, too. He thought of picking up his phone and texting him, he thought of asking for his help while Isaac struggled to see the bigger picture of the game. Ted’s thoughts soon became reality, and then it was too late to take back the text that he chose to send to the ex-Richmond captain.

A few weeks later on your way back from work one Friday, battered and bruised both physically and metaphorically, you caved. You got out your phone and clicked the call button next to Roy’s name, not even thinking twice about it.

He picked up on the first ring.

“Hey,” he said softly, as soft as Roy Kent could possibly say anything.

“Hey,” you spluttered, smiling to yourself.

“Hey,” he repeated, both of you at a loss for words just a tad. You hadn’t called each other many times, and never without a warning text beforehand.

“We should probably stop saying ‘hey’ before it becomes an endless cycle.”

“Hey,” Roy said again, and you giggled down the phone. “What’s the occasion?” he asked.

“Long day– week– at work, and I’m in desperate need of a drink with someone that doesn’t care about useless things like gossip, or shit reality telly, or… or…” Your mind went blank.

“Two-in-one shampoo and conditioner.” Roy finished your sentence.

“Exactly! Useless!” you exclaimed.

“A drink sounds lovely,” Roy began. “But, I can’t tonight.”

You stopped walking suddenly, overcome by disappointment. You swallowed back the urge to cry just a little, but crying about Roy being too busy this evening to go for a pint was fucking crazy. You weren’t crazy, and you blamed it all on the general lack of sleep and emotional trauma from your fucking day job.

Instead, you opted for a joke. “Got a hot date?” you asked, panicking slightly. Roy growled lowly. Evidently, it had not been funny. “Okay, so no date, then.” You attempted to save yourself.

Roy thought to himself, sat on his sofa in his gym gear about to leave his house– what could he actually tell you? This evening, he’d agreed to meet Ted and Isaac to impart some wisdom onto them in an attempt to help Richmond at their next game. This was the closest Roy had come to being around AFC Richmond since he’d retired, and he knew you’d latch onto that idea immediately.

Perhaps, a lie was best. Perhaps, it was easier this way.

“No, you’re right,” he said convincingly. “I am going on a hot date.”

“Oh,” you let out. You didn’t mean for it to sound so sad, or for your voice to be so coarse. It just slipped out like that. You coughed dryly. “Oh, right!” you exclaimed, trying to save this trainwreck of a conversation, and a poorly made joke that you couldn’t actually believe was real.

Roy was dating. Four months since he’d shut you and he down, and he was back to dating.

“I need to go soon, actually.” Roy knew he’d fucked up. “But– how about next Friday?”

Truth be told, you’d love to say yes to his offer. Inside, however, you were deeply raging. It wasn’t the fact that you hadn’t had sex in borderline two years, or that Roy had moved on far quicker than you had since before Christmas, it was because he actually had a fucking date. And you didn’t.

Or, perhaps, you did.

“I can’t,” you blurted. “I actually have a date, too.” Jesus, you should have gone to school for Drama. You started walking again as you felt something that resembled confidence surge through you. You wouldn’t let Roy win, not this time around. Sure, there was nothing there anymore in ways of romance or more, but there was still competition.

“Oh, right.” Without meaning to, Roy said exactly the same as you had.

“He’s not much of a football fan, either. It’s quite refreshing.” You lied.

Roy stood up from his sofa as fast as humanly possible. “What?” he almost bellowed it. “Well, he sounds boring as fuck. Great job.”

“Well, my previous experiences with footballers haven’t exactly gone perfectly, have they?” you said smugly.

Roy short-circuited in his living room. To anyone that saw him from outside, he’d look like a statue about to fall off its perch. “I– well. You–”

“Am I wrong?” You knew you’d got to him.

Roy breathed in deeply through his nose. “No. Now fuck off,” he said sternly. “Have a good evening.”

“Have a good date!” you yelled in amusement, before Roy hung up the phone immediately after.

You strolled back from Richmond underground station with a smile on your face. With each passing day, things between you had got easier. In some weird way, talking about dating other people had allowed a barrier to descend. Friends. Good friends. You were content with that.

The Saturday after, you entered the Dogtrack on a particularly cold afternoon in February. The air cut you deep to your core, but the buzz of electricity from the approaching match was enough to warm you. AFC Richmond were still very much contenders in the FA cup, but McAdoo’s captain tactics had still been subpar at their last game.

As you made your way to the home box, you prayed that he’d eased the reins. Football was a game after all, and you missed seeing that spark in Isaac’s eyes whenever the ball came into his corner. Rebecca and Keeley were talking away as you sat in your seat, too engrossed in conversation to notice your arrival.

“Ted said it was a success, so I guess we just have to believe him,” Rebecca said.

“Good on Roy, though! It’s been fucking months since he’d even stepped foot on a proper football pitch,” Keeley said jovially.

“What’s this about Roy on a football pitch?” you questioned, crossing your legs to get comfortable. Keeley twisted herself to face you happily, wrapping her arms around your neck in greeting. “Hi, babes,” you whispered to her fondly.

“Roy didn’t tell you?” Rebecca replied. “Last Friday, he helped Ted with the Isaac problem.”

Keeley sat back in her seat once more, tightening the Richmond scarf around her neck warmly. “We’ve nicknamed it the Isaac problem. Seems fitting, don’t you think?”

Last Friday. Last Friday night. You sighed heavily and raised your shoulders to your ears from a lack of what else to do. “Well, I’m sure Ted was a very hot date,” you muttered.

Rebecca and Keeley caught eyes confusedly. “What?” they said simultaneously.

You waved your hand at them. “Nothing. I’m just an idiot. Nothing new.”

Keeley found your hand quickly. “Everything alright, babes?”

You nodded at her, softening your expression. “Yeah, yeah. Just been a long few weeks at the office.”

“God, you need to get the fuck out of there.” Rebecca crossed her legs strongly, raising her chin. “You know, I could speak to admin and see if there’s space–”

“Rebecca,” you interrupted her.

She waved her hand this time, brushing off your sternness. “I know. It’s fine.”

“Let’s just watch the match, okay?” you leant over Keeley to grab Rebecca’s hand. “It’s positive that Roy helped Isaac out, he’s got heaps of experience being captain here to have done something. And it’s… well.” You smiled to yourself. “It’s good that he’s back around the game a bit more, isn’t it?”

Rebecca patted your palm. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

The three of you settled into your seats in comfortable silence, feeling the growing roar of fans as the time until kick-off loomed ever closer. You surveyed the pitch before you, noticing the thin layer of frost on the green grass, the white breath of ten-thousand fans, the blue tint of the sky as if colour graded by an expert film editor.

You always associated the Richmond team colours with one person, not the entire team as a unit: Roy. It was Roy you’d first met almost two years ago in that car park out the front of the training facility. Sure, he was wearing black as is his custom, but when you’d spotted him in his football kit on the field, the colours were forever imprinted behind your eyelids. The reds and blues all over the Dogtrack, the blue letters on Ted’s believe poster, the number six above Roy’s all cubby. He was everywhere. He was everywhere around you.

But, he wasn’t here today. He hadn’t been to an actual Greyhounds’ game since his retirement. He hadn’t stepped foot on the grounds, or spoken more than a few chaste words to Ted and Beard in the city– he’d only really spoken to you. And you weren’t a part of Richmond anymore, not really. You didn’t have an office a few doors down from the locker room anymore, you didn’t have lunch with Rebecca with too much wine involved for a working day, you didn’t have Roy.

All of a sudden, your chest compressed painfully. Your heart rate accelerated, your breathing spiked. You felt sick, ill, like you could easily sit on the cold concrete of the stands and never stand up again. You didn’t know why it’d taken you so long to realise that everything had changed, and you could have sworn you’d felt the shifts from last year when they’d all happened. If that was the case, then why now, why here, did you feel so utterly alone that you could hardly stand it?

You’d moved past this! You’d settled somewhere new, with new people, in a different, grey part of the city. You’d adapted to the ways you’d still fit in– lunches, quick drinks, impromptu visits to Roy’s or Mae’s or Keeley’s or whatever. That’s how it all worked for you, and it had been doing so since last year. So, why now?

“Babes.” Keeley grabbed your hand swiftly. “Are you okay?” she questioned, but you didn’t have the emotional capacity to look her or Rebecca in the eyes. You knew you’d burst if you did.

“Darling.” Rebecca leant closer to you. “Breathe. Just breathe, sweetheart.”

They watched as you broke down in the stands again, not four months after Roy had broken things the first time. Now, this was a different ball game. Complete and utter rejection of the life you thought you’d finally made for yourself, by yourself. A life that wasn’t actually what you fucking wanted anymore. It was all shit. This was all shit.

You sucked in a stuttering breath. “I don’t think I can be here right now,” you said coarsely.

Rebecca and Keeley nodded quickly. “Okay, what do you need? To go inside? To wait for the game to be over?” Rebecca said.

“To go.” You gulped down a large breath. “To go now.”

“Okay,” Keeley said strongly. “Go, babes. Do what you need to do.”

You got up as quickly as you’d sat down, and started towards the inside of the stadium. You moved slowly, needing to clutch your hand to your heart at the halfway mark just to make sure it was still beating. Anyone could see this was a panic attack, but you didn’t want to admit that things had gotten this bad. The culmination of everything finally hit you in the face. Innately, you’d known this was going to happen, but you didn’t think it’d happen here. Your home.

The crowd growing louder didn’t exactly help, but when they cheered suddenly at the teams arriving on the field, you could feel the vibrations within you. You could feel your blood, your flesh, your heart beating. You shut your eyes and breathed it all in, not daring to turn around and look at the pitch.

Then, the cheering increased. They were screaming, yelling, exclaiming, doing whatever football fans did when something big happened. Had someone scored already? That wasn’t possible– kick-off was another thirty seconds away.

“Oh my fucking God!” Keeley jumped up from her seat immediately and bound towards you. “Babes.” She gripped your shoulders gently. “You might want to turn around.”

“I just need a minute,” you said, calming down slightly.

“No, I think you’re really gonna want to see this,” she tried again. “Come on, just one small look, and then you can go wherever you need to go for some peace.”

Reluctantly, you followed her instructions. You turned back towards the pitch, overseeing the players in their starting positions, the ball not yet in play. The fans weren’t yelling at the team, they were screaming at something– someone– else.

As your eyes focused, you realised what you were seeing.

Adrenaline spiked through your blood, as invigorating as an ice pick to a frozen heart. You lunged towards the home box wall, gripping your fingers over the edge as you looked down at him. As if on cue, Roy Kent tilted his head to the stands in search of you. When he found you, he stopped. He smiled. Your frozen heart shattered instantly.

“I’ll be right back,” you told Rebecca and Keeley. Then, quite stupidly, you jumped the wall of the home box and into the stands.

“Hey!” Keeley.

“Be fucking careful!” Rebecca.

As soon as your feet hit solid concrete, you ran down the steps of the stands without a second thought. That’s when you heard it all– his chant.

He’s here, he’s there, he’s every-fucking-where, Roy Kent! Roy Kent!

It echoed throughout the pitch like a homecoming song. It hadn’t been heard here since last May, when Roy hobbled off the pitch during his last game of football ever.

“Roy!” you yelled. You didn’t think he’d hear over the immense noise, but he turned back to you immediately. Almost like he’d been listening out for you this entire time.

Roy paced it to your side of the stands, past Ted and Beard, past the guys on the pitch, past the incessant roar around him. You did the same, descending more stairs each time you stepped forward. When you reached the last few, you jumped them, bombarding into the locked gate at the bottom barrier.

Roy caught you by the shoulders before you folded in half like a lawn chair. His grip sprouted those same colours in your mind– blue, red, blue, red, blue, red.

“Thanks for dropping by,” Roy said, smiling so excitedly that you could hardly believe what was happening.

“I could say the same for you, you know,” you replied, utterly overcome.

“Turns out I missed it here. Just like you, I missed it here.” His thumbs gently rubbed your shoulders, sending shivers down your spine.

“We missed you, too.” You wrapped your fingers around his forearms, just as an excuse to hold him a bit longer.

“Coach!” Ted yelled from twenty metres away. You caught his eye quickly, and you knew the game was about the start. Roy heard him, too, but didn’t move a muscle.

“Go. You have a team to coach.” You pushed Roy ever so slightly, just a small nudge to remind him of where and what he was. A coach at AFC Richmond. “Go!” you chuckled, pushing him gently in his chest this time.

Roy sent you one last colossal smile, then dipped forward to place a warm kiss on your cheek. He bound away as soon as he had, and jogged back to Ted, Beard and Nate at the sidelines. The stadium erupted as the whistle blew, signifying the start of a new era for the Greyhounds, and perhaps– for you, too.

Tag list: @atjamesbbarnes @20th-centu-fairy-girl @royalestrellas @weakmoony-stuff @ironmanmagnetfridge @lemonpiegurll @hellomagicalsouls @her-fandom-sanctum @gothicwidowsworld @old-enough-to-know-better73 @djarindroid @afraidofshrimp @respondingtoshowerthoughts-blog @queen-of-dumbasses @sogoodtoheritsvicious @lznnph1l @crav1ngc4ke @onceuponaoneshot @jamieolivia27 @dadbodfanatic-x @kelp-dreaming @harrypedro465 @lonely-escape-artist @abeeabeeabee @nicklet94 @libsybum @cha0sdreaming @toomany24s @kashee-h @infinetlyforgotten @secretnook @cluelesslilsharkie @callmecasey81 @deepdarkvelvet @twiceinabluemoon @cardeegans @golden-hoax @kingleahhh @hoalkk1 @sunderland-6 @ellouisa17 @thesestrangerslikeme @elissaaa @scrumptiousroadponymoney @confessionsofatotaldramaslut @ysmmsy @seacactusplant @pedritosgirl2000 @loveslide @ryleyrooroo @hanybunch @tweasley20 @witchyanya-7 @sareim123122 @jaymum @lwritesstuff @kravitzwhore @preciousbabypeter @blue-bujo @dark-academia-slut @imsupposedtohaveaname @tigolebittiez @strawberry07cake @eugene-emt-roe @dd122004dd @marjorieisreading

#roy kent x reader #roy kent x you #ted lasso #lightyaers #ao3 #take care fic #update #hiatus ended #fanfiction #ff #ted lasso ff #roy kent #brett goldstein #wattpad #slow burn #enemies to friends to lovers #writeblr

155 notes · View notes

sofasoap · 4 months

Text

Teddy Bear - 3

Pairing: John Price x F! Reader

Summary: Just as you thought he ghosted you.. he turned up.

Warning: M Theme. Angst talk. Canon, what canon? what happend at end of Mw3 never existed, nor happend.

A/N: I was so blocked for .. oh gosh, seven months. and Thanks to @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world, it suddenly unblocked. This is for you, Aunty Bear.

John Price Masterlist

Masterlist

You look at the man standing in front of your door. Stunned that he appeared at your door step in the middle of night.

“Hi.” Oh how you miss his deep rumbling voice.

Why is he here now?

November. Christmas, New Year. February.

Not a single call or text message from him since October.

You sighed after throwing the phone down and curled up in bed. You haven’t heard from John after the night you stayed at his place.

Has he ghosted you? Or has he decided you are too much for him to handle.

You know it was too good to be true.

You tried to move on from this short romance.

But even your niece and nephew can see how dejected you have been since their aunty’s “Furry boyfriend” hasn’t made an appearance for the last few months.

But here he is. With a single rose in his hand, together with a little teddy bear who’s holding a small bunch of flowers itself.

“I am sorry… for going M.I.A for the last few months.” he apologised as he shifted on his feet. “It has been. Quite an ordeal.” he sighed.

“You.. alright? Is everyone alright?” you asked, eyes flitting. His frown seems deeper than usual (your niblings often joke how he can squash a fly between his brows),the fresh cuts and healing scars on his face, the fatigue, as if life has drained out of him.

You immediately notice the way the twitches subtly everytime he moves his left arm.

Shaking your head as you bring yourself out from the whirling thoughts and observation, you realise you are letting an injured man standing in the cold. “Oh how rude of me. Come inside.” You took the flower and the teddy bear off him and stepped back and let him into the flat.

John looked around your cosy little granny flat. A small kitchenette, living room area, and the bedroom just off to the side. Bits of trinkets here and there, and hoards of photos on the wall. Your sister gave you the free reign of making his place yours, with promises that you don’t burn the place down with wild parties.

“Make yourself comfortable on the sofa…. Would you like tea? coffee, or ..” Or me? That silly little joke flashes across your mind but you mentally slap yourself. Not the time to make such a joke, you idiot. “I don’t think you can drink any alcohol with…” you asked as you wave towards his shoulder. He shook his head. “Tea would be fine, thank you.” he replied.

You nodded your head before putting the gift on the small dining table and started the kettle.

You could feel John’s eyes on you as you fret around the kitchenette to put the rose into a little vase and make the tea for both of you. Staring at you. Drinking you in. As if to make up for the last four months that he hasn’t seen you.

You handed him the cup of tea as you sat down beside him. The only sound in the room was the clock on the wall, ticking away as the two of you started sipping on the tea, not knowing how to start the conversation back up again.

“I.. we.” he paused for a second, gripping tight onto the mug as he stared across the room. “It’s been a close call. As you can see.” He laughed bitterly. “We nearly lost.. One of the boys.”

Your breath hitched. John talks fondly of his subordinates. From the one time you met them, they are a lovely (scary, but friendly) bunch The boys are almost like sons to him.

John never went into exact details about what his job entails. You knew he was in the military but he never went any further than that.

“My hands are not clean.”

You cock your eyebrows. “Are you a hitman?”

He chuckled. “Not that sinister. I am in the military.”

“Dangerous job.” you hummed as he nodded his head.

He looked down at his tumbler glass, gently swishing the ice and the whisky around. “But…someone has to do the dirty work.” he mumbled.

“I.. I am sorry to hear.”

You were slightly confused by his response, you remembered. But now, come to think of it, all the dots connect, with how tight lipped John is about his job, the injuries. His previous comments, the little stories here and there the boys told you about during the first meeting, you have guessed they are probably in some sort of elite unit in the army.

Never guaranteed to live until the next mission.

He shook his head, not replying. You reach out to put a hand on his thigh, not quite sure what else to say, or do. Without shifting his gaze, he let go of the grip on the mug and covered your hand with his warm callous hand, seeking for more comfort.

“Stay?” You broke the silence after a while, begging him. Silently wishing he can hear the pleading in your voice. After months of not having heard or seen him. You need him. And maybe, he needs you too. “Stay for the night. Please.”

He slowly turned his head, and looked you in the eyes. The sadness in it. you have never seen him like this before. He is a Captain. The commanding presence. The rock of the team.

Always calm and collected.

But who is the anchor for him when he is lost?

John held tight onto you in his sleep that night, like his life depends on it. Nozzle his head into the crook of your neck. You felt his body finally give in as you gently stroked his hair, occasionally dotting him with kisses. When was the last time he had a peaceful sleep?

“Aunty Bear? OH Furry uncle!!!” The high pitch yelling and something jumping onto the bed startled the two of you awake.

“How.. How did you two get in!” You gasped as you struggled out of John’s iron clamp that held you close all night. “Careful don’t touch John’s arm —” you warned as the two children started to clamber around the poor man.

“Mum gave me the key.” Your nephew pointed out before he turned towards John, who finally let you out of his grasp and slowly sat up. “Mum wants us to wake you up because you are late for breakfast.”

Oh lord. You were glad the two of you are still somewhat… presentable. You in your PJs and John.. in his boxer. At least we are not naked. You also totally forgot you were supposed to make pancake breakfast for your niblings.

“Hello you two little rascals..” Price chuckled, ruffling the two children’s hair. “How have you two been?” he asked in a tired voice.

“Good! Oh… what happened to your shoulder??” Your niece’s smile dropped as she spotted the bandage around John’s shoulder. “Did some bad people hurt you?”

John looked at you, and turned back to the little girl. “You could say that.”

“Does it hurt?” she poke it with her little finger while asking.

“Lizzy, it WILL hurt if you do that.” Her brother warned as he pulled his sister back. Lizzy pouted and turned her attention to John’s chest. “Oh, you got a furry chest too. Just like my dad…”

“Ok, you two, shoo off the bed, and tell your mother I will be over there in ten minutes.” you interrupted and usher your niblings off the bed and out of the room. The two groaned but quickly scrambled off the bed and ran towards the front door.

“Lock it before you leave too!!” You shouted.

“Is that how they wake you up every weekend?” John smiled, as he leaned back into bed and smiled at you.

“Um. Sometimes…” You blushed, and you don’t even know why you are blushing. The two of you slept together before. Well, purely sleeping. Not… in the … intimate sense. And you have seen his chest as well. It’s not like you have not been with men before. “We. um, better get out of bed, the kids seem to be hungry for breakfast.” you fidgeted, trying to cover your embarrassment. “Would you like to .. stay for breakfast? I am very good at making pancakes..And I promise you there will be different berries and even creams to go with it too. And honey, or maple syrup, whichever one you fancy…” you rambled on.

“If it’s not too much of a bother.”

You quickly shook your head. “Never. Never a bother.” you look into his eyes, with sincerity. Hoping he will understand the other meaning behind your words. He slowly reaches out, cupping your face with his uninjured hand, and caresses your cheek with his thumb, before looking down at your lip and back up to your eyes, silently asking for permission, before leaning in to give you a gentle kiss on the lip.

“Thank you.”

“Did you two…..”

“ NO sis, NO.”

“Then what took you two so long then. You said ten minutes…”

“SHUSH.”

Tag list: ( I am just tagging who ever requested to be tagged at the last chapter and also who responded...let me know if you want to be taken off the next chapt's list thank you :) )

@a-small-writer-in-a-big-world

@homicidal-slvt

@okayyadriana

@cumikering

@siilvan

@devcica

@nrdmssgs

@gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot

@glitterypirateduck

@mmyrrhh

@whydoilikewhump

@crazymela

@makayla-666

@alypink

@merkitty49

@arminarlertssword

@ateliefloresdaprimavera

@roosterr

@okamimarta

@liyanahelena

#call of duty #john price x f!Reader #john price x reader #john price imagine #john price #captain price #sofasoap writes

182 notes · View notes

cevansbrat0007 · 9 months

Text

Cross-Country Christmas (Teaser)

Summary: After Ari is left stranded by a surprise winter storm, you find yourself wishing for a little Christmas miracle...

Warnings: Mature Themes, Angst, Ari Being A Menace, Holiday Themes, Smut, Arguments, Spanking (mentioned), Pet Names, Cursing, More Warnings to Come Minors DNI

A/N: This is only a TEASER, the longer fic is coming soon. Part of my Sweet Renegades Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

8:30am on Christmas Day - Bell’s Creek, Texas

“I promise I’ll be fine, Beast.” Drying your tears, you crumble up your tissues in your fist before discarding them in favor of taking a sip of your coffee. “Like you just said, there’ll be other holidays. And certainly other Christmases.”

Ari was still stuck in Omaha. And while you had suspected this call was coming, you hadn’t been prepared for how much the disappointment would affect you.

By all accounts, your Bounty Hunter appeared to be in good spirits, albeit a little tired. He was still on standby, even though all flights were still grounded indefinitely. But you’d at least been happy to hear that he’d somehow managed to catch a few hours of sleep.

Not only that, but he’d also made a new friend in some guy named Clint. They apparently had a number of things in common, with the most important being that they’d both served overseas. Ari had also alluded to his new buddy being in law enforcement as well.

But if you were being honest, you’d been so focused on trying to sound positive that you hadn’t quite been able to focus on his words as much as you would’ve liked. Thankfully, Ari seemed keen on having a conversation – even if it felt a bit one-sided.

“The airline keeps offering to put us up for the night. Anyone who accepts will be guaranteed a spot on one of the first flights out.” Ari coughs softly before continuing. “However, if you’re willing to wait a little bit there’s talk about them sweetening the deal with some sort of voucher or somethin’, plus miles and all that shit.”

“Oh?” Is all you can manage, forcing yourself to take another pull of your now lukewarm coffee.

“Yeah. So, Clint and I were thinking…” He trails off, briefly leaning away from the receiver to comment on something you couldn’t see.

“You two were thinking…what?” Your next sip of coffee tastes surprisingly bitter on your tongue. Maybe you would dump out the pot and brew a fresh one.

“That we should take ‘em up on their offer and just ride this storm out. We take the points, get the voucher, and then maybe in a month or two, we go on a vacation together somewhere nice.”

“You and Clint?!” You screech, accidentally knocking over your mug in the process. “Shit!” You scramble out of your chair to grab a dish towel and hurriedly mop up the mess.

“Hate to break it to ya, baby, but Clint’s not really my type.” The Bounty Hunter chuckles into the phone. “I was talking about me and you, Bird. We can pick a destination and have ourselves a holiday do-over.”

A beat goes by before you respond the only way that makes any real, logical sense. Even though it seems to take every last bit of your resolve.

“Okay.” Your voice comes out small and resigned.

“Aw now, don’t fret. I’ll be home soon.” Ari does his best to reassure you. “And once I’m back, we will spend every waking minute making up for lost time. You have my word.”

Well, when he put it like that…

“I guess we can hold off for a little while longer.” You sniff, wishing you could just go back to bed and sleep until tomorrow. “But you had better keep your promise, Beast. Otherwise I’m gonna have to track down Santa and ask him for a new man.”

Your half-hearted attempt at humor elicits a short bark of laughter from Ari which, in turn, makes you smile as well. It would be hard, but you could make it

“Try it, sweet Bird, and I’m telling you right now that I’ll have you in my truck and over my knee before you make it outta the next county.” Comes his gruff response, clearly not enjoying the image of you hanging off another fella’s arm.

You know without asking that he’s probably not kidding – so you decide to leave it alone. If he wanted to thump his chest a little, then you’d let him.

“It was a joke.” You tell him when the line falls silent. Standing, you pad towards the fridge on bare feet, stopping once you reach the doors. Yanking one open, you survey the contents, silently wondering if you should even be bothered enough to cook today. Granted, you’d already brined the turkey so –

“Joking about my replacement isn’t funny, Bird.” Ari growls, the sound rumbling from somewhere deep in his chest. “Especially when I can’t be there in person to plead my case.”

You blow out a harsh breath at the same time as your eyes roll heavenwards. Why couldn't he understand that you needed to crack wise here and there in order to keep from crying?

END TEASER

222 notes · View notes

first-edition · 10 months

Text

Modern! Sandor Clegane x Wife! Reader

Sum- Before you forget you give hound an early Christmas present. One that leads him to fucking you on the table.

Warnings

Breeding kink-Unprotected sex-P in V- rough sex- size kink- langerie-female parts- mention of oral sex (fem reciv.)- clit play- nipple play-married couple- military mention- modern!Hound.

NOT FULLY PROOF READ

THIS IS NOT INTENDED FOR THOSE UNDER THE AGE OF 18 READ WITH CAUTION AND HAPPY SMUTMAS.

Sitting on the couch a soft minky blanket thrown over your legs you watch the clock on the wall reading 9:34 pm.

“Here, love” he says, holding out a mug to you with a mountain of whipped cream on top. A smile is spread across your face as you take the cocoa mug into your hands instantly warming them.

He sighs and sits down on the couch next to you, his arm resting on the back of the couch. The way you're sitting your legs against you and you facing him he moves his hand to bring it to your legs pulling them down to rest across his lap. His large hand rests on your thigh.

“What time should we go to bed or do you wanna stay up and wait for santa!” you gasp sarcastically which makes him chuckle and shake his head.

“No i think we should wait for the home intruder.” he says now your turn to laugh as you set your mug down on the coffee table. You take him out of his hand and put it next to yours before you shuffle closer to him snuggling into his arm frame he relaxes as you wrap your arms around him.

His large muscular arms hold you close to him. He kisses the top of your head as you nuzzle into him.

You gasp pulling away before he can get comfy and you spring up.

“What's wrong?” He ask.

“I almost forgot your christmas” you giggle and get up off the couch.

“Love you can't give me a present now what Christmas day is tomorrow.” He says reaching out his hand for you to come back into his arms.

“No no hold on it’ll just take a second i gotta wrap it.” You and smile hurrying out of the room to your shared bedroom where you hid the present for him far behind the closet. Stripping out of your clothes you begin to dress in the small lingerie you and Margarey had picked out.

“Okay! Clothes your eyes!” You call from the room. You hear him chuckle assuming his eyes are closed. You walk back down the hall, your feet padding against the finished wood flooring.

“Are your eyes closed Sandor?” You ask before coming into view.

“Yes little bird, they're closed.” He says using the nickname he gave you when you two were just friends.

You walk into the living room and you see him sitting on the couch, eyes closed.

“Okay open.” You say smiling he opened his eyes blinking a bit adjusting them to the beautiful sight that is you wrapped perfecting in lace and thigh high.

“Fuck…” is all he says as you slowly spin around making sure he gets every angle of you into his veiw.

“Do you like it? M-Margery helped me pick it out.” You shyly speak.

The view of you. Wrapped so nicely goes straight to his dick as it strains against his pants already has he stands up.

A blush creeps up onto your face as you see his bulge staring against his christmas themed swears pants. He walks up to you, his large tall figure towering over you, his hands gripping your waist pulling you into him with a gasp.

“You realize i gotta take you into the bed room and fuck you silly now hm?” He says lifting your chin. Up to look him in the eyes. That blush is now burning against your ears.

“O-or you could take me here.” You say a sudden burst of confidence rushing through you.

He takes his bottom lip between his teeth before letting it go. He picks you up with no effort and hurries to the table on the side of the room pushing everything off it, some of the glass decorations falling onto the floor and breaking before your back in against the table, the soft tablecloth shielding you from the cold wood.

His lips press against yours passionately in a rough needing kiss as you claw at his shirt before he pulls it off letting your hands explore down his toned chest feeling all his scars from being out in the field of military.

Your legs wrap around his waist pull his hips into yours feeling his erection straining against his pants.

“Ah- f-fuck Sandor.” You gasp out as he moves his lips to your neck and down to your breasts, his left hand gripping your break completely engulfing it giving it a squeeze drawing a moan out of you before he pulls the garment down your breasts bouncing nipples hardened at your arousal.

His mouth immediately attaches to one swirling his tounge around your hoarded bud licking and suckling. His other hand moves between you both pushing your panties to the side, his fingers rubbing up and down brushing against your clit causing you to moan out his name.

He groans into your nipple, the vibration causing a jolt through you. As you pull him off your breast and to your lips kissing your lips which he happily does. You feel him shuffle without breaking the kiss. He pulls away pulling back holding his large member in his hands pressing the tip to your entrance teasing you.

“Wrapped up nice a pretty for me huh baby?” He asks you to nod your body blush with pleasure.

“You know what the best part about a present is now don't you? Unwrapping it.” He says letting go of his cock and taking the panties in hand, ripping them apart from your bottom before doing the same to the bra.

“These can stay on tho.” He says giving your thigh a squeeze gesturing to the thigh highs you wear. He takes a hold of himself again lining up at you before pushing in both of you moaning.

“Fuck so good for always!” He exclaims his large hands on either side of your waist as he thrusts into you the visible bulge in your tummy.

“Fuck baby look at that.” He says pressing his thumb against the bungle as it shifts down and back with each of his thrusts. The feeling of him filling you so perfectly has you gripping the tablecloth scrunching the expensive fabric under your touch. Youre mouth agape as he fucks up into you.

“So fucking gorgeous.” He mutters moving his hand down his thumb pressing against your clit rubbing it causing you to clamp down around him.

“F-fuuck little bird yeah. You like that huh?” He says but all you answer with is an exhaled moan.

“S-s-Sandor ah, ahh. F-fu..” you babble on as he continues to fuck you so good.

“Wh-what do you want? Argh gotta fuckign tell me.” He huffs leaning down to you kissing your chest marking you up some more. One hand rests on your breast now massaging it as his thumb flicks and grazes over your nipple and the other that was once on your clit pulling your leg up over his large broad shoulder.

“C-cum in me. Ah p-p-please, cum in me.” You whine your word goes straight to his dick making him somehow harder than he already is. The feeling of your velvet walls wrapping around him perfectly squeezing him is better than any toy he used during college, or any other woman he’s ever had. Nothing compares to his wife’s cunt always ready and perfect for him and he sure as hell wouldn’t miss the opportunity to knock you up so everyone truly knows you're his.

NO amount of hickies could seal the deal even with the giant rock of a wedding ring he got. You men still approach you but your belly swollen with HIS kid would surely keep you all to himself. Even though he already has you on your back, babbling between wailing moans calling out his name.

If he had it his way, if he didn’t fuck you so rough sometimes, he’d have you every night. Not to say you didn’t love yours and his rough sex you were a bit sore in the morning so he’d always help you with eating you out in the morning. The way his tongue skillfully swirls around your clit and the way he makes you cum in 30 seconds to 2 minutes flat depending on how much he wants to elongate your pleasure.

Your orgasm crashes over you like a wave as your back arches and legs begin to shake. Your beautifully twisted face only hitting Sandor with the same feeling as he roughly thrusts up into you spurting as much cum in you as he can you feel as he pushes against your Ervin the feeling of him cumming in you causing a second orgasm out of nowhere.

Panting you catch your breath and carefully pulls out of you keeping your leg on his shoulder as he kisses your inner thigh. His semen dripped out of you only for him to push his semi hard dick back into you.

“No love gotta keep that in you cant let anything go to waste now can we.” He chuckles leaning down to your fucked blushed out face you shake your head smiling.

“Mm-mm '' you reply, pulling him to you, kissing his lips before he picks you up and walks out of the room down the hall into the bedroom where he’s determined to make you squirt.

#sandor clegane smut #Modern Sandor clegane x reader #sandor smut #sandorclegane #sandor the hound clegane #sandor x reader #sandor clegane #Sandor clegane x reader smut #husband Sandor x wife reader #JelsaSnowflakes1 Smutmas

149 notes · View notes

forever-once-gone · 1 year

Text

New Drabble! On The First Day of Christmas, My True Love Gave to Me...

This is a drabble! To read the first part click here! And please I hope you all read this since you guys seem to love this pair.

Pairing: Yandere!Namjoon x Reader x Yandere!Jungkook

Genre: Yandere AU, angst

Word Count: 3.2k

Summary: Before you had gotten kidnapped by your boss and his fiancé, you had to first meet the Mr. Jeon that you heard so much about. So, how exactly did your first meeting with him go? Well, why not reminisce about the last time you were truly free? When you were not yet locked to your unfortunate future of being added into your boss’ relationship.

Content & Warnings: Gender neutral reader, yandere themes, angst, Joon and Kook are in an established relationship, CEO!Joonie, stay-at-home-boyfriend!Kook, assistant!reader, polyamory, reader’s sexuality is nondescript, talks of violence, Jungkook wants to hurt the reader a lot during this, general discomfort, making out, use of pet names, reader being none the wiser to what the two of them are talking about as they continue to type away on their keyboard lol

Author’s Note: Hi hi! It’s been a while. I’ve been swamped with school and just haven’t been able to write anything for you guys lately. But today, I logged into Tumblr and saw some very kind reblogs and asks and I just wanted to write something for you guys! I really appreciate the kind comments and It really does fuel me to write for you guys. So here is a drabble for your guys’ favourite couple! I hope you guys enjoy seeing how Jungkook and the reader’s first encounter went. It’s funny cause Jungkook is like fuming and they’re just like “this guy seems stressed :(” and then they get chosen (kinda) to be pursued by Jungkook and Namjoon lol. I apologize for not having posted part two last Christmas, but I was honestly just really stressed around that time. And then I wanted to have this small inside Easter egg (?) for something in part two but then I realized it was kinda hard to explain without having a previous explanation for it. So this drabble worked out! It was a little incentive to add that little tidbit into this and maybe you’ll have a little “oh!” moment when you read something later on when I post part two (whenever that will be lol, don’t ask me, idk. I’m aiming for this Christmas). Anyway, I hope you enjoy this. I need to stop writing this author’s note, it’s has gotten too long anyways lol. So yeah, enjoy and let me know what you think!

Jungkook was fuming as he tapped his foot impatiently on the floor of the elevator, seething for the elevator to spit him out on Namjoon’s floor. He was gonna figure out what was going on with his boyfriend one way or another.

His dearest Joonie had refused his daily cup of coffee… again. For the past few weeks, Namjoon, the love of his life, had been eating everything during breakfast that Jungkook woke up oh so graciously to make for him each morning. Joon finished everything except his fucking cup of coffee. Some days he’d be kind enough to take a sip or two before leaving the still very full mug standing in its place on the dining room table beside his empty dishes.

Seeing the mug full of the coffee that Namjoon used to always say Jungkook made better than anyone else left Jungkook feeling insecure. Insecure and just a little bit angry. Okay, maybe a bit more than a little bit, he’ll admit. Okay, fine, he was boiling with fury. He hated to imagine that Namjoon was drinking coffee made by someone else. Because he knew for a fact, if Namjoon wasn’t drinking his coffee, then he was getting it from somewhere else ‘cause Joonie was never able to get anything done without his morning coffee. And knowing Joonie’s disdain for store bought coffee, Jungkook knew it had to be someone making it for him, homemade. And if he was drinking someone else's, that must mean that he was falling out of love with him and falling in love with this awful, boyfriend-stealing, shameless person. And Jungkook was gonna stop at nothing until he found who this fucking person was and got even. He was gonna win Namjoon back one way or another.

The ding-ing of the elevator woke him from his murderous thoughts just in time to see the doors open to the empty space that lead to his boyfriend’s office. Or at least, the once-empty area, because now, unlike the last time he’d come here about a month ago, there was a table placed just before the office doors. And behind that table was a person, who upon hearing the elevators open perked up from their computer screen to smile at him. This person had a sweet smile, kind eyes, and the smoothest voice as they asked him what they could do for him.

He walked up to their table, arms crossed over his chest as he analysed the person sitting below him. The person still smiling up at him even throughout the awkward silence as Jungkook left their question unanswered. The person was dressed nicely and they had a kind aura around them. Their workspace was covered in flowers from the flower shop that Jungkook knew Namjoon frequented. Usually, his Joonie brought home flowers only for him, but here was this new person who was now swimming between countless bouquets covering every free inch of their work table.

When they asked him what he wanted for the second time, he finally graced the person with an answer. “I’m here to see Namjoon.”

The person nodded their head, before prodding for more info. “Alright, and who might you be?” the person asked, turning to scroll through their computer, searching to see if they had accidentally double-booked their boss’ time.

“I’m Jungkook,” he began, back straightening in pride when he saw the worker tense up in their seat. “Joon’s boyfriend,” he concluded, mentally doing a mic drop, hoping that those words etched themselves in the worker's skin, the one who was stealing his Namjoon from him. He hoped it hurt.

What he didn’t expect is for the worker to turn back to him after X-ing out of the calendar that they had been frantically scrolling through, before turning to him with a polite smile.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Jeon,” the person began, “I think this is the first time we’re actually meeting in person. I’m Y/n L/n, Mr. Kim’s assistant. I just got shifted up to this floor about a month ago from my previous place a few floors down.” You reached your hand out to him for him to shake, just for him to completely ignore it, not even glancing in your hands direction.

“Yes. I’m sure he’s mentioned me before.” Jungkook was gonna make sure that you knew that Namjoon was his, no matter how nice you pretended to be.

“Yes, he has,” you replied pleasantly. “And of course, I’ve spoken with you before too, if you recall?”

When he thought about it, he had spoken with you before. The few times he’d call Namjoon’s assistant when his boyfriend wasn’t picking up. He would pace in this same area, back when it was still empty and call the number for Namjoon’s assistant to know when he’d be free again. The conversations would be semi-mannerly, at best, as he would ask where his boyfriend was before hanging up as soon as he got his answer. He never expected the assistant, that he never spoke more than a few clipped sentences to, being the one who was stealing his love away from him.

That they would have been moved up to be on the same floor as his boyfriend.

The two of them.

Alone.

And when he saw two cups of steaming coffee on your table corner, one half finished and one still untouched, he knew that you were the one making coffee for his man. He felt deep hatred rise in his chest, bubbling up his throat, ready to let out his rage on the home-breaker in front of him.

But he pushed his feelings down before giving you a pursed smile. “Right. You sound different in person. I didn’t even recognize you.” It was true, he wasn’t expecting your voice to be as sweet as it was, though he could tell it was strictly professional. Even when you were so obviously putting on a kind smile for the sake of your job, your voice was so saccharine. He could only imagine how much more saccharine—sinful—your voice must sound when you were using it for your more devious desires.

Jungkook wondered if you’d ever used that syrupy voice on his boyfriend. Walked into his man’s office with your probably sub-par coffee between your hands. You were attractive, that he will give to you, but he hoped that Namjoon wouldn't think the same way that he did. He hoped that any attempts that you’d made on him were met with bitter rejection.

But seeing you surrounded with all the flowers, making your soft features look even more attractive—though he hated to admit it—he knew that Namjoon must feel at least something for you. Why else would Namjoon have gotten you all these flowers? Flowers that Jungkook indignantly noticed were his favourites.

You were perfect and that’s what made his heart hurt more.

In another life, maybe Jungkook would have fallen for you himself, he thought sorely.

You laughed at his remark about your voice. “I guess no one really sounds the same over the phone though, right?” You asked him. “I mean, you sound pretty different yourself.”

Jungkook felt his eye twitch. Was that a dig at him? Were you implying that he was being rude? Were you saying he was anything less than the kindest, best person in the world? He restrained himself from reaching over your desk and pulling your hair out, telling you how Namjoon always told him that he was the best person in the world. He wanted to tell you that you’d never compare to him in Namjoon’s eyes.

Instead of doing any of that, he decided it was better to just ask for his boyfriend. He had a few choice words that he wanted to have with him.

“So will you please tell me if my boyfriend is available?” he asked you, steering the conversation back to the original topic of conversation.

Your eyes widened. “Oh! I’m so sorry, Mr. Jeon. In my surprise of meeting you for the first time, I forgot to tell you that he’s in a meeting right now. He should be done in…” You turned to check the clock on the wall. “...in just about ten minutes.”

You turned back to the man in front of you who stood there with a small pout that you were sure he didn’t realize was there and you observed the way his eyebrows scrunched slightly together. It was funny to see how his overly expressive face had changed so many times in the little amount of time that he’d come up to you. Clearly something was bothering this poor guy, so you tried to be as nice to him as you could. Though it only seemed to make him look even worse.

“You can wait for him in the sitting area over there or you could wait for Mr. Kim in his office.” You left it up to Mr. Jeon choose what he’d rather do, only for him to scoff slightly.

“I’ll wait for him in his office,” he answered curtly. He began to walk away and you turned back to your computer only for him to step back up to you. He pointed at the mug sitting beside yours. “Is this for Joonie?”

“Uh yeah.”

“I’ll take this to him.” He gave you another half smile and one last glance at your pretty face before finally entering Mr. Kim’s and taking the suffocating aura that was surrounding him with him. You sighed in relief. You hated having to deal with this job, but the paycheque wasn’t anything to scoff at, and so you settled back into your chair and hoped Mr. Kim would get here soon.

Namjoon found Jungkook sitting in his chair when he returned from his meeting on one of the lower floors of the building. His younger boyfriend sipping on a cup of coffee that he recognized was the one that you usually set out for him. He could see Jungkook’s eyebrows furrowed in disgust, as he continuously sipped loudly from his drink.

Namjoon could tell immediately that his beloved was in one of his moods. He knew that he had to get control of the situation, and quickly, especially if he didn’t want you to overhear whatever Kookie was upset about.

“Hi, love. What are you doing here?” Namjoon rounded the table to press a kiss against Jungkook’s temple as he continued to sip from his cup.

“They make some good coffee, huh? I see now why you’ve been rejecting my coffee now.” Jungkook got right to his point. His voice was cold and he refused to look at his boyfriend as he set down the now empty mug.

Namjoon sighed. “Don’t be like that. I was just being kind to them. I didn’t want to upset them by not accepting their coffee.” He pulled Jungkook up from the chair momentarily before sitting down in Jungkook’s place. He then smoothly pulled his boyfriend to sit down sideways on his lap. He rubbed his large hand up and down Jungkook’s back, trying to calm him down.

“Oh really?” Jungkook shoved Namjoon’s arm away from him. “‘Just being kind’? What about all the roses on their desk?! I saw the labels on them, they’re from Sirf Ek Phool! The same place you always get flowers for me!” Jungkook folded his arms against his chest, stopping himself from beating his fists against his boyfriend’s chest like he wanted to.

“Honey, that is just because they take such good care of me—”

Jungkook’s eyes darkened, his mouth dropping open in disbelief. “Take care of you? Excuse me? Taking better care of you than me? Your boyfriend?! In which way is this assistant taking care of my boyfriend, hmm? Do I need to beat their ass?!” He began to push himself off Namjoon’s lap, eyes locked at the door with a barbaric look in his eyes.

Namjoon swiped a hand over his face, before pulling his boyfriend back into his chest, closer than he was before, his arms locking over his waist. “Love, you know that I love you more than anything else in the world. No other person could ever take your place. They are just very kind, I promise I’m not doing anything that would harm our relationship. I promise you.”

He pressed a kiss against Jungkook’s cheek, before pressing another against his jaw. He pulled a content sigh from Jungkook, and Namjoon knew instantly that he’d deescalated the situation. At least enough for Kookie not to go and murder his assistant. At least not right now.

“Why should I trust you?” Kookie let out softly in between whimpers as Namjoon nipped at his neck.

“When have I ever lied to you?” Namjoon said against his Adam's apple.

“Many, many times,” Jungkook replied.

Namjoon let out a half laugh against Jungkook’s shoulder, letting his forehead rest against him. “I guess I should clarify. When have I ever lied to you in a way that was bad for you?”

“Never.” Jungkook pulled Namjoon’s face to face him. “You always know what’s best, but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt.”

“Don’t be that way. I’m not asking you to be best friends with them or anything like that. Just give them a chance to be your friend.”

Jungkook thought for a second, thinking back to you sitting at your desk and your friendly nature. You weren’t that bad, and you were rather pretty… Ugh, couldn’t Namjoon just be clear with what he meant? Did he expect… more from you than just an assistant?

Jungkook’s bottom lip was jutted out in sadness, calling out to Namjoon with its plump red appearance. Namjoon was again taken aback by his boyfriend’s beauty and just how amazing he was for him. After all, look at him. Just a second ago, Jungkook was ready to beat up his assistant and now he was clutching Namjoon’s suit jacket’s lapels with a vulnerable look on his face. He looked so worried, waiting for Namjoon’s next words and his next course of action. Fuck, Namjoon loved that man.

He pulled his boyfriend in for a kiss, letting the shorter man melt into his embrace. He could taste your signature coffee on Jungkook’s tongue which only made Namjoon push his tongue more eagerly in his mouth. The taste of your coffee and the love of his life together making his head spin in ecstasy. His brain painted a picture of what could come if he was able to make this whole thing work.

He knew what he wanted, and he knew he’d get it.

Don’t mistake him for being selfish, oh no. He wasn’t doing this just because he wanted you. It’s because he knew that in due time Jungkook will fall for you too. He knew he would. He wouldn’t have to push it, nor would he have to force it. You were perfect for the two of them, he’d figured that out in less than 8 months of you becoming his assistant after the last one quit. You were incredible and he knew that you were just Jungkook’s type. He knew Jungkook and he knew that in less than a month he’d be just as smitten with you as Namjoon was with you now. Actually, Namjoon knows that Jungkook would be even more in love with you than he was now.

And with Jungkook now in his arms, Jungkook’s hands gripping the sides of Namjoon’s neck possessively, his thumbs pushing into Namjoon’s jaw. The way that Jungkook had finished your whole cup of coffee leaving nothing for Namjoon to even get a taste of, and how Jungkook despite his furious expression had the slightest bit of a flush on his face when Namjoon had first walked in, he knew that Jungkook already was falling for you.

Namjoon pressed one final kiss to Jungkook’s lips before pulling away.

Jungkook had a blissed out expression on his face, a soft smile etched on his features as his eyes remained shut in happiness.

“Do you really hate them that much?” Namjoon asked Jungkook, watching him carefully.

Jungkook slowly opened his eyes, a blush slowly making its way up his neck. He turned to look to the side, revealing his bright red ears to Namjoon. Jungkook thought back to your sweet voice, your pretty face, your kind smile, and the coffee you had made that he couldn’t get enough of even as much as he had wanted to hate it. He turned to glance at the empty mug on the table that he wished would refill on its own.

He waited for a minute before: “No.”

“But no more ignoring my coffee, you still have to drink mine! And you have to say that mine's better than theirs” Jungkook added.

Namjoon smiled. Perfect, he knew this would be perfect. He knew just how perfectly you’d fit in with his little family. How you’d fit in Jungkook’s heart. He knew the both of you very well. He was proud.

Namjoon forced Jungkook to turn back to him before attacking him with kisses again.

You turned to see Mr. Jeon skipping out of Mr. Kim’s office. You expected him to go directly to the elevator because of his short attitude with you earlier, but he instead turned to stand in front of your table once again. Smiling down at you genuinely for the first time since he first walked into the room.

You waited for him to say something, but when he didn’t, you figured you should say something instead. “All done?” you asked.

Mr. Jeon just nodded his head, which only made the newly blossoming marks on his neck more visible to you. “I had a sip of the coffee you made Joonie, it was good.”

“Oh thank you,” you replied, a bit taken aback by his sudden change from his previous conduct from before Mr. Kim had shown up. Mr. Kim had given you a small nod in greeting before entering his office when you’d told him Mr. Jeon was waiting for him. Mr. Jeon must really love Mr. Kim for his personality to do such a 180 after seeing him for just half an hour.

Damn, is that what love does to a person?

“I would like to have a proper cup the next time I come visit Joonie.” Mr. Jeon looked down at you expectantly. He seemed to be looking for something deep within you and when you agreed to make him a cup the next time you saw him, he seemed to have found whatever he was looking for.

He smiled at you though a bit hesitant. He pulled a rose from one of the vases of your bouquets, twirling it between his fingers. He seemed to still be a bit stuck thinking of something, but then he was turning away from you. He pressed the button calling the elevator, before turning back at you. “It was nice meeting you, Y/n. I hope we’re able to get to know each other more in the future.”

“Yes, of course!”

He waved the flower at you in goodbye before stepping into the elevator, flashing you one final bunny smile.

What an odd man.

Does 3k still count as a drabble? I have no clue. Anyway, thanks for reading! 💕💕💕

#yandere bts #yandere bts x reader #bts x reader #bts fanfic #yandere bts fanfic #yandere jungkook x reader #yandere namjoon x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #namjoon x reader #yandere jungkook #yandere namjoon #poly bts x reader #namjoon fanfic #Ev's writing #Ev's bts poly fic #fic: on the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me...

464 notes · View notes

blurredcolour · 2 months

Text

The Last To Know | Part Three

The Last To Know Masterlist

John Brady x Pilot!Female Reader

The 100th should be nearing the end of its training, receiving its certification for overseas combat. However, as you and Brady both know - man plans, god laughs. Obstacles, however, sometimes present hidden opportunities for connection.

Warnings: MAJOR Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe, Original Characters, Plane Crashes, Minor Original Character Death, Vomit, Era Typical Sexism/Misogyny, Alcohol Consumption, Tobacco Smoking, Canon Typical Violence, Language, Enemies to Lovers, Weapons of War, Inevitable Musical and Flying Inaccuracies, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.

Author's Note: This story contains an alternate universe where women have been allowed to fly in combat with the USAAF - in a very limited experiment. Reader is a trumpet player. Brief references to Reader's family and backstory. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 6135

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

December 1942

“Any news?” Thornton asked as she sank down into the empty chair opposite you.

Shaking your head, you lowered your eyes to the faintly steaming mug cupped between your hands, trying to calm the hopeful race of your heart. You had thought, in vain, she might be bearing word of Brady’s crew. “No Ma’am.”

She hummed in disappointment, settling back in her seat as she tossed her cap onto the tabletop, carelessness betraying her fatigue. In all honestly, you should be in bed. You, Thornton, and every other person loitering around the Officer’s Club this late on Christmas Eve.

“Well, Merry Christmas, Lieutenant.” She murmured, straightening her jacket as you took a slow slip of your drink.

Correction – this early on Christmas morning.

“You, too.” You sighed, the pair of you offering tight-lipped nods to Matthews, the barman on duty, as he delivered a cup of coffee for Thornton without prompting.

The forecast that afternoon had been clear skies, no reason to doubt the practice missions slated for the 418th. Not until the planes began returning within an hour or two of take off, bearing reports of abysmal weather – little to no visibility, high winds, heavy snow. All but one plane had returned by sundown.

It was not unheard of for things to go awry during training. Plenty of statistics outlined the dangers of just learning how to fly a B-17, never mind taking it into combat. But this would be the first for the 100th.

As to what you were doing here, participating in this vigil – that was certainly more complicated. A question you were not entirely equipped to answer. All you knew is that you had found it impossible to consider turning in the for night with the status of his entire crew unknown. Croz had proven himself a humble gentleman, Hambone more of an enigma, while Hoerr seemed polite enough – holding doors for any lady who crossed his path, no matter what her occupation.

Perhaps it was the question mark that hung over the fate of those ten men that left you feeling so unsettled, seeking the company of the likeminded in the brightly lit, uncharacteristically quiet Club. The sound of the door closing lifted your, and everyone else’s, head, your heart leaping into your throat as Flescher stepped into view. The entire crowd seemed to hold its collective breath, waiting on the 418th’s CO to speak, until Bucky sidled up behind him grinning broadly.

“Crash landed in Wyoming, all ten of ‘em are shaken up but fine.” Egan crowed, basking in the cheer of delight that went up from the collected officers.

Exhaling in relief, you sank lower in your chair, taking a deep sip to finish your drink as Matthews was quickly put to service pouring celebratory shots.

“That’s my cue.” You nodded to Thornton, standing wearily, feeling suddenly fatigued as the nervous worry that had been keeping you awake rapidly leeched from your body.

“Not staying to celebrate?” She quirked an eyebrow.

“I’m already up way past my bedtime, Ma’am. Merry Christmas.” You repeated with a nod, setting your empty mug on the return cart before sliding around the perimeter of the room to avoid getting ensnared in any raucous celebrations.

The night air was cold, sending your hands diving into the fleece-lined pockets of your jacket, breath misting from your lips as you made your way back to barracks. Getting ready as quietly as possible, adding a few more pieces of wood to the stoves before shuffling towards your bed, you turned to the rack beside yours as Lionheart whispered your name.

“Yeah?” You replied just as quietly.

“What’s the word?”

“Safe in Wyoming.”

“Mmm that’s good.” She murmured, voice laden with sleep as she turned over, falling still as she was soon unconscious once more.

Sliding onto your mattress and pulling the blankets right up to your chin, you swallowed tightly as you found yourself wholeheartedly in agreement. It was good that they were safe. Every single one of them. Even that irksome Brady.

They were back on base within two days, a new plane arriving for them just one day after that – war production had vastly improved, even in the last two months. They returned to a Group in the midst of packing up to move to yet another base, another phase of training.

Sioux City, Iowa was your next home, located at the convergence of the states of Iowa, South Dakota, and Nebraska. Arriving the very first day of 1943, the only warmth was in the greeting from the local ground crew, the 100th’s having split off to Kearney, Nebraska to receive their next phase of training separately. The temperature was all of nine degrees, the cold of the wind gnawing at any exposing skin and laying down thick sheets of ice on the runways.

Despite hygiene regulations requiring space between beds, everyone in the barracks found it a great deal warmer to sleep as close to one another as possible, cots pushed together, huddled under as many blankets as could be found, some even resorting to their high-altitude gear to get comfortable. The deep freeze held Iowa tight in its grasp and did not let go for the first week of January. Aircraft engines refused to start, more than a few personnel were injured due to slips and falls on the treacherous ice lurking beneath skiffs of powdery snow or deceptively coloured as black as innocuous concrete.

The 100th found itself grounded at the mercy of mother nature, the vast majority of your colleagues revelling in the proximity to the city and its numerous USO dances. You, yourself, found the lull in activity and purpose tedious.

Burying your nose into the fleecy collar of your flight jacket after yet another failed attempt at a practice mission, you parted ways with your frostbitten crew. The invitation to spend another afternoon in the women’s make-shift club poring over the haul of fashion magazines Nita had procured on her trip off base make your stomach turn and you eagerly pointed your toes towards the hangar to see what the boys in the ground crew were up to. While you might not be able to get up into the air today, you could at least spend time with experienced technicians and perhaps learn a thing or two.

Pulling open the heavy man-door, you stepped into the slightly warmer space where the sounds of repair and idle chatter bounced off the metal roof and walls. There were a few other officers in attendance, most likely longing to be in the air, same as you, but stuck here on the frozen plains with nothing better to do than watch the men in grease-stained coveralls dissemble engines and work on the guts of the machines they normally flew in.

There was one man, off to the side, with several open cans of paint, carefully working on some nose art on a rather spotless looking aircraft. Raising a curious eyebrow as you found painting to be a rather optimistic endeavour in these temperatures, you found your feet carrying you in his direction, peering over at the tail number. ‘42-300071’ you noted with a slight huff. Brady’s new plane, of course. At the sarcastic exhale, the unfamiliar man looked up to you quickly and you stepped closer to address him properly.

“Pretty sure you’ve got the lettering wrong there, Sergeant.” Your lips twitched playfully, watching him pale nervously as his eyes darted back to the three-quarters finished ‘Skipper.’

“M…Ma’am?” He squeaked out nervously, drawing the attention of several passers-by.

“That should most definitely read ‘Brady’s Crash Wagon.’” A grin snuck its way onto your lips as the hangar erupted with laughter, a rather perturbed John Brady stalking around the nose of the plane to eye you in annoyance.

Sinking your teeth into your lower lip, lest you burst out laughing, you could not help but notice that his cap was pulled low on his head, pushing his ears out slightly, giving him the appearance of an overgrown field mouse. Raising a shoulder in a half-shrug of nonchalance, you continued on your way towards an engine stripped of its parts, crouching down to watch the technician hard at work on one of the gears – a tiny yet integral piece.

“You’re a real cut-up, Bo Peep.” Egan beamed, clapping you on the shoulder playfully, driving that laugh that had been stubbornly hovering in the back of your throat past the barrier of your lips as you straightened to face him. You could not help but notice the faint-hearted laugh he produced, the fact that the expression did not quite reach his eyes.

“You ok, Major?” You murmured, referring to him by his recently promoted rank.

His eyes met yours, studying you for a moment before he nodded and offered a wink. “Just fine, Bo Peep. Stay warm, huh?” He patted your shoulder again before moving along, leaving you alone with your confusion and growing sense of unease.

A glance back over your shoulder at the flushed face of Brady, surrounded by his bright-faced comrades as they watched the final touches being put on the nose of his plane provided no insights. Bucky’s uncharacteristic moment of solemnity became did not become more understandable until Thornton cornered you a few days later with the news that Wing was reticent to certify the 100th for overseas combat. The lack of flying days here in Iowa, combined with the limited planes available at the outset in Washington, capped off with the disorderly transition from base to base – including one particular crew’s detour to Minneapolis to send a message via wrench dropped out of a machine gun port…well it had all raised a lot of doubts in the minds of your superiors.

“How bad are we talking here?” You murmured, leaning in closer as a few girls filtered by towards the showers. “A complete failure of the experiment?” Your throat clenched painfully around the words, feeling more than a little queasy at the thought that after months of hard work, you might be packing it up to head home anyway.

“Dutch doesn’t foresee it being quite so dire, just promise me you’ll keep your nose clean, Lieutenant. We’ve been perfect thus far, now we must be simply flawless.”

“Understood, Ma’am.” You nodded quickly, parting with a sharp salute, hurrying toward the Mess Hall to dig into some breakfast.

The warmth on the breeze, a sudden turn in the weather, was a hopeful sign and one that did allow you all to get back into the air. Your efforts to arrange Deep in the Heart of Texas for the 280th’s band to play for Thornton on her birthday, in honor of her home state, also proved an excellent distraction. While the vast majority of officers had absconded off base for one of the ubiquitous USO dances, you had taken up residence in the corner of the Officer’s Club, taking the record player hostage as the Ladies Club did not have one on this base. With your one purchased copy of the score, and multiple handwritten versions spread out on the table before you, Matthews groaned as you set the needle on the outside of the record to play the song yet again, wanting to read through the clarinet part you had just written out.

“I’m so sorry, I promise I’ll buy another drink in a moment and improve your sales for the night.” You glanced back over your shoulder at him apologetically, startled to meet the blue eyes of Brady, leaning up against the bar.

“Whatever you say, Lieutenant.” Matthews huffed good naturedly and you jerked your focus back to the task at hand as the voice of Bing Crosby, playing significantly quieter than usual, still managed to fill the basically empty club as your eyes traced along your penciled in notes.

As the song came to end, you lifted the needle, the tuneless scratching of vinyl ceasing, as you tapped your pencil against your lower lip in thought. The arrangement seemed fine in all honesty, but fine was most definitely not what you were aiming for with your birthday tribute to the inspiration for your entire squadron. Pulling the score for the trumpets closer you exhaled heavily, once again debating about which instrument ought to be carrying the melody in the second verse when a voice startled you from behind.

“Saxophones ought to be stepping out there.” Brady murmured thoughtfully, ice clinking against the side of his glass as he took a sip.

Shoulders stiffening nearly to your ears, you glared down at the page before you. “Of course you would say that; you spend all your spare time with a reed in your mouth.”

Huffing a little, he settled down, completely uninvited, in the chair to your left. “Look here, horn lady,” his annoyingly elegant finger jabbed into the sheet music, “you’re overlooking a powerful and impactful instrument that would add dimension to this section.”

Wrenching your eyes from his insistent digit to his stubbornly set face, his jaw jutting slightly forward, you began to regret referring to his mouth earlier as your eyes were tempted to drift there. “You forget that I only have two to rely upon.” You countered quickly, trying to distract yourself.

“Only takes one good saxophone to steal the show.” He replied with a minute smirk, slowly sipping his drink and making you grit your teeth before pulling the scores together.

Using your eraser, you made his suggested changes for the second verse, putting the saxophones in the spotlight and the clarinets on harmony, before setting it all in front of him. “You listen, I’ve stared at this far too long.”

Standing quickly, you set the song to play once more before stalking over to the bar, intent on fetching the drink from Matthews as promised. Assuming the lean Brady had occupied a few minutes prior, you were pleasantly surprised to see him still sat at the table, diligently reviewing the music before him as the song played. Paying and tipping Matthews handsomely as you accepted your beverage, your lips parted in surprise as Brady went to the lengths of setting the song to play again.

“Christ almighty, there are two of you now.” Matthews groaned bitterly and you shot him yet another apologetic grimace.

“Sorry, Matthews.”

“Whatever, just…I’ll be in the back doing stock if anyone needs me.” He sighed dramatically, tossing his towel over his shoulder and disappearing through the doorway behind the bar.

Returning to the table slowly, you swallowed to find Brady jotting down his thoughts on the back of a spare sheet. Resuming your seat carefully, so as not to disturb him, you froze slightly as he suddenly turned his gaze to you.

“It’s a fair start–” He began and so did your struggle to actually listen to the rest of what he had to say rather than immediately fight back defensively.

Though it utterly galled you to admit it, he made numerous good points. You had heard he was a professional musician, had done his degree in music, played with Bunny Berrigan. Hell, you had seen and heard him play yourself at that holiday concert. And his acumen was showing here again, right now. Swallowing your pride, as much as it painfully scraped its way down your throat, you forced yourself to take his advice, to make the changes. Until it came to your substitution for the claps during the refrain.

“I say keep them with the horns, but don’t play these notes, actually clap – you’ll get the audience to join in.”

Your pencil halted in place above your score, head jerking up to look at him. “You’d reduce us to percussion.” You said flatly, tone dripping with disbelief.

Sighing impatiently, he leaned back in his chair crossing his arms. “Fine, someone needs to clap. Your bandleader?”

Raising both your eyebrows, a laugh of disbelief escaped you. “Keever?! Oh that’s rich she’d…” your voice trailed off as you imagined her displeasure. How annoyed she would be at such a lowly job and yet how easily explainable it would be. A dark grin of delight tugged at your lips, and you nodded firmly, grabbing the clarinet score and making a special note, just for Keever.

“Once more, to be sure?” He asked around the pipe now clenched in his teeth, and you nodded firmly, laying the parts at an angle between the pair of you as he set up the record to play one more time, the heavy thud of a box being dropped on the bar sounding from behind you.

The pair of you glanced back to see Matthews disappearing back into the stockroom, muttering unintelligibly under his breath, before turning back to look over your handiwork, nodding along quietly as the song played before you leaned back with a sigh of relief.

“That’s it.” Brady nodded, turning off the record player, curls of smoke trailing from his lips.

Nodding as you finished the dregs of your drink with one deep swallow, you moved to assemble your papers into order, blinking as he held out the record for you to tuck away into its sleeve. Not quite capable of offering words of thanks to the man, you opted instead to provide a deep nod of gratitude, packing it away and heading out for the night.

The band had a week and a half to perfect the piece, using every available moment to practice. The unfinished pool, construction halted for the winter, proved to be the perfect space to keep the endeavour secret – though both yourself and Keever found it much harder to explained prolonged absences to Thornton. After one too many close calls, and one rather intense exchange involving a remarkable amount of perspiration for January in Iowa, you found it necessary to employ the assistance of Egan to keep her off the scent. The man proved more than eager and up to the task at distracting her with inane drabble or outright chaos as the situation warranted.

He was with her right now, distracting her with some meeting along with Dutch, Cleven, Kidd, Flescher, Alkire…at least you were desperately trying to convince yourself that was all it was – and not the dire news you had been praying would not come to pass. Andie shouted your name, drawing your eyes from the blur of music stanzas in front of you to where your Co-pilot was setting down a large slab cake with the assistance of Lionheart.

“Here??” She called again and you gave her the thumbs up through the clouds of balloons and streamers – the decorations having reached astronomic proportions under Bucky’s insistence.

Turning back to warming up, your attention was once again snagged by actions on the floor as Dutch hurried in with Cleven, sliding his blunt fingers into his mouth and giving a sharp whistle. “She’s two minutes out! Places!”

There were times when you questioned the military training of the members of the 100th, but this was not one of them. With surprising efficiency, all of those gathered, including the enlisted women with special permission to enter the Officer’s Club for the evening, quieted down and assembled along the sides of the room emptied of furniture to allow for the extra bodies. You barely registered the opening of the door before a great cheer when up, Keever turning to the band expectantly. Holding the opening note of Happy Birthday for a few beats until the crowd took the cue, she signalled with a bob of her head to proceed with the rest of the tune, the band playing as the crowd eagerly sang to the blushing woman as Bucky guided her to the over-sized cake on the bar.

There were more cheers, which then tripled in volume once she blew out the candles and then, at last, came time for your surprise. Taking a moment to wipe the sweat from your palms onto your olive drab skirt while the attention of the crowd was elsewhere, you took a steadying breath as Keever turned back to begin Deep in the Heart of Texas. As you had assumed, there had been a great deal of push back from her regarding the refrain claps, but you had done an admirable job selling her importance of that role as bandleader. And watching her eyes light up upon taking in the force with which the crowd executed those claps along with her convinced you that it had been worth it.

Damn that John Brady.

Shuffling from the bandstand to thunderous applause at the end of the song, you smiled to Matthews gratefully as he cued up the record player, revellers taking to the dancefloor as you moved to find your instrument case to pack up.

“Lieutenant.” Thornton’s voice cut through the din as her hand landed on your shoulder with a squeeze. Turning to face her warmly, your eyes widened as she pulled you close in a warm embrace. “Thank you.” She said emphatically in your ear.

Pulling back with a quizzical look on your face, she cracked a small smile.

“Egan.” She clarified and you shook your head with a smirk, feeling the expression leech away as her face fell solemn.

“Ma’am?”

“It’s not dissolution but…more training. A month at least.” She leaned in, confirming that the meeting had, in fact, not been a ruse.

Setting your mouth into a grim line, you exhaled deeply through your nose, nodding once to show you had heard her even if you did not fully understand the reasoning. Parting from you with one final squeeze of your shoulder, you turned to wend your way through the raucous crowd, punching the door open into the frigid night, forgetting all about your case. You were about ten steps away from the building when you heard Brady calling your name.

Turning back sharply, you saw him jogging over to you, trumpet case in hand. “It was good.”

Snagging it from him roughly, you gulped. “Not good enough.”

“What are you talking about?” He tilted his head, acutely resembling a bewildered puppy.

Casting your eyes around the desolate exterior of the building and finding only the ghosts of your exhales hanging in the air, you swallowed. “We’re not getting certification.”

His gaze hardened. “Your scores are perfect.” He muttered, tone soured by what you could only assume was envy.

Brady’s reply wrung a bitter laugh from your aching chest. “I could turn water into wine, Brady, and they would say it’s because I can’t make beer. Besides, they’re not going to certify one crew, one squadron even. It’s the whole Group or nothing.”

“Damn.” He grunted. “Do you know how long?”

“A month, at least. Just pray it’s not in this desolate ice field.” You shook your head, leaving him alone in the freezing night.

It was not. At least not for the 418th and 280th. Two days after Thornton’s tainted birthday celebrations, you were on the move once again, to Boise, Idaho. The semi-arid conditions there brought a return temperatures in the forties and regular training flights without the same biting cold of Iowa. It did little to lift the spirits of the splintered squadrons, the 349th, 350th, and 351st scattered hither and yon, the entire Group’s future feeling utterly precarious despite Thorntons assurances that it would not be a permanent separation.

Certain men, of whom Pratt was the most vocal, were more than happy to lay the blame at the feet of the women of the 280th, but in comparison, both on paper and in the air, your squadron was unquestionably outperforming any other as the calendar turned first to February and then onto March. Temperatures rose, the spring rains came to the Treasure Valley, and Blakely married his Sioux City sweetheart, shipped in by train for the occasion accompanied by Hambone’s wife.

You had been learning more than just their names during this prolonged period of training in exile, finding that not only had the weather thawed but so too had some of their reticence to interact with the ladies of the 280th as equals. That was, of course, not to say that things did not remain frosty between you and Brady – no, that friction would most likely never resolve, but perhaps the pair of you might be able to function as colleagues.

March 29 dawned warm and remarkably humid, sending your eyes suspiciously skyward to assess the seemingly innocent clouds scudding along briskly in the stiff breeze. Halting your steps on your way to the Mess Hall, you planted your hands on your hips and furrowed your brow, doing your best to ignore the way Andie was snickering at you.

“You trying to give Stormy a run for his money?”

Shaking your head with a sigh, mostly at yourself, you put one foot in front of the other to continue onward toward breakfast. “Weather’s off, that’s all.” You shrugged and held the door open for her to make up for delaying her meal.

With a nod of thanks she stepped into the Officer’s Mess, usually filled with a mix of familiar and unfamiliar faces here in Idaho. In a way it had been a blessing your squadron had been sent along with another – it limited the number of unpleasant encounters with each new Group rotation, watching some other bunch of men making their way through training more expediently than the 100th also had the added benefit of forging deeper bonds between your two squadrons. The Mess was quieter today, however, the members of the 393rd Bomb Group off on an early morning mission. They would surely be moving on next week and the question on everyone’s mind was, would you also get that chance?

It had been a cramped stay, with no spare buildings for the women to make their own club, no time or space for the band to practice. The desire to get certified and get into combat was searing inside everyone by now, it was just a matter of convincing Wing that you were truly ready. Bellies full, crews were assembled and loaded onto transport trucks after the briefing. Dual squadron bombing run without ordinance was the order of the day, but you found your eyes narrowing in on the clouds beginning to grow vertically over the valley as the heat of the day increased under the influence of the sun.

“If the weather allows…” You muttered under your breath to yourself as you jumped off the truck in front of your plane, which the girls had lovingly named ‘Ice Box’ thanks to the cold temperatures you all endured while flying inside it.

“Ok, Stormy.” Andie sassed, happy to assure you she had overheard your pessimism before she slid aboard, making you roll your eyes as you followed.

You wished you had not been right. In fact, there were a lot of things you wished went differently that day.

Take off was rough, the plane buffeted by cross winds and turbulence that had even the seasoned members of your crew questioning the wisdom of their generous breakfast. After much discussion between Blakely and Thornton, the squadrons pushed higher to try and find a smoother altitude above the clouds. The problem was the clouds only continued to bubble and boil higher and higher into the stratosphere, seeming to chase your aircraft.

Glancing out the small window to your left, you frowned as there was no friendly flat-top to these clouds, apparently nothing to limit their towering heights. Listening to nothing other than the sound of your own exhales echoing harshly against the rubber of your mask, you bit off a curse and made the decision to call the lead plane of your squadron to express your concern about the obvious storm clouds.

“Zoot Suit three to Zoot Suit lead.”

“Go ahead.” Came Thornton’s reply, tone perfectly even.

“I’m thinking these storm clouds are more dangerous than they look.”

“Zoot Suit three, same conversation occurring in our cockpit, standby.”

Exhaling slowly, both relieved that she agreed and yet tension increasing now that your sense of apprehension was validated, you nearly missed the bolt of lightning that jumped from one cloud to another in front of the nose of your plane. The thunder, however, was inescapable, the airframe of your B-17 rattling with the proximity of it.

“Well!” Andie huffed. “Think that oughta convince her.”

You were about to reply when a forceful updraft caught the underside of the left wing, driving the plane towards the underside of Biddick’s fort above you, cockeyed, but at such an acute angle you were increasingly at risk of stalling out and sliding backward into the 280th’s formation behind you.

“Shit.” You hissed before barking out to the crew. “Hold on!”

Grasping the throttles, you split the right backward and the left forward, trying to drive the left wing downward as you pulled on the yoke to bank clear of any other planes. The engines whined at the sudden and disparate demands, but thankfully complied, the aircraft spiralling down and away from causing any harm to those around you. Gritting your teeth against the force of the turn, you fought to level out once you had dropped clear, shooting Andie a grateful look as her hand joined yours on the throttle and you pulled on the yokes together.

Chest heaving as you fought to catch your breath, the adrenaline was still singing through your veins as Thornton’s voice came through your headset.

“Zoot Suit lead to Zoot Suit three, everything all right down there?”

“Levelled out now, yes Ma’am.” Your voice was embarrassingly thin but nevertheless audible.

“Zoot Suit lead to all Zoot Suit pilots, Charlie, Delta, Eight, Niner, Alpha, Echo.”

Heaving a sight of relief as she called out the scrub code for your squadron, you remained at your lower altitude, watching the 280th peel off and descend before moving to join their tail as they headed back to base.

“Red Meat lead to all Read Meat pilots, following suit.” Came Blakely’s call shortly after was very validating to hear, though the derisive snort emanating from Pratt made your grip tighten painfully on the controls.

“One dumb girl can’t control her plane and we have to scrub?” He remarked snidely across all the channels, making your blood boil.

“Red Meat six, you have been given the order to scrub, you will turn that plane around or I will take it up with Flescher the moment we land.”

Instinctively looking over your shoulder told you nothing, nothing visible but empty sky from your vantage point, but from the sounds of it, Pratt was continuing on along the mission route, through the thickening clouds and almost persistent thunder.

“Coward…” Was the last transmission, a cruel barb that made your very skin crawl as you would have happily defied that label being applied to any person in the air at the moment, even if it cost you your life.

No further arguments exchanged, you were left the assume that Pratt had complied. Rain opened up, an obscuring curtain of water that nearly hid the runway from view. Mercifully, you were not the first to land, relying on those that found the ground safely before you to help guide you out of the unfriendly sky. Taxiing to your hardstand, you were in the process of removing your flying helmet when Pratt’s plane, being batted about in the wind as though it was crafted of paper, made your breath catch in your throat. Lightning tore through the sky once more, that clouds having since coalesced into one solid wall of black behind him, making the mighty flying fortress appear small.

The sight of an updraft snagging his plane, an occurrence not dissimilar to that which you and your crew had narrowly escaped, sent your heart plummeting, your eyes sliding shut in resignation as the aircraft was thrown helplessly higher into the sky before arcing viciously towards the ground. The resulting cacophonous boom of the explosion, distinct from thunder, had the ladies still sheltering inside the bomber crying out in terror.

“Who was it?”

“Oh god we gotta go help them!”

“No one coulda survived that…”

Yanking the helmet the rest of the way off your head to remove the headset from your ears, you pressed your thumb between your eyebrows to fight off the intense wave of nausea threatening you. The bitter taste of bile was in the back of your throat, creeping higher, and you struggled to take calming breaths as the storm continued to rage outside.

There was not a kind bone in that man’s body, but you had not wished him death. Not even after he accused you of incompetence, nor each and everyone of you of cowardice. Wrenching the sliding window of the cockpit open you stuck your head out the side to lose the remnants of your breakfast, warm rain pelting your face in the process, washing away the evidence.

Retreating back to your seat, you looked to Andie startled as she held out a handkerchief, by some miracle keeping all commentary to herself for once. Quickly drying your face, you tucked it into your pocket with a nod of thanks before wending your way back toward the hatch, coaxing the wide-eyed, shocked girls from the plane and into the covered crew truck to be ferried back to the briefing hut.

That interrogation felt a lot less like practice, Dutch making a beeline for your table and leaning in closely to listen in on your description of the evasive action you had taken, followed by your crew’s collective description of the crash.

The entire room felt muted, everyone’s voices lowered, hushed, like you were already attending the funerals of those eleven men – Pratt’s crew and their experienced observer – who had fallen out of the sky trying to land in the storm.

Maybe if Pratt had turned around when Blakely ordered, he could have beaten the brunt of it. Or maybe there had been nothing that he could have done.

You were starting to feel sick again, excessive perspiration accumulating beneath your flight suit, driving you to open it halfway. Rising quickly to your feet as soon as you were dismissed, you stepped outside desperately to gulp in the fresh air, finding it smelling sweet and feeling cool now that the storm had passed, taking all the humidity with it.

“Bo-peep!” Blakely called out and you turned to see him standing off to the side with a few pilots from the 418th, sharing matches to light their preferred delivery methods for their precious tobacco.

Swallowing hesitantly as he waved you over, you took another life-saving breath of restorative air before moving to join them, more than a little curious at the invitation.

“What did you do before all this?” He asked, pulling a cigarette from behind his ear to light once the book of matches reached him.

Furrowing your brows slightly as you looked from him to Biddick, then Brady, it slowly dawned on you that this was some odd form of acceptance into the group. Tucking the piece of gum you had been fervently chewing to overcome the taste of vomit into your cheek, you shrugged.

“Crop-dusting, mostly, odd jobs in the winter.”

His brown eyes widened slightly as he exhaled a thick cloud of smoke up and away from you. “You flew before joining up.” It was not a question, more of an ‘aha!’ statement.

Nodding slowly, you tucked your thumbs into the corners of your pockets. “Almost two years.”

“How’d you get out of that updraft?” Brady’s blunt question cut through Blakely’s moment of revelation, drawing all eyes onto him.

His fingers were tightly grasping the bowl of his pipe, eyes fix firmly on you.

“Yeah, you didn’t even clip the lady beside you, spin out, stall, nothin’.” Biddick shook his head in disbelief.

Bowing your head slightly under the intense scrutiny and praise, you shrugged humbly before taking a breath, trying to remember what you had even done. It had all been instinct. “Split the throttles to overcome the punch to the left wing, took her down in a sharp turn, then Andie and I levelled her out together.” You spoke slowly as each motion came back to you.

“Well, hell, you be sure to tell me anytime I need to stay away from a cloud alright?” Blakely smirked and you laughed softly in surprise.

“Will do.” You nodded in return.

You felt comfort in the sudden levity, in the grins they sent your way, the claps they landed on your shoulder. You had earned their respect, even if it had taken nearly five months, and it meant a lot.

Even if Brady was staring at you silently with his striking blue eyes, his pipe clenched between his teeth.

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

The Last To Know Masterlist

Tag list: @luminouslywriting, @dustofbrokenheart, @precious-little-scoundrel, @beingalive1, @phyllisthefirst, @bcon24, @louzello

#john brady x reader #john brady x you #john brady #ladies who brady #mota fanfic #mota au #masters of the air #mota

37 notes · View notes

periracha · 9 months

Text

Waiting

☾ pairing: Dad!Chan x Mom!Reader ☾ wc: 2k ☾ genre: fluff, boring domesticity (gasp) ☾ cw: Christmas themes, kids, suggestive jokes, me trying to be funny idk, language, chan being chan ☾ summary: the bangs get in the holiday spirit! ☾ a/n: wanted to get a whole aesthetic and masterlist up for this blog before i posted anything but this little idea had my brain in a chokehold all day so,,,,enjoy ! also, let me know if I should continue writing this family so i can give them names, etc. yes this piece is fluff but this blog is 18+, MDNI

Ripples start to splash against the inside of your mug as you set it down on the coffee table that has been pushed aside for the evening to allow enough room for you and your husband.

“Clearing the living room floor the second both kids are down and out?” Chan asks with a wiggle of his eyebrow.

“Bit risky but I can work with this” he says while straining his neck and pulling his left arm across his chest in a stretch in preparation.

You look up at him when a scoff falls from your lips, “ha yeah you wish. Now get the wrapping paper from the closet”

“Please” you add with a sarcastic smile and sweet like honey tone.

He blinked at you silently for a split second before he huffed out a big sigh, “Oh thank god. I don’t think my back could handle these hardwood floors like it used to” he finishes as he makes his way to the hallway closet.

“Mmm unfortunately the only action these floors have been getting lately is spilled juice and probably some dusty cheetos the kids kicked under the couch” you joke as Chan meets you on the floor with wrapping supplies and gifts.

A quiet laugh in agreement leaves his lips.

“She’s gonna love this” Chan says with a grin so wide it meets his eyes.

He’s holding up a Bluey plushie that plays a few catchphrases from the show when its paw is squeezed.

“She better…. I’m running out of reasons why she can’t buy it every time we go to the store” you say as you cut wrapping paper big enough to wrap the doll and hand it to him.

Your daughter had wanted this little plushie for months now, always asking to stop by the toy section whenever you visit your local department store. You quickly learned that simply telling her the store didn’t have anymore wasn’t gonna fly with her. She always found a way to swindle you into the toy aisles, finding the plushie every time. Distracting her with books or other small toys could only get you so far; luckily Christmas was only a few days away and you both would soon see the joy on her face when she opened her gift.

“How do you even wrap these things??” Chan huffed out with a bewildered look on his face; his brows drawn tight and his eyes wide open. The piece of wrapping paper you had given him was creased all over, and covered in way too many pieces of tape that didn’t actually do anything to keep the paper together.

A giggle started in your chest but you choked it down with a fake cough. Chan was used to being good at almost anything he put his mind to.

Dancing? Easy.

Singing? No Problem.

Writing thousands of unique songs that differed in their own ways? Piece of cake.

Sports? Absolutely.

Wrapping a small gift for his three year old daughter? Not so much.

Carefully, you took the small doll from his hand and replaced it with a box of bath toys for your son.

“Here, let me handle this…and you wrap these” you said nonchalantly as soon as you made the switch; immediately working on your new task at hand.

Chan gawked at you with a goofy smile on his face, “You don’t think I can do it?...you’re demoting me to only wrapping boxes?” he laughed while feigning offense.

“No no no!”, you waved off, “you’re just soooo good! Better than me! The best actually!” you rushed out while trying to contain your laughter but ultimately failing.

Chan looked at you with pointed eyes, but had a wide smile plastered on his face the entire time. He looked like he was going to say something in retaliation but decided against it, letting out a small chuckle and shaking his head instead while he got to work on the box.

Many presents later you were both feeling the ache deep in your lower back from hunching over on the floor.

“Okay that's enough for me, I’m tapping out,” Chan said stretching his back with a yawn.

You yawned and simply shook your head up and down in agreement, thinking about how you were too tired to even keep your eyes open.

You got up and gathered all your wrapping supplies to store away.

“Oh! Can you take all those and put them under the tree?” you asked him while pointing to the group of gifts.

He hummed a quick mhm and started gathering them in his arms.

“Make sure to put Bluey on top of the one of the taller presents so they can’t get to it” you called out as you made your way to your room.

“Yep, got it” Chan quickly responded before placing all the presents down and making his way to follow you to your bedroom.

The next day went blissfully as usual; waking up way too early to cries before the sun is even fully out, only to finally get your son back down and you barely back in bed before your daughter barges in demanding French toast stat.

Did you even have all the ingredients for french toast?

You already got one kid handled, Chan could handle this one.

You lightly kicked him in the leg as he laid beside you to wake him up before you made yourself comfortable to fall back asleep.

When you did wake up, you grabbed your son and met your husband and daughter in the living room, setting him down to crawl around the rug.

“Good morning love”, Chan greeted you with a kiss to your cheek and sliding his arms around your waist in a loose hug.

You hummed a good morning back before resting your head against his chest.

“My turn! My turn!” your daughter yelled entirely too close to your eardrum as she stood on the couch in an attempt to be as eye level as she could with you.

“Coffee?” Chan asked with a smirk as he let you go and made his way to the kitchen.

“Ohhh yeah” you answered before turning your attention fully on your daughter.

She puckered her lips and stood on her tiptoes in an attempt to copy her dad’s previous actions. You bent down and she kissed your cheek, “Good morning, mommy!”, she giggled before flopping down on the couch.

“Oh it is a good morning!” you smiled back to her before tickling her to get some hugs in.

Chan met you back in the living room with your fresh cup of coffee as you both sat on the couch, watching your children play together in the early morning hours.

Your son crawled towards the christmas tree and before you could get up to grab him he had already bumped into a few presents, causing one of them to go off.

“Hello! Hehehe”

The noise immediately caught your daughter's attention and her head snapped towards the tree before her eyes widened. You could see the wheels starting to turn in her head to try and make sense of what just happened when you looked over at Chan who was sporting a mortified look. Jaw hung open and downward, eyes widening and moving around the room at everyone’s faces.

The damn Bluey doll had gone off and one of her most wanted presents was most likely spoiled now.

“WHAT WAS THAT?” she rushed out, walking closer to the tree.

“Your brother!” Chan blurted out way too quickly before tightening his lip into a flat line, realizing what he just did.

Your daughter stopped dead in her tracks and looked at the both of you.

“What???” she asked again, her eyes darting between yours and Chan’s a few times.

“He can talk??, “ she screamed, bewildered at the new information being thrown at her all too quickly, pointing at him and eyes wide as saucers.

You let out a huff of air and forced yourself to take a sip of your coffee, hoping to buy you some time, waiting for your brain to kick on. It was too early for this.

Chan looked at you waiting for you to come in and save the conversation but you had nothing. How were you supposed to convince a 3 year old that her 8 month old brother could now speak when he’s never done that before.

You’re on your own here. You thought to yourself as your eyes met Chan’s again. His face still stuck in the same shocked expression.

“Uhh…yeah..yeah…?” Chan tried to get out nonchalantly but it ended up coming out more like a question and high pitched tone, before clearing his throat.

Your son had now crawled toward your daughter and started grabbing at her legs to get her attention.

You needed a moment to think but your daughter would absolutely follow you wherever you went to…. Unless…?

You coughed into your arm dramatically, “ooooh mommy needs medicine, I will be right back” you said before quickly standing up and making your way to the hallway cabinets before she could stop you.

Even the possibility of being around cough medicine, seeing it with her own eyes, was enough to keep your daughter from following you. She was not about to risk having to take that, yucky grape stuff, as she likes to call it.

Chan followed after you, staying in the open area to keep an eye on the two kids.

“So our 8 month old is saying full words now is he?” you asked, raising your eyebrows when he got closer to you.

“I panicked okay!”, he screamed in a hushed tone.

“So you blame it on the baby?!” you asked in disbelief, a laugh starting in the bottom of your throat. You tightened your lips in an effort to stop the smile you knew was coming.

“What else was I supposed to say it came from?” Chan asked with a strained laugh, “you were no help!” he accused, pointing his finger and narrowing his gaze.

“I don’t know Chan! The TV? Your phone?” you huffed out off the top of your head and throwing your hands in the air.

“Hm. yeah that would’ve been good”, he said staring at the floor, realizing just how easy those would’ve been to explain away to a child.

He stepped back from you to get a better look at your kids a few steps away. His brow furrowed so you stepped forward to see what he was looking at.

Your daughter was sitting directly across from your son with a serious expression on her face, no more playing going on in sight.

“What..what are you guys doing?” Chan asked loud enough for your kids to hear.

Your daughter looked back at him, “Waiting,” she said matter of factly before refocusing her attention back on her brother.

“Waiting foorrr?” Chan asked, raising his eyebrows as you both took a step toward them.

“Him to talk again” she answered without bothering to even look at Chan this time, her serious gaze never leaving her brother's face. He was babbling and drooling while playing with the legs of her pajama pants.

You both couldn’t contain the laughs that came from your mouths. Today was going to be a long day.

You couldn’t wipe the smile from your face as you thought about your family’s antics. Never a boring day in the Bang household, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Hey Chan, what did you do with the matching talking Bingo we wrapped last night?”

“Shit”

106 notes · View notes

lumi077 · 1 year

Text

jealous jealous girls and boys~

You’re gorgeous, everyone knows this. Your partner, bless their heart, are very crudely aware of just how jaw dropping you are when their insecurities mingle with their protectiveness when they see, or hear, you get hit on. It wasn’t something you were unused to, and they know you love and want only them, but can they really help it if they…overreact?

Warnings; Unwanted advances, , possessive themes, hotd/got canon incest, infidelity (Loba), potential ooc.

Characters (multifandom): Walden Darling (WH), Astarion (BG3), Daemon and Rhaenyra targaryen (HOTD), Scaramouche/Wanderer (Genshin), Leliana (DA; I), Loba (Apex)

A/N: Take this as a peace offering till I can get the next chapter of Winters’ Servants out T^T I’ve been busy, I got a new job and my dog died bc of my other dog and my mom is crazy :( Also, Baldur’s Gate 3 y’all I’m getting it and I’m so excited! I mayhaps rushed Loba’s part so sorry not sorry 😛

Rainbow Factory Wally (Walden) | (Welcome Home AU)

It was a normal day in the factory for all intents and purposes, making your daily rounds and supplying your husband with your infamous coffee whenever you needed to. And that’s why you found yourself in the breakroom, making a fresh pot of coffee for your caffeine addict of a spouse.

Your name was spoken softly from behind and you blinked, moving your head to peek over your shoulder to see the owner of the voice smile sweetly at you. Jeremy was an infamous flirt in the office, but you were spared due to the fact your husband very much owned this factory. “You look gorgeous today, you know.” He hummed, eyes raking over your body.

You raised an eyebrow. You were wearing a black turtleneck, a lab coat with your name, and leggings. You looked exactly like you always do, and it’s not like any curves you possessed could be seen over the baggy lab coat. Deciding to just play it off, you laughed. “I look how I always do.” You point out good naturedly, shooting him a rather amused look as you turned your body to look at him.

“Exactly.” He almost purred out the words, slinking closer to you with a sly smile. You have to admit the new found proximity did nothing but amuse you more. Jeremy was 5’5, rather bland, and wasn’t even the brightest. You found it absolutely amusing to think that he believes he can compete with your husband in anything.

“I see. Then thank you for the compliment.” You mused, turning back to pour the coffee into the “world’s most decent boss” mug you got him as a gag gift last christmas. Mixing in just the right amount of sweeteners, you turned. “Now, is there something I can do for you Jeremy?” you asked as you began to walk out, hearing his awkward footsteps signaling that he was following you.

“I know about you and the boss…” He trailed off, and you hoped for his sake that he wouldn’t say what you knew the next few words were. “But me and you could still happen.” Seemed he was dumber than you thought.

You were now outside Wally’s office, an amused smile painting your lips. “Oh, is that so?”

Jeremy must have been oblivious as to where you were, because he gently put his hand on your shoulder and proclaimed rather boldly “I’ve been in love with you, for a very long time now. Dare I say, longer than that man you call your husband.”

You sputtered then. He basically yelled that! Right outside Wally’s office. “I-”

A loud bang resonated as the door to the office swung open, effectively interrupting you, the hinges almost breaking at the sheer force he used to open the door. “What. Did. You. Just. Say.” Wide angry eyes met scared downcasted ones.

Jeremy looked like he regrets his decision very much right now, and you very dully felt a small tinge of sympathy but it was gone faster than it came.

“Nothing! I was just say-” Jeremey sputtered, trying to find a defense only to be interrupted crudely.

“Get your goddamn hand off my wife, and I’ll consider this as your letter of resignation.” He growled, grabbing his forearm and forcefully yanking the arm you weren’t even aware was still touching you off.

Jeremy, upon getting his arm released from a death grip that was sure to leave him bruised, ran away.

You couldn’t help but let laughter bubble out from your throat before clearing it. “Oh, that was something.”

Wally turned to you and growled again, grasping your jaw softly but roughly at the same time, angled your head up, and kissed you. The kiss left you breathless, your hand squeezing the coffee mug in surprise as he pulled away.

“You’re mine, dollface. And only mine.”

Astarion (BG3)

The tavern was bustling with life, music, and song as they normally do, and happiness threatened to suffocate you and your party as soon as you all stepped foot into the establishment. Mead, wine, and an assortment of other alcoholic beverages were held tightly in almost every person’s hand. You shrugged when your party gave you a questioning look, looking back over the tavern with a keen eye.

“Have fun?” Was all you supplied before walking to the barkeep for the first time of what would be many.

Karlach wasted no time in going to mingle with the other patrons, eager to relieve the stress of battle by telling tales of them to strangers who watched with eager eyes and ears.

Gale was never one for all this merriment, so he politely claimed a table in one of the few secluded corners as he normally does. That table would soon be taken up by Astarion as well, who was content to just watch you mingle with the people of the tavern.

Time flew by rather quickly, the drinks making it hard for you to truly grasp just how much had gone away from you. Astarion was readying himself to get up and cross the tavern to get to you, tell you that you and your party had spent a sufficient amount of time here, and that it was time to head back to camp for some rest.

But he was quickly blocked from you by two drows. Tall, dark, imposing, yet handsome in their own right. Nothing that compared to Astarion, not even your alcohol muddled mind thought so.

“Hello gorgeous.” The woman spoke, tone smooth with lust and desire. This weirded you out, as you did nothing to suggest you were wanting *that* kind of relief. You really just sat at the bar, talking with the barkeep and the man next to you.

“What’s a delicate flower like you doing with no company at a place like this?” She asked, hand moving to rest on top of your own that was laying on the solid surface of the bar.

You wrinkled your nose at the unwanted touch, but the female drow seemed to not notice or simply not care. You’re unsure which one was the truth, it could even be both for all you know at this point. Alcohol made it hard to discern anything really, and you found yourself craving the presence of your beloved.

The male spoke this time, his tone gruff despite him trying to sound sensual. “Perhaps we could keep you company for the night?”

Astarion’s blood boiled as he heard what those two heathens were saying to you. It took him months of carefully crafted flirts for you to even get comfortable with HIM flirting with you. And he was someone you had trusted enough to be a traveling companion and to watch your back. He knows that surely, when he sees your face it will be riddled with tell tale signs of uncomfort.

You cleared your throat, hoping to rid it of the bile that crept up it the more and more they talked and crudely flirted with you. “Ah, no.” You mumbled, eyes searching for your sanguine lover. “I’m taken.” you managed to slur.

The female drow cooed “That doesn’t have to mean anything, not for tonight at least.”

Astarion finally emerged right next to you, red eyes boring into the female drows. “Excuse me.” His voice, normally smooth and flirtatious, was anything but now. “I see you met my partner, exquisite aren’t they?” his tone softened as his hand went up to caress your cheek, cherishing the way you leaned into the touch immediately.

The female and male drow looked to each other before looking back at Astarion and smiling. “Why yes, yes they are.”

Astarion hummed, rubbing his thumb on your cheek absent of mind, before remembering these people dared to flirt with what was his. “How unfortunate for you that this masterpiece is all mine, yes?” He sounded calm and almost teasing, but his eyes showed just how much he wanted to murder them.

Deciding that words weren’t enough he delicately moved your head up so he could plant the sweetest kiss on your lips, which you eagerly returned with drunken enthusiasm that made his heart swell with love.

“See how eager they are for me?” He cooed, rubbing your cheek after pulling away. “That’s something you couldn’t even dream of receiving.” Picking you up bridal style for fear you drunk yourself into a stupor, he turned and left.

“That’s enough tavern for tonight my sweet.” He hummed softly as you laid your head on his shoulder

“Astar-” You mumbled sleepily, nuzzling your face into his neck “I love you- so so much.”

He chuckled, placing the softest kiss to your cheek “I know my darling, I love you too.”

Daemon and Rhaenyra Targaryen (HOTD)

Your family, the true Targaryens, were visiting the red keep for the first time in so many years. The difference of it all from the red keep you grew up in startled you to your core. It makes your mind ill to think this was only allowed to happen because of a usurper of your family’s rightful throne.

Really the entire castle makes you ill, absolutely sick to your stomach truthfully. So you were trying to find comfort in the place where you resided most of your innocent years. The garden. But even that was different now, the flowers you used to pride yourself on had all wilted and been changed. The color green makes you sick now.

While you were preoccupied in your musings of sadness and trepidation, a man had slinked his way beside you and broke the silence you relished in. “Good morrow, sister.”

You blinked and looked to your right, being met with Aemond. He was only your half brother, sharing your father’s genetics while looking all Hightower. His last name should have been hightower, yet you cannot claim to hate or even dislike him. Just a faint feeling of mistrust that had been planted since the night his mother had left a scar on your arm. “Aemond.” You greeted slowly, almost defensively. “Good morrow.”

His one eye scanned the garden ahead before going back to focus on you, a delicate and almost faux looking smile on his face. Or perhaps it was just too real. “How are you? It has been many moons since I last saw your beautiful face.”

You blushed despite yourself, compliments always left your cheeks the faintest of reds, even if you mistrusted the person who spoke them. “Kirimvose” You muttered, changing to High Valyrian. You don’t know why, it just felt too right in this situation. And instinctual gut feeling that you have long since learned you should heed.

“You are welcome.” He hummed, eye suddenly showing keen interest “Do you normally use High Valyrian interchangeably like that? What a smart lady you are, Mandia”

It was your turn to be surprised, he knows of the language of your family? Even being half bred like he is? “Yes, mostly for my children to pick it up better.” You stressed the word children to him, as if he could forget. One of your sons did give him that painful affliction afterall.

“Ah yes, my nephews.” He mused, not looking at you anymore but through you. “How are they doing these days?”

You smiled, your first genuine one not born of needing to be respectful to a lord or lady. Aemond thought it looked beautiful on you, like the finest dress. “Wonderful. My boys Luke and Jace are bonding excellently with their dragons.” You hummed, motherly love oozing from your tone. “And little Joffery is quite taken with the babies.” you put a hand on your stomach “Especially our baby Visenya. I think he likes having a baby sister to protect.”

He was surprised “You were with child?”

You nodded “Maybe she’ll grow up to steal Vhagar from you.” You chuckled, hand over your mouth.

Aemond laughed as well “I’m sure she’ll be a brilliant rider, just like her Muña”

“You flatter me.” Your blush grew a tad bit redder. Aemond felt a pang of affection that he was able to make that happen. You were too good for his sister and uncle, deserving of someone more well read with a dragon to match the size of your own.

The sound of a throat being cleared interrupted his musings of what he could have had with you, had his father stepped up and demanded you wed him. “Is this a small reunion?” Daemon joked, leaning on a wall. His eyes looked anything but full of mirth, annoyance and possessiveness shined brightly in his eyes like dragon fire.

“Uncle.” Aemond scoffed out the word like it meant little to him. And it probably did, you know he was never close with Daemon. Jealousy slithered in his veins like blood did, burning him.

“What are you and my wife talking about, hm?” He asked casually, walking leisurely to you before wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing a soft kiss to your temple, looking down with fondness Aemond could never imagine being gazed at with. “Hello my love.”

“Hello Daemon.” You giggle gleefully, resting your head against his own while your arms go to rest on top of his. Aemond’s veins burned worse.

“Simply catching up, it’s been quite a while since she has been to the red keep.” He spoke, jealousy dripping from his words like venom, eye glaring at his uncle’s arms that was wrapped where he longed his to be. Daemon tightened his grip slightly. “I was just about to offer a tour of the grounds, much has changed.” he smiled twistedly at Daemon, using that as a taunt.

Daemon narrowed his eyes, and somewhere you could hear the roar of Caraxes and Vhagar. You hope that they aren’t fighting because their riders have bad blood. “That won’t be needed. She grew up here just as you did Aemond.”

You soon grew uneasy, eyes shifting to the side, “I have.” You assented.

Daemon smirked unbeknownst to you, smug because it was him who you would always back. Always Daemon, never Aemond.”Of course my lady, apologies.”

You smiled uneasily “No need for apologies Aemond. It was a kind offer.” That soothed the burn within his veins slightly. You thought he was kind.

You felt yourself almost suffocating before your lovely wife walked into the garden with Alicent “Ah, my beloveds.” Nrya smiled kindly at you two, eyes shining with love before she nodded to Aemond respectfully.

“It is almost time for the feast, you two would be wise to get ready.” She looked at you knowingly and winked.

Daemon let out a hearty groan “yes yes my wife, very well.” he let his arms fall from you and stepped back, offering you his hand.

“Shall I help you get ready, my darling?” He asked teasingly, eyes glinting with lust as you laughed and took his hand. Rhaenyra already has an excuse for both of your tardiness, rest assured. Cannibal will have to take blame for your lack of proper walking.

___

Wanderer (genshin)

Wanderer was stuck wandering, as one does, around the bustling streets on Liyue. It was the lantern rite, something you had continuously told him you had wanted to go to many times and he decided there was no harm in it. How crudely wrong he was, as soon as he entered the city of contracts with you, the crowd had swept you away from him.

So here he was trying to find you like a puppy separated from their owner, and it continuously made him more and more irritated as more time passed that you were not in his eyesight. His hands, that were balled into fists, relaxed immediately upon hearing the soft sound that was your laughter. It was quiet, barely heard above the chattering of these imbeciles that surrounded him, but he was able to follow the sweet sound where he found you with some man.

The man was short, close to Wanderer’s own height, with white hair with a red streak. He looked to hail from Inazuma. Anger boiled deep within his veins, eyes glaring at the man who dared to talk to you.

“Your eyes shine like the lanterns in the sky, your skin as smooth and unbroken as the purest piece of porcelain.” he mused, smiling softly at your red face. Wanderer has never said anything close to that to you, always just quick grumblings about how you looked decent. And it didn’t bother you much anymore, you grew to love him after all. But having this kind of attention on you was thrilling simply because it was new! Kazuha’s eyes bore into yours with a soft intensity that oddly fit in this moment. But he was simply supposed to help you find your beloved, not make poetry about you. No matter how lovely it made you feel.

Wanderer barged over, not sparing the man a glance as he grasped your wrist in his hand and dragged you away. He could barely hear you say your goodbyes to the traveler from Inazuma over just how angry he felt. Were you going to leave him? Go to someone who he just witnessed really could treat you better? No, he won’t allow it. You're his, you’ve been his for centuries now, and if you could remember and love him despite all he has done in his past then you must be his soulmate.

He hissed out your name, stopping in a darkened alley before pushing you against the wall, trapping your head between his arms as he leered at you. “What do you think you were doing, you idiot.” this wasn’t the way he wanted to do this, not at all. He wanted to have a softer approach but for some reason he just can’t. He loves you, he promises he does. He just can’t show it.

“Scara…” you cooed, hands going up to cup his face “I was looking for you.” You assured gently, thumb massaging his cheek as he ever so slightly leaned into your hold. “Kazuha offered to help me find you since I’m so unfamiliar with Liyue Harbor.” You could always see through his brass actions, being able to see the softer side through all the boundaries he put around himself to hide in.

“Is that so?” His words lacked his mocking bite that it would have for anyone else “Then why was he flirting with you?” He asked, pressing a chaste kiss on your thumb.

You giggled, a sound that made him relax more. “Maybe he just thinks I’s pretty. But you're the only one for me.”

He smiled then, liking the concept that you knew you were only “Yes, yes I am.” He hummed, cupping the hand you had on his face with his own.

“You’re mine, not even the gods could take you away from me.” He sighed happily as he felt your lips start pecking around his face, closing his eyes in bliss. “They could try, but I would move the very heavens to keep you by my side. Always.”

“And forever.” You finished as Scara finally connected his lips with yours, savoring the rare softness in which he kissed you with.

___

Leliana (DA; I)

The sky was clear, not a cloud dotted the open sky of Skyhold and the sun beamed down in soft warm rays. You were sitting on the railing of the balcony that belonged to the upper tower that housed your partner Leliana, as well as her ravens and spies. It was a cool day, which wasn’t abnormal seeing as this stronghold was built into the mountains. Construction was going very well, the ramparts were now open to patrol and the rooms were looking better and better.

The inquisitor was running around down on the lower level, and you watched from your vantage point with amusement. You were unsure why they were in such a hurried state, seeing as there wasn’t really anyone rushing them in the least. But you’ll leave them alone about it for now.

Looking up as you heard the door clank open, a scout you had never seen before stepped out and joined you on the terrace. Turning your body to face him, you tilted your head in confusion. Normally Leli’s spies were too busy to do all that much around Skyhold. Perhaps he was just recouping after a tough mission.

“Hello madame, nice evening ain’t it?” He had a strong Fereldan accent, so he was from there and arguably is mostly stationed there because the accent hasn’t faded even a bit.

“Yes, it is.” You spoke skeptically, normally one scout isn’t stationed at one nation for too long, lest they be found out and compromise the entire spy network your lover has spent years perfecting.

“The nightingale wishes me to look after you.” He saluted, before going back to ease and leaning on the wall.

You raised a brow, why would you need to watch over here of all places? Leli was right through that door, and there isn’t many places of entry here that aren’t very loud.

“I see.” You doubt grew, but you would give him the benefit of the doubt. Your Leli was very paranoid, and with good reason you suppose. It must be hard to have all those enemies, those known and unknown that are hiding in the shadows with a dagger or poison.

“You're beautiful, you know.” He broke the silence again, your lack of an answer must not have been deterring at all for the spy. “A true masterpiece.” he mused.

“Thank you.” You were starting to get bored now, eyes lidding due to boredom. Any second now.

With tactful grace the door opened silently, you could hear the faintest of footsteps take 3 steps before pausing. Another minute of the spy not noticing her, she coughed. It was fake and sounded way too smooth and dull for it to be real.

That made the man jump, his attention snapping to your lover. “Lady Nightingale!”

“Charts.” Her smooth voice riddled with Orlesian accent was sour sounding now. Like she ruined her new pair of shoes in the blood of darkspawn. “At ease, were you?”

His eyes looked everywhere but her as his body froze up under her intense scrutiny “Forgive me, lady nightingale.”

“I’ll see what to do with you.” She stated dismissively, waving him away with her hand “Now run along, I’m sure Charter will find some use for you in the meantime.”

He did not need to be told twice, quickly exiting the balcony with a loud slam to the door. “Lousy company, my dearest?” she teased gently with a small, walking next to you and letting you lean on her.

“Somewhat.” You agreed, resting your head on her shoulder and you looked to the mountains. “Seemed tired. Have him running?”

“He’s new.” She shrugged gently as to not disturb you. “Fresh out of redcliff.”

“I could tell he was Fereldan, his accent is very noticeable.” You hummed, hand coming out to trace random little patterns on her arm. “Strong.”

“It is.” She agreed. “We will have to rid him of it before we send him out in the field.”

You raised a brow “He’s that new?”

“Yes. he is training under Charter at the moment, and hopefully she will be able to help.” Leli slowly removed herself from you.

“I have to go my beloved. Work is neverending when you’re trying to save the world.” She hummed and kissed his cheek delicately.

You sighed but nodded “I know my love. I’ll see you tonight?”

She smiled sadly “I’ll see you tonight.”

You sighed again as she walked away.

Loba

It was duos day! A glorious chance to win with whoever you shall get teamed with to achieve glory and fame. On a bigger note then being a legend already grants you.

You were paired with one of the newer Legends. New Castle you think his name was, but you can’t be bothered to remember. He seemed to be quite sweet on you, much to Loba’s irritation. You were hers goddamnit! Why couldn’t he see that.

So here you were, on the dropship talking to your duo as wells as your other friends like Lifeline, Octane, and Bangalore.

“Are you excited, amigo? I mean you are with the newbie, so me and Lifeline will take it easy on you if we find you.” Octane laughed, patting you on the shoulder affectionately.

“I’ll be the one taking it easy on you, tane!” You protested with a giggle.

New Castle clasped his hand onto your other shoulder and laughed deepily. “I promise I won’t be any dead weight to a beauty like them.”

High heels clacked against the iron flooring of the ship, you were approaching your destination and would soon have to prep to get ready to drop and land for the games to begin. You assumed it was Loba, so you two could have your usual good luck kiss but was surprised when it was Wattson. Loba’s partner.

“Hey.” She smiled and waved “Loba wanted to say she’s too busy to see you before the drop, so she’ll be looking extra hard for you on the ground.” She spoke cheerily.

You blinked. This was the first time she’s done something like this. Was she really so jealous that she’s taking it out on you now? Does she think that you’re too receptive about it? Was that the problem.

Wattson frowned “Are you alright?”

You shook your head and offered your best reassuring smile that you possible could. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little disappointed ya know? But you get heading back Wattson, I don’t want you to miss drop.”

She looked at you, calculating and unsure before her frown only deepened. But she nodded “Yeah ok. See you around, yeah?” and with that she left as quick and out of nowhere as she came.

Finally it was time to drop, the arena was Olympus. Easy enough, it was your personal favorite because your abilities served you every well here. You don’t how New castle was going to fare though, so you kept an eye on him. Even if he is part of your relationship problems, he was still your duo and you still wanted to win.

“I’m the jump master.” You called out, laughter bubbling in your throat “Hope you brought an extra pair of pants newbie.”

“Wh-” he was cut off as you unexpectedly jumped, a yell bubbling out from his throat and into the air that you two were descending in.

You chose a little area that you knew has enough supply bins to give you both some weapons and a few syringes. Maybe a better evo shield too, hopefully.

“So.” he started “How do you prefer to fight?” he asked as he picked up a Hemlock Burst AR.

“I’m a sniper.” You spoke quietly and hushed, hoping he’d take the hint and do the same. Enemies can be anywhere, and with Wraith’s abilities you wouldn’t even see her coming till she was here guns blazing. She was smart, and has good hearing.

He hummed “So I’ll need to man the front. Can do.”

You rolled your eyes, picking up a wingman and some sniper ammo. “You better. Though you probably won’t see enough action. I’m a damn good shot.”

“Better be.” he laughed quietly, loading his burst.

“There’s a care package near us.” You reported, looking to where it was going to land. “Let’s head over.”

And so you did, you getting your favorite gun ever the Kraber, and New Castle getting a\\ prowler. With these new found weapons and some new Evoshields after some kills, you two quickly climbed the latter till it was the last 3. Only six other legends at most.

You were kill leader with a stunning 12 kills, and perched high up as you looked through the enhanced scope on your Kraber. You killed Octane and Lifeline before they even knew what happened, same with bloodhound and Fuse. You killed Ash but Revenant got away, and Bangalore and Valkyrie left as soon as they heard a shot from your Kraber, knowing that with your aim it would be a death sentence.

Caustic and Mirage were easy to pick off when they got distracted arguing with one another, and you killed Wattson as well.

So it was probably Loba and Revenant still out there. New Castle was antsy before you heard it. Revenant’s totem and gun shots. He must have found Loba in one of the buildings, and given their history it’s unsurprising he would waste his ult on her.

Clicking a button, a visor was put over your eyes and you could clearly see that Loba was the victor. 1 squad left, it was just her. You felt bad about this, of course. But as soon as she poked her head out, you were the victors.

The follow up party was the usual, and you were looking for Loba and of course you found her. You were the best sniper ever seen, your senses honed completely. So when you heard her and turned the corner to apologize, you saw the last thing you had ever wanted to see.

Loba and Valkyrie were kissing.

#loba apex legends #reader x loba #lumiwritings #scaramouche x reader #rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen #rhaenyra x daemon x reader #Welcome home x reader #rainbow factory wally x reader #rf! wally x reader #astarion x reader #leliana x reader #dragon age inquisition #multifandom x reader

205 notes · View notes

zepskies · 1 year

Text

If You Want It To Be - Part 3

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: When your car breaks down after a hunt, Sam and Dean tow you back to the bunker for Christmas. This time of year gives you and Dean a little courage to be honest about what you both want. And what you want, is for him to see you. (18+)

AN: And here’s Part 3! This fic is an entry for @deanwinchesterswitch's TGWRC: Christmas in July event. 🩵❄️

Themes: Mistletoe (a classic), eggnog, Christmas dinner

Word Count: 3,600 Tags/Warnings: 18+! Smuttish, fluff and feels.

Part 3: Christmas Day

The next day, Christmas morning comes. You’re up early after a night of somewhat restful sleep (anticipation of today kept you up for a while).

And so are the guys, though their enthusiasm isn’t as bright as yours.

Everyone is still in their pajamas, the humans with their mugs of coffee as you corral your friends into the living room by the sparkling, multicolored tree.

During your trip to Walmart on your first night in, you managed to squeeze in some shopping for actual presents. Your wallet now hates you, and likely will until February.

But it’s worth it to see the guys’ faces when they find their names on gift-wrapped boxes under the tree. Jack in particular wears an expression of wonder, almost like a little kid. It makes you smile.

Everyone has a small gift from you, though they clearly weren’t expecting it. Sam accepts his parcel from you with an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, I don’t think any of us remembered about this part,” he says.

“No worries,” you wave him off. “It’s just a ‘thank you’ for letting me crash here for the holidays.”

You have a new book for Sam, an old-school Gameboy for Jack, a new set of ties for Castiel. You hold your breath when Dean sits down on the couch to open his.

He considers the small box with slightly furrowed brows. He glances up at you.

“What’d you do?” he asks. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Just open it, Dean,” you reply with a laugh. A smile twitches at his face, and he finally obliges you.

Inside the black velvet box is a nice silver watch with a leather strap.

Dean blinks in surprise. He glances over at his empty wrist where his father’s watch used to rest, but he hasn’t replaced it since it broke after the witch hunt in Indiana.

You come over to sit beside him and point out the new watch’s features.

“This part is adjustable,” you explain. “I figured you could take it off and use the strap for your dad’s watch.”

A slow smile spreads across Dean’s face, warm and somewhat disbelieving. You bought him a whole new watch, just so he could use the leather strap for his old one.

Something in his heart tightens, and also eases when he looks up at you. You’re smiling, a little nervous.

And Dean can’t help himself. He cups a hand behind your head and kisses your cheek, wishing he could do more, but not wanting to invite curiosity. Already he can feel Sam’s gaze on both of you.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Dean says. “This is…it’s real nice. Thank you.”

But Sam notices the warmth in his brother’s voice, and the way he looks at you. And the way you’re looking at him, like he hung the damn moon.

It brings a suspicious smile to Sam’s face.

When you offer to pick up breakfast, Dean intervenes and says you’ve done enough. Sam will get breakfast going, he insists. (And Sam, rolling his eyes, agrees with him.)

“I’m gonna step out for a sec, but I’ll be back,” Dean then says.

“See ya later,” you reply with a little wave before you go to help Jack set up his Gameboy. Castiel is already sorting through his new ties, arranging them by color, then by pattern on the sofa.

You glance over your shoulder though, and manage to catch the way Sam pulls his brother aside. You don’t hear what they’re saying, but it sparks your curiosity.

“What?” Dean asks. Sam raises a brow at him, with a knowing smile.

“Get her something good,” Sam tells him.

“Dude, shut up,” Dean holds a finger over his lips and glances over at you. Thankfully, you seem invested in helping Jack.

“I’m just saying. Put some effort in,” Sam persists. His eyes hold a teasing glint. “Nothing from the gas station.”

“All right, I got it,” Dean snipes back. It’s none of Sam’s business, really, but he already has an idea growing in his mind as he heads down to the garage.

Dean has all but disappeared since this morning. You thought the two of you were going to talk at some point, but you haven’t seen him all day.

Maybe it’s stupid, but you start to wonder if he’s avoiding you. If the gift was too much…

Sam happens to catch you lost in thought while you’re glazing a large ham in the kitchen.

“Can I help you with anything?” he asks.

“Sure,” you reply. “Want to peel the potatoes?”

You glance at the bag on the counter. Sam agrees and joins you to wash and start peeling for you.

“Have you seen Dean?” you ask him, hopefully subtle.

Sam’s lips start to form a knowing smile, but he dims it down. “He’s probably in the garage.”

“…Oh, right. God forbid I bother him while he’s working on his car,” you joke. Sam glances at you.

“Or yours, most likely,” he says. “He did promise to get it done by today. Didn’t you guys have a little bet going?”

He knew about that? you think with a blush.

“That was silly,” you admit. “It’s Christmas. He should just relax.”

“When my brother says he’s gonna do something, he commits,” Sam says. “He deals with people the same way.”

You raise a brow at him. “What do you mean?”

Sam just smiles, like he knows something you don’t. He finishes peeling the last potato and sets it down on the counter with the rest.

“All right, what’s next?” he asks.

Once the ham is in the oven and the other side dishes you and Sam prepared are set off to cook, you return to your room to shower and get ready for dinner later.

You decide to wear the dress you found while you were shopping, before you even knew your relationship with Dean would change.

You almost went with a red lacy one, but there was something about this dress—green velvet, off the shoulder sleeves and flaring at the waist. It’s simple, but pretty. You pair it with some comfortable black flats.

You spend longer getting ready, only having to redo your eyeliner once this time. Then you steel yourself, gaining some confidence, and you go downstairs.

Jack is in the kitchen, sneaking a finger in the cranberry sauce.

“I saw that,” you tease. He stiffens like you’ve caught him red-handed. He quickly tucks his hands behind his back. He notices how you’ve cleaned yourself up with a polite nod.

“You look very nice,” he says.

“Thanks!” you chirp, blushing lightly. “Want to help me set the table?”

Jack obliges you like the nice kid he is. You two set up the long dining table that the guys usually use for research, first with the new red tablecloth, then the plates and silverware and glasses.

And finally, while Jack checks on the ham in the oven, you place the (fake) gold candleholders on each side of the table.

Dean comes out of wherever he’s been hiding, right as you’re leaning far over the table to light a candle. You don’t realize how your dress rides up your thighs in the back, but Dean is captivated by the sight for a moment…until he clears his throat.

“Need some help there, sweetheart?”

His unexpected voice startles a yelp out of you. You flail as you lose your balance, but he hooks an arm around your waist and prevents you from catching your hand on fire. He brings you flush against him, smirking down at you.

“Nice reflexes,” he teases. “When’s your audition for the Karate Kid?”

“Oh, shut up,” you gripe back.

You shoot him a playful glare as you rest your palms against his chest. But it loses its effect when you melt into his subsequent kiss. You reach up to twine your arms around his neck, letting your nails graze up the back of his neck and through his hair.

He shudders a little, with a pleasant hum, making you smile against his lips.

He breaks from you with a customary Dean grin, which is equal parts flirtatious, amused, and a hint cocky.

“Miss me?” he asks. You smile through your blush, but you have to taper down your inclination to say yes. His gaze drags down your body with interest.

“I like this dress too,” he says, and his voice fairly rumbles. Along with his scrutiny, it makes your face flare with heat. Your fingers play with a button on his shirt, red flannel this time. He rubs the soft velvet along your hip.

You tilt your face up to him, despite your lingering blush.

“Where’ve you been all day?” you ask. He quirks a smile.

“I’ll show you,” Dean says.

Dean takes your hand and leads you downstairs to the garage.

There you find the remains of your car, which has rusted out parts strewn haphazardly all over the ground. You raise a brow. This is how he fixes your car?

“You are so not winning the bet.”

Dean snorts. “It’s an old rust bucket. Needs a complete fucking overhaul, or the scrap heap. If you really want, I’ll get the new parts, fix it up top to bottom…or, you could just take a stroll through my garage.”

He gestures around, where classic cars are lined up on either side of you. A wide grin spreads across your face.

“Oh my God, you’ll let me drive one of these?” you say in excitement.

“You can pick one out and take it home,” Dean replies. Though he doesn’t want to think about you leaving…maybe you two can talk that over later.

Your smile falters. “What? Dean, no. This is your collection.”

He pulls you in by your waist and gently bucks his hand beneath your chin.

“Call it my gift to you,” he says. You notice his father’s watch once again rests on his wrist, with the help of the new leather strap you bought for him.

“You’d really give me a whole freakin’ car?” you ask, tearing up and beaming bright at the same time.

Dean brushes your cheek tenderly with curled fingers; his answer is in his eyes. You try your best to blink away your would-be tears. He catches the one that falls from the corner of your eye with his thumb.

“Why don’t you go pick one out?” he suggests, nodding behind you.

Biting your lip, you reach up and kiss him sweetly before you get started. You miss the way Dean blushes a bit. Because you’re already meandering down the line of beautiful old classics.

Soon enough you stop at an interesting red one.

“Ooh, this one’s nice,” you say. Dean is unimpressed.

“No,” he shakes his head, crossing his arms.

“What, why?”

“I ain’t puttin’ you in a Volvo. Come on, you can do better than that.”

“But it’s cute.”

“Remember, you’re gonna be driving across state lines,” he reminds you. “You want something reliable, strong.”

You huff and decide to keep looking, but you lay a gentle hand on the side mirror.

“I might be back for you. Don’t go anywhere.”

A smile threatens Dean’s lips as he watches you. He knows for sure he’s losing the bet. But it’s worth it for this moment right here.

You flit between the rows of cars. Finally, you stop at a funky mint green one. It reminds you of a car your grandfather had when you were a kid, when he’d take you out for ice cream on a Sunday.

“You like that one?” Dean asks. He walks over and joins you at the car, soothing a hand over its hood.

“I think I do. What is it?” you ask.

“A Ford Thunderbird, 1960.” Dean’s gaze meets yours, and he smiles. “Good choice. 5.8-liter V8 engine. 300 horsepower. This gal was powerful in her time.”

“Let’s see if she still is,” you say with a grin.

So you and Dean break out the Thunderbird into the open roads of Lebanon, Kansas.

Dean gives you pointers on driving stick, as it’s been a while for you. But after a few minutes, you regain the hang of it and test the car’s powerful sounding engine. It almost rumbles as loud as Baby.

“Oh, crap. What about dinner?” you realize. “The guys must be waiting on us.”

“Eh, they’ll live,” Dean says with a grin. “Keep going. There’s a park right around the corner here.”

Sure enough, you’re about to turn into a park that borders on a small, but beautiful lake. You probably should’ve brought a coat; the car’s old heater isn’t doing you much good in your little dress.

But right now, you don’t care. Because this is a perfect moment, and you don’t think you could be much happier.

You park the car in view of the sparkling lake. Before Dean can turn to you and ask what you think of the car, you’ve started climbing over the upholstery over to his side.

“Whoa. Easy tiger,” he chuckles as you grunt and struggle.

“Here’s my Karate Kid audition,” you joke, earning an even deeper laugh from Dean.

But he helps guide you into his lap, where you straddle his hips and reach down to anchor his seat back. The two of you laugh when it momentarily gets stuck, but Dean is able to fix it. With a turn of his wrist, his seat jerks back and gives you more room to maneuver.

His warm hands smooth up the back of your thighs while you find purchase on his shoulders.

“Hmm. You’re cold, babe,” he remarks with a frown, and he rubs your legs more to generate some warmth on your skin. “Should’ve brought your jacket.”

Your legs might be cold, but your face heats up at the way he calls you babe. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like you’re really his.

Your answering smile is both warm and playful.

“Who needs clothes when I’ve got a big, strong, flannel-wearing man to warm me up,” you tease, soothing your hands along his toned arms.

It lifts his frown into an amused grin, even as he shakes his head and grips your thighs more firmly.

“Oh, so I’m a portable heater now?” he remarks.

“Yup,” you nod with a grin as you lean down. “Do your job, heater.”

Swiping your hair over your shoulder, you lean down for a sweet kiss. But it quickly gains in passion as his tongue slips past the seam of your lips. His hands move to take a healthy grip of your ass, grinding you down into his lap.

A pleased sound gets trapped in your throat when you feel his length pressing against your core through his jeans. You slip a hand into his hair, deepening the kiss and nipping at his lower lip.

You feel like a teenager making out with your boyfriend in some backwoods clearing. But it’s an exhilarating feeling.

You never thought you’d be able to do this. Not with Dean.

You cup his face in your hands and pull back a bit.

“I love this car,” you say. “You really gonna give it to me?”

Dean smirks. Once again, your lipstick (though lighter this time) is smudged all over his mouth and chin. You wipe some of it off with your thumb.

“Maybe I won’t,” he says. “Maybe I’ll take my sweet time fixing that rusted out piece of shit sitting in my garage.”

You giggle against him, and his hands smooth up your thighs, rucking up the skirt of your dress.

“Is that your plan?” you reply. “Strand me at the bunker, make sure I can never go home?”

“Something like that,” he says. “Gotta keep my girl close.”

You huff. “Your girl? That’s presumptuous.”

“Oh, really?” Dean gives a deep chuckle. “Weren’t you the one who said this wasn’t a one-time deal?”

“No, you said that. I’m just along for the ride,” you quip.

But you think you’ve teased him too much when his amusement starts to fade. His green eyes dim to embers as he tilts his head.

“Is that right?” he asks.

You soften, gazing down at him with a more genuine smile. You press your hand to the side of his face, letting your thumb sooth over the apple of his cheek.

“Dean, of course not,” you say patiently. “It’s you. It’s always been you.”

That admission is thick in your throat. It comes out at nearly a whisper.

But then, the shadows begin to clear from Dean’s eyes. His lips curve into a more familiar smile.

He kisses you, and the two of you continue exploring one another. Not to mention, testing the limitations of a reclined car seat.

By the time you two get back to the bunker, the dinner table is a mess. The guys have clearly eaten without you, and now Sam is trying to explain the finer points of football to Cas and Jack in the living room. He pauses when he notices you and his brother walk in.

“Where’ve you guys been?” he asks. But he spies Dean’s hand resting on the small of your back with a smile. “The food is in the kitchen. All you need to do is heat it up.”

“Thanks!” you call to him on your way to the kitchen.

Dean means to follow you, but he stops short when he sees a framed picture of Mary Winchester hanging on the wall in the living room. He draws closer to it, not realizing that the others are watching him. Most of them with curiosity, and one with hopeful wariness.

His mouth curves with a slight smile. Someone caught her by surprise. He can tell by the way she’s looking over her shoulder in the 8” by 10” frame. She wears her favorite green jacket—one that Sam bought for her last year. Her hair brushes past her shoulders in a haphazard mix of blonde curls and waves. But her smile. That smile’s even more golden.

“Who put this here?” Dean asks. When he doesn’t get an answer, he glances back and finds his brother’s gaze first. He just smiles, but doesn’t look like the culprit. Dean moves on to Cas, who subtly shakes his head.

Jack, on the other hand, looks both guilty and hopeful, before his eyes fall to the folded hands in his lap.

Instinctively, Dean wants to tighten up. But when he looks back at his mom’s smile, a little more of the edge in his heart crumbles.

“She looks good there,” he says. He turns back to Jack and gives him a nod…and a reserved smile. The nephilim hesitates to return it, but when he does, it’s a genuine one.

Dean moves on to the kitchen, where he pretends not to catch the way you’d been surreptitiously watching the scene from the kitchen. You duck your head and continue cutting some ham for the two plates you’ve set out on the counter.

Dean’s face lights up when he finds the pies: pecan and apple.

“Okay, you want mashed potatoes or macaroni with the ham?” you ask him. Dean raises a brow at you. You smile in amusement.

“What am I thinking? Both, obviously,” you say.

“Obviously,” Dean quips with a nod.

“Ah, well that’s interesting,” says Castiel. It stops both hunters in the kitchen with curious looks.

“It seems you’re caught again,” the angel tells you, nodding up to the mistletoe poised above you and Dean.

You roll your eyes, while Dean just smirks. You glance up at him with a question in your eyes.

Should we tell them? you ask.

Dean’s smile grows. Hell, yeah.

He leans in to cup your cheek, and he kisses you soundly—something that shocks both angels…but not Sam. You close your eyes with a sound of contentment. You grab onto Dean’s shirt, holding him close.

“She didn’t kiss Sam that way,” Jack comments.

Castiel recovers first, realizing what’s happened by Sam’s knowing look.

“No,” Cas says in amusement. “I don’t believe she did.”

While Sam turns up the volume on the TV, giving you and Dean some privacy, Dean finally parts from you and tugs a loose strand of your hair behind your ear.

“You know, I promised you a car by Christmas,” he says with a grin. “Technically speaking, I did come through on that deal.”

You raise a brow, though a smile tugs at your lips. “Hmm. I suppose you did.”

“And if I remember right, I get a…what was it?” He pretends to recall with a raised finger. “Oh, that’s right. A consequence-free request.”

“Here we go.” You roll your eyes, but amusement and warmth still gleam them. “All right, Dean Winchester. What can I do for you?”

He hums and seems to consider it. He makes a show of it, really, tilting his head, looking down at you with a deepening smirk. You fight not to blush under his scrutiny, even as your smile grows. Your hands rest against his chest, while his slide around your waist and pull you in closer.

“How about you don’t go running off so soon,” he says, thumbing at your cheek. “Stay through New Year’s, at least.”

You’d be lying if you said you aren’t shocked. You raise a brow.

“That’s your request?”

Dean shrugs, but his quirking smile can’t hide the fondness in his eyes. It warms you in a way you also don’t expect.

Taking your chin with gentle fingers, he presses a lingering kiss to your lips. Your eyes close as you once again take in this heady feeling. Being with him still doesn’t quite feel real, but you’re holding on for as long as you can.

When he eventually pulls away, he smiles at your slightly hazy face.

“I already got what I wanted,” Dean says. “Now we just…keep this good thing going.”

You really do blush this time.

“Got what you wanted, huh?” you tease. He gives you a wry look.

“Not what I meant.” Then he smirks, squeezing your hips. “But actually yeah, that too.”

You laugh and swat at his shoulder.

“Well, since I’m honor bound. I suppose I can stay a few more days,” you reply. “And I mean, your birthday’s not long after that.”

Dean hums in agreement. “We talkin’ early birthday present?”

You flash him a cheeky smile and slowly slide your hands down his arms.

“Then Valentine’s Day’s is just around the corner,” you add. Dean nods sagely, trying to temper his smile.

“Might as well stay through February,” he says.

You grin. “Ooh! St. Patrick’s Day!”

Dean laughs genuinely then, throwing his head back. You hold onto the edges of his button-down shirt and tug him back to you.

“What I mean to say is, I could consider staying longer,” you say. However long you want me, your tone suggests. “…I’ll just need to tie up a few things.”

You know your father will be just fine if you decide to move to Lebanon someday soon. He now has his new wife to keep him company, and there isn’t much else tying you to your hometown besides nostalgia, and bittersweet memories of your mom.

“Is that a serious offer?” Dean asks.

You grin up at him playfully. “If you want it to be.”

He smiles and kisses you again. The way he holds you, looks at you, it’s tender enough to make your throat tighten with emotion.

“I do,” Dean says. He stares down into your eyes. “It’s you, sweetheart. For me too. Just you.”

Your smile is tremulous, but oh, so bright.

“Good.”

AN: And that's it, folks! 🥹 Let me know what you thought of Part 3. I truly hope you enjoyed it!

Coming Up Next:

I have one other Christmas in July fic in store, over in The Boys fandom. Look out for "Love Actually" (Soldier Boy x Reader) next week!

It's set in the "Break Me Down" story-verse, but can be read as standalone. I will tag everyone who follows that ongoing story (which is almost finished!!).

Series Masterlist

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Tag List:

Comment below or send me an ask if you'd like to be tagged in this series!

@iprobablyshipit91 @katherineann83 @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @agalliasi @venicesem @waters-2567 @deans-spinster-witch @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @mimaria420 @skyesthebomb @this-is-me19 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @emily-winchester @hobby27 @spnexploration @freewastelandstrawberry @stoneyggirl2 @satanicpixiedreamgirl @agothwithheavysetmakeup @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @melancholictearz @tipthejar @deans-baby-momma @nic-kolas @jacklesdeanvessel @beautyvaliant @mrshalverson2021 @ajjustice @leigh70 @violetlilysunshine @jackles010378 @ades106 @luvs4dria

316 notes · View notes