#I really want to write their last meeting as a happy fic where nothing changes in the plot it's just happy and then it ends | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

deanssluvr · 3 months

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thought you were made for me

part 2 | part 3

pairing: brother’s bsf!Joost Klein x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of drugs and alcohol

word count: 2.4k

a/n: this is my first fic so please be nice. I didn’t really expect to write more than 500 words lmao. Also, this isn’t proofread sorry. I plan on writing a part 2 for this.

It had already been a long and tough week. With just finishing the last of your final exams the week prior. Each exam felt like it took years off of your life. And the week itself felt as though it would never end. Not even mentioning the multiple all-nighters you pulled to study before. But when it was finally over you were beyond ecstatic. And now you got to finally be at home and relax.

It was relatively quiet morning. You had decided to stay in the comfort of your blanket for a while longer before deciding to head down to the kitchen. There you were greeted by your brother Ethan and his best friend Joost. They were making breakfast. Well, it was just your brother cooking and Joost waiting patiently. Ever since Joost finished touring, he’d been spending a lot of time at your house. Spending multiple nights in your guest room. Your parents never really minded because he was nice and respectful. Usually, they’re in your brother’s room playing video games or out doing something. You never really got the chance to see him a lot since you were off to college. But you were hoping that would change now that you were home.

“Good morning.” Joost smiled softly. Ethan turned away from the stove briefly to tell you good morning and offered you breakfast. You nodded and turned back Joost. He was sipping a cup coffee and the steam was slightly fogging up his glasses. He took them off and set them on the counter beside him.

“Good morning Joost.” You returned the smile. He moved next to you from where he was standing.

“And how are you this morning?” he asked in a low tone. His voice was still laced with sleep.

“I’m good. Just glad to be back home. How are you this morning.” You looked up at him and through tired eyes.

“Better now,” he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. It caught you off guard. Was he flirting with you? Before you can finish that thought your brother hands you both a plate of food. You thanked him and they walk out of the kitchen to the dining room. Leaving you to your thoughts.

—

Later on that day, you called your best friends. They discussed with you their plans with their newfound freedom. You were shocked at their ideas. Party here and bar hop there. You thought they were just as exhausted as you. The idea of getting wasted as a celebration wasn’t your favorite idea. You just wanted to catch up on sleep.

“But we’ve been doing nothing but staying in our dorms for finals. We NEED to go out,” she stated.

“I know. I know. But maybe we could do something a bit more laid back. Like the movies or that festival that’s in town.” I practically pleaded with them. But it was no use. They weren’t changing their minds, and I was outvoted two to one. The conversation shifted back to their ideas for celebration for the next few days.

After agreeing to meet up this weekend, you said your goodbyes to your friends and hung up the phone. But quickly after your brother texts you.

hey Joost has a concert tonight. i have an extra ticket. wanna go with me?

You thought about it for a good moment. You just wanted to get some extra sleep tonight, but on the other hand, you haven’t spent much time with your brother since you left for college. And now is a better time than ever to make up for lost time. Also, you just wanted another excuse to see Joost.

ofc sounds like fun

it’s tonight at 8. i’ll pick you up at 7

You texted him “okay” before setting your phone back down, and finished making yourself lunch.

—

As leaned over the sink, you checked your makeup one last time in the mirror. You used your nail to fix your lipstick. You stepped back to look over your overall outfit and decided you were happy with the outcome. You sprayed a bit of your favorite perfume on yourself. Checking the time you realized you were ready a bit early, so you sat in your living room. You started scrolling through Instagram as you waited. Then a notification popped up in your phone.

hey i’m outside.

You quickly checked your appearance once last time in a nearby mirror and checked your purse to make sure you had everything. When you felt satisfied with everything you grabbed your keys and left the house.

The ride to the venue was relatively smooth. You talked about what you’d miss in each other’s lives. He explained to you how he just found a new job as a bartender at a new bar downtown. He also told you how he was saving up for a new place. You told him that you were really happy for him. When he asked about you, you told him about how you just finished up finals week and now you finally have time off. He gave you a small chuckle and congratulated you.

—

The outdoor venue was packed that night and people were trying to rush to the front. You’re glad your brother was there as he kept a secure grip on you and was able to push you both to the barricades near the stage. It was extremely humid that night with a faint smell of weed and cigarette smoke clogging the air.

The lights dimmed slightly and you heard a beat starting to play over the speakers. You could feel the anticipation from the crowd and it made you even more excited as you leaned forward on the barricade. Then Joost ran on stage. Blue flashing lights engulfed him as he started performing and the crowd, including yourself, began jumping to the beat.

Once the energy died down slightly, you were able to take him in. His outfit was really simple tonight. He was in a white dress shirt with his sleeves rolled up giving us a glimpse at the tattoos that littered his arms, a pair of baggy jeans, and his black thick-rimmed glasses that were fogging up every so often. Something was enticing about him and you couldn’t keep your eyes off of him.

You had never heard his music before, but that didn’t stop you from letting loose. Everyone around you on the other hand, including your brother, is yelling the lyrics word for word. Joost takes notice of this and walks further downstage towards your brother, acknowledging him and smiling. Now you were able to get a good look at his face. He is even prettier up close you thought to yourself. Then he looks over to you, holding eye contact for just a split second before giving you a wink and continuing his performance. You were in utter disbelief at the encounter. You honestly thought you had imagined it. You were pulled back to reality when the loud beat of the next song started pouring into your ears.

—

“Did you enjoy the concert?” your brother asked as you both walked to his car. You were still feeling the buzz of the concert. It felt like the night shouldn’t end here. Maybe because you wanted to see Joost again.

“Yes, I did! His music is so good. I had an amazing time.” You left out the part about him winking at you, but you felt that you should keep that bit of information to yourself.

“Well, I’m glad that you had a good time.” His phone chimed with a notification. As he checked it you decided to check your phone. Your friends were blowing up your phone about the concert. They loved Joost so they wanted to know how it went. As you texted them back, your brother spoke.

“Hey, Joost is having a little after-party at a club nearby. He’s asking if the both of us wanted to go.“ You considered it for a moment. You did want to see him again. But when you did what would you say? Maybe he does this to all of his fans. Your brother senses your indecisiveness and tries to help.

“You don’t have to go. I would understand. I mean you’re not close to him. I just asked because he said he wanted to see you.” You were surprised at his request.

“No. I want to. I would love to go.” You stated as you gave him a reassuring smile. He nodded as he started the car towards the new destination.

—

Your eyes scan over the scene. A DJ was blasting music over the speakers, but it was more near the dance floor. The place was dim with small, warm lights keeping tables and the lit. You follow your brother as he leads you to a table that seats a few guys. When you got close enough you realized it was Joost and who you assumed were a few of his friends. He loudly acknowledged your brother as they shared an embrace. They share a few words before he sees you.

“Hey. I’m glad you came.” he hugged you and you embraced him back. He smelled faintly of cigarette smoke, but it didn’t bother you. You liked it. You both lingered for what was probably a moment too long before he let go. You looked over to your brother and saw that he went to talk to the other guys at the table. Leaving you with Joost.

His eyes slowly scanned over you as he took in your appearance. Once his eyes reached yours, you noticed a different look in his eyes. Almost like hunger. Being under his gaze almost made you feel nervous.

“Come sit with me and let me pour you a drink.” He didn’t give you much of a choice as he grabbed your wrist lightly, his fingers brushing against your palm. He guided you to sit with him in the booth. He pulled you close enough to the point that your thighs were touching. You liked around and realized it was just the two. You scan the place and see your brother and his other friends have run off to the bar. Probably to do shots you thought to yourself.

You focused your attention back to Joost who was carefully pouring you both a drink. Though it was hard to see, a small dim light slightly lit up his face allowing you to still see his face. His hair was even messier than it was at the concert but he still looked amazing. You notice his strikingly delicate features and his captivating eyes that seem to sparkle under the light. Your eyes then trace down his arms and you take note of the tattoos that are there.

“Here.” He pulls you out of your trance by handing you a glass with brown liquor in it. You take the glass from him, your finger faintly brushing his. You didn’t drink much and when you did it was mainly vodka. Nonetheless, you drank it anyway. He watched as you took a sip and smiled when you seemed to enjoy it. He drank some of his own before turning to you.

“Did you enjoy tonight’s show?” He leaned in closer making sure you heard his question.

“Yes, I did. Your music is really good. I wish I had discovered your music sooner.” Even with how dark it is you notice the smile he gave you.

“I'm happy you had a good time. You know I know we don’t know each other that well, but I would love for us to get closer.” Once again he leaned in, but this time it was in your ear. His warm breath against your ear sent goosebumps across your skin. As he leaned back to look at you, he stopped just inches away from your face. You can faintly feel his breath against your lips. You swear can see his eyes glance at your lips for a second before looking back into your eyes. His expression changed again into what you saw when he first greeted you. Hunger. His eyes were focused on yours and it made you nervous. The air suddenly changed. It felt more thicker and warmer.

“Let’s go dance.” He offered his hand as he slid out of the booth. You smiled and took his hand. He guided you to the crowd on the dance floor and pushed you both near the center. There was a dark blue light that engulfed everyone. The beat took over you as you started dancing. You let your hips away to the rhythm. You felt Joost’s hands find their way to your waist, and he pulled you closer to him.

You continue to dance against him, grinding on him. His hands started to explore your body as they found themselves on your hips, and then slowly went down to the hem of your short skirt. His fingers found their way under and he started to rub the soft skin. His head found its way closer to the crook of your neck. You feel his warm breath on your collarbone as he speaks.

“Ik heb je nodig (I need you)” He breathes into your neck and it sends shivers down your spine. With the light grip he has on you, he turns around so now you’re facing him. You wrap your arms around his neck pulling him closer to you. Your faces are inches away from each other. The air around you is hot and thick. You look into his eyes and see the same familiar look as before. Even under the lights, you can see his pupils blown with lust.

You don’t know if it was the alcohol but you felt bold. So you pulled him into a kiss which he happily accepted. His hands moved from the hem of your skirt up to the curve of your ass where he squeezed lightly. The kiss became more intense as you both realized how hungry you were. Your hands found their way to his hair and you pulled gently at the white locks. He pulled away only to say something.

“We should take this somewhere else.” He suggested between pants. You nod quickly. He takes your hand and guides you off the dance floor. Your head was buzzing and you felt as though you were caught in a haze. He leads you back to the table and you see your brother and some of his friends there with a few girls. Joost let go of your hand only for a moment when telling your brother that you were both leaving early. He told him you weren’t feeling good. Surprisingly he wasn’t suspicious of anything and only told you both to drive safe. With that, you and Joost make your way to his car. You both get settled in before he looks over at you.

“My place or yours liefje (sweetheart)”

#joost klein #joost klein x reader #joost x reader #joost klein x fem!reader

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residenthughes · 6 months

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coming home - connor dewar

pairing: connor dewar x fem! reader

word count: 11k

tags/warning: friends to lovers, childhood friends to lovers, fluff, slight angst?, mentions of alcohol/drinking, minor swearing

summary: your entire life has entailed having connor by your side, no matter where the universe carves your paths. back home for the summer leading up to your final year of university, there's much to ponder - even your own feelings about your best friend.

notes: this is genuinely a labour of love, the longest fic i've written in a long time 😭 i wanted this to be short and sweet, but it's long and sweet and i don't know how to feel about that lmao. but (!!!) i am really proud/happy about how this has come together and i hope you all enjoy this fic just as much as i loved writing it 😇 this is mostly proofread, but it is 5 in the morning, so I'll return to this soon! (apologizes for any errors towards the end!) more dewey content shall be coming soon, hehe! much love! <333

(also! this is very much in celebration of dewey's first goal as a leaf, teehee! 😁💗⭐️)

Summer’s always your favourite time of the year. Tan lines, midnight drives, fireworks, the beach. So much sweetness is in the breezy summer air and you simply can’t get enough. You wouldn’t admit it, but your favourite part of the season is when one of your closest friends, Connor, comes up from his gruelling hockey season and returns to the slow and laid-back lifestyle of your small town. Having grown up next door neighbours the majority of your lives, you quickly became two peas in a pod, always together with laughter following closeby.

Your friendship is something you’ve always treasured, held in some reclusive and special part of your heart that only houses your fated connection. No matter how mundane your time together may be - Connor strumming his acoustic guitar and you reading as the citrus sunset dips into the horizon - it's all so memorable to you and nothing, as you’ve come to experience, can ever replace his place in your life. However, life is a constant cycle of change and that first dose came when you two were fourteen, too awkward for your own good and growing out of your bodies. Connor was selected to play in a high-level hockey league hours away from your hometown and as your fingertips buried themselves into his tear-soaked t-shirt, you swore nothing could compare to this pain. The absolute tear of your beating heart out of your raw chest that ached with every gasp. You were a mess, undeterred by your futile attempt to appear as nonchalant at your silly age, but the second Connor stood on your porch, luggage in hand and the sadest tinge in his sage eyes, you fell apart.

Despite the sheer anguish you experienced that crisp autumn day, you adjusted. Stayed in contact with your best friend and continued to build up your life in his absence. Completed all your teenage rites of passage - took some extracurriculars, went to prom (you wanted to ask Connor, but ultimately decided against it), graduated high school and started attending university in Calgary - nine hours away from home. So many things changed and some still stayed the same. Connor was still as hockey obsessed and through his diligent efforts, he’s achieved his dreams of playing in the NHL night after night. You were there for draft day and there for his first game, university be damned. As was Connor, in the stands during your high school graduation and any time you needed him, whether that was him sitting on the phone with you until four in the morning or meeting up with you halfway across two countries because he felt like it. There was always something so spectacular about you two, your stories detailed by destiny and hung amongst the stars. A divine creation that despite the odds, of paths that have taken you two elsewhere, always merged because that is simply how it’s meant to be.

And, so it is, your last summer before your final year and here you are, fingertips tapping against the wooden bar as your leg jerks in anticipation of a figure that will come through your hometown bar, Punch & Judy’s doors any minute now.

Your best friend, Charlotte, manages to interweave your antsy fingers in between hers, a nurturing smile across her smooth face. “He’ll get here, don’t worry.”

Your eyebrows quirk, your legs stopping all motion. “Who said anything about worrying?”

She rolls her eyes, unamused. “You know what I mean,”

Then, she goes on to untangle your fingers, leaning her crossed arms against the bar occupied by the usual mellow group of regulars, including your own bunch of friends. “Besides, you know him. Knowing you’re here, he’s tryna get here quicker than a New York minute.”

A funny feeling flips in the pits of your stomach, an immediate flush coating the apples of your cheeks as you clumsily grab at your cider bottle. Connor always poked fun at your inability to enjoy a cold one, resorting to fruity flavours of cider. “He’s a law-abiding citizen, he’ll wait for the greenlight even if it kills him.”

“If you say so,” Charlotte casts you a glance out of the corner of her eye, smugness tugging at the corners of her lips as she takes another swig of her beer. The bell signifying the main door opening sounds in the background. “Oh, look. Speak of the devil and he shall appear! Hey there, stranger!”

Suddenly, your attention is elsewhere, eyes pinned to the tall silhouette that struts through the doorway of the LED ridden bar, kind eyes and a kinder smile with his tousled hickory hair and hushed voice finding its way to your eardrums again after so long. It’s like coming home again, watching from afar as close friends fall into endless hugs, your reunion saved for last as you beam a closed mouthed smile, reproduced by your best friend who opens his arms for a hug that solely belongs to you. You fall into him instinctively, inhaling his soft woody scent as you bury yourself in his embrace, the pendulum of your life coming to a pause as your universe centres.

“Get a room, you two!” Connor’s brother, Quinn taunts from over your shoulder, eliciting an exaggerated sigh from you as you’re reluctantly reminded of the lame chirps he seems to be full of whenever you and Connor are together.

You ignore him, savouring the moment for what its momentarily worth before Connor’s pulling away, arms loosely wrapped around the circumference of your waist as he peers down at you with those same green eyes you’ve known your entire life.

“Hi.” you breathe, short and sweet.

He simpers, something coy in the lines of his smile as he replies back, “hi.”

It’s a simple greeting, but there’s so much more in those few syllables - the endless gravity of your shared experiences and fondest memories making their way back to each other. Your eyes linger for a minute longer, taking in each other’s presence that’s long been missed due to your busy schedules leading up to your summer break. You part ways and despite how fulfilled you are to have him here and see him after some time, there’s a small knack that nags at you - hollow and wanting as you venture to a booth nearby, squishing up in between Charlotte and another one of your guy friends, Owen Power, who like Connor has been busting his ass in the NHL and friends with you all for longer than you can remember. You all chatter amongst yourselves with Connor’s brother sitting across from you, a discussion brewing as Connor returns shortly after getting a drink at the bar, sliding beside his brother with a beer in hand.

“Come on, Connie. Help me out here, these guys have lost the plot.” His brother argues, an eye roll your response.

Connor looks between your group, a knit in his eyebrows. “What’s the deal?”

“They’re tryna say, get this - that dolphins are more dangerous than damn orcas. Can you believe that?” Quinn attests, expression pinched as he ruffles the curls of his bleached hair sticking out his snapback.

“Hey! We’re well within reason to be arguing with you. You on the other hand? I don’t think so.” Charlotte proclaims, an accusatory finger directed towards Quinn.

“Yeah, not gonna lie, Quinn. You’re severely underestimating how evil dolphins are,” concludes Owen, his hand raised as he pushes up his glasses on the bridge of his sunkissed nose.

Quinn guffaws, jaw slack as his eyes flicker between everyone’s faces in quick succession, clearly in disbelief. “Are you hearing this right now?”

“Look, Q - we’ve been over this,” you start, hands extending as if to make sense of your proposed point. “You’ve been fed dolphin propaganda. We’ve literally shown you so many resources about their heinous crimes. Take it or leave it.”

Quinn groans, elbowing his older brother who wordlessly listens to the ongoing conversation. “Bro! A little help would be nice.”

A brief pause follows his younger brother’s melodrama, Connor weighing out the arguments of a conversation he hadn’t been here for, his eyes flickering over towards yours fleetingly. An unexplained shiver runs down your spine, the action camouflaged poorly as you appear to distract yourself from the sensation, fingernails scratching against the lines of your neck as you look up at the ceiling.

“Hello?!” hollers Quinn.

You swear he loves to hear himself talk.

“They’re right,” Connor concludes, eyes set on you as he speaks before he takes a swig of his beer, focusing back onto his brother. “Personally, I think you’ve been taking one too many trips to Sea World.”

“The promised land of dolphin propaganda.” mentions Charlotte.

“This is ridiculous!” Quinn exclaims, sending a heavy elbow into his older brother’s arm, all of which barely gains any sort of response from him. “What happened to honour amongst bros, huh? They don’t have that in Minnesota or what?”

Connor scoffs lightly, his smile reading amused as his head turns towards his brother. “That doesn’t mean I have to agree with everything you say.”

Quinn mumbles something under his breath, clearly displeased. “I forget you’re my harshest critic.”

Their double act entices the crowd, your circle of friends laughing amongst yourselves as Quinn folds his shoulders with his usual theatrics. No one buys into it, much less Connor who drapes his arm loosely around his brother’s squared shoulders, leaning in with a tickled pink smile that reflects within your own expression.

“You’re just mad I won’t kiss your ass.”

That earns him a shove off Quinn’s shoulders, sending him into a fit of laughter. Everyone chortles along, basking in the merriment of the moment before you’re delving into other non-controversial topics, indulging everyone in the bits and pieces of your lives they’ve missed and just like that, you're four drinks in and so sentimental it hurts. Owen suggests a walk around the town centre, a tradition you cannot help but all agree to as you all shimmy out of your respective booth, bidding Judy at the bar farewell as you file out of the establishment.

The cobalt sky dazzles with stars you’ve forgotten shine so bright here, the midday heat nowhere in sight as a cool breeze pushes you forwards. You linger behind Quinn as he impulsively hops onto Owen’s back, who stumbles at the sudden weight whilst Charlotte laughs at the unfolding scene. Nostalgia warms your heart at the sight, eyes half-closed and posture relaxing as the warm summer night holds you close and kisses your worries goodbye.

An arm drapes over your shoulders, your slow strides matching up with Connor’s as he looks to you, smile small and earnest as he playfully challenges, “Since when did you know about dolphin propaganda?”

You gasp, humour shaping your lips. “Well, you’ve been in my ear most of my life yapping about it, so…”

“Hey, I’m just saying - was I wrong?” the smirk on his face attests to his unwavering confidence and as you catch a whiff of his woody cologne, you roll your eyes in defeat, smile still on your lips.

“Considering you wore a shark tooth to school, I didn’t think so.”

You have to bite back the wide smile that fights to spread across your face, a few snickers here and there escaping before the loose ring around your shoulders closes in, Connor smushing your face inwards against the strength of his bicep. You can’t help but laugh throughout, swatting away his pesky grip that lasts no longer than a few seconds before all you hear is the echoes of your winded chuckles. In an effort to stabilise yourself from the momentary loss of oxygen, your hand seeks Connor’s, holding onto his larger and warmer as your feet hit the pavement in unison.

“Feels good to be back, doesn’t it?”

You let your head fall to Connor’s shoulder, arm wrapping around his lower back as your steps sync with such ease. A lightness in your limbs and how perceptive you can be to the sounds of downtown - car horns, hushed chatter and the like - let you know there’s nowhere you’d rather be right now than here. Back at home, with your best friends and your partner in crime who you answer in the form of a hum.

Your first few days back in the Pas are slow and uneventful, most of your time spent decompressing from the taxing semester and unpacking your items, all of which you didn’t know just how much you possessed. In an effort to make the most of the sunshine and get out the house for reasons other than your part time job at the local diner, you sign up for community gardening activities and ask the groupchat if anyone wants to come along. Everyone appears to have plans, except for Connor, who in the early hours of the next morning, picks you up from your childhood home and drives into town where for the next few hours, you’re knee deep in dirt under the blaring sun as you plant various kinds of greenery to spotlight the natural beauty of your rustic town.

What is certain, when early afternoon pours in, painting the sky in shades of honey and tangerine, you’re exhausted beyond belief. You have no idea how Connor makes the drive home, yet he does and when you two collapse into the hammock in your family’s backyard, your lips are slack and echoing more yawns than you can contain.

“That was great and all, but that’s knocked me out,” Connor groans, limp body shuffling in the confinements of the cotton hammock hanging off one of the trees in your backyard. The same tree which holds the treehouse you and Connor partially lived in throughout your youth. “That was more tiring than hockey practice.”

You’re tired and easily distracted, your head perched up in a way that puts the treehouse in your direct eye-line. “Remember when we’d watch movies in that treehouse?”

A brief pause follows, occupied by the tranquil chirps and running water from the nearby bird bath. “Yeah, I’d always wanna watch Jaws but you wanted to watch Disney movies.”

You give him a laugh, shuffling yourself in order to get comfortable in the small space. Why did you two think this would work like it did ten years ago? The thought occurs to you, but you brush it off to save yourself additional mental load, making the adjustments to cater to some form of comfortability in the tiny space. Even if that means sacrificing your shared personal space as your body overlaps onto Connor’s strong and firm one.

“Says the guy who knows the all the songs in Lemonande Mouth,” you counter, “And, Let it Shine.”

Without missing a beat, in his sleepy voice, Connor replies with, “kissy kissy, Roxanne, did you miss me?”

Groaning despite the snickers slipping past your lips, you bury your head into Connor’s chest, refusing to hear the rest of his ramblings. “My girl is hotter than your girl, you know it! You know it.”

To get your point across, you unbury your head, wide eyes peering up at your best friend who’s so amused by this all, hair messy and smile stretching from ear to ear. A bright sight. “Can you not?”

“You’re just hating 'cause I sing better than you.” He follows that by sticking his tongue out at you, so mature for his age that you grant him the response of a heavy sigh and an averted gaze, settling back into the peace and serenity of your backyard.

However, the silence doesn’t last long before you’re speaking again.

“Your hair’s getting long,” you observe, fingertips dancing along Connor’s nape as you absently fiddle with the long strands of his hair, silky between your fingers. “You should let me cut it.”

“Name a time and place, and I’ll be there,” he mumbles sleepily against the crown of your head, soothing you further towards a serene sleep. “Unless you fuck it up. Then, I won’t forgive you.”

You give him the satisfaction of a laugh tucked away in your chest, the ghost of a smile dissipating as the aches of a hard work’s start to plunge their teeth into your flesh and bones, body like cement as you sink further into the comfort of the hammock, into the comfort of your calm summer afternoon.

“One of my friends from my team’s supposed to be coming up for a night or two,” Connor croaks, voice hoarse and the gentle breeze of the summer’s day pecking your skin in an act of love. “Think…you’ll all get along with him quite well.”

His point is punctuated by a tired yawn that proves to be contagious as you mirror the action moments after, eyes unbearably heavy as time moves slow like molasses, body further sinking against Connor’s. You don’t even stop yourself from falling asleep, only blinking away the exhausted sting in your eyes to answer your best friend.

“Can’t wait,” you mumble, adjusting your body against Connor as your limbs slot together like puzzle pieces, matched at every curve as slumber envelopes you two in a kind embrace. “It’ll be good - the visit…and the rest of summer.”

Your words trail in a drowsy daze, tone doused in sleepiness as your eyes can no longer keep themselves open, glimpses of hickory branches and pear leaves wishing you peace and serenity as you finally fall asleep.

Your shift at the local diner passes without as much traffic as expected, local patrons ordering their usual with a few tourists dropping by to try the culinary experience of your average but nostalgic diner food. Due to how quiet the establishment is - Mabel, your boss and long-time owner of the diner - lets you off early and with a hug, you scurry back to your family house to get ready for the night's events. After dozing off with Connor in the hammock out back, your mother softly awoke to you with a holler she’s used since the dawn of time.

“Up and at ‘em, kids. Dinner’s ready!” in the distance of your dreams, you hear your mother yell.

With drowsy film still coating your eyes, you and Connor manage to dislodge your limbs from one another, sleepy smiles and croaky chuckles exchanged as you amble inside your house and Connor stays for a filling homemade meal that everyone at the dining table fawns over. Connor hangs back as you venture into the kitchen to wash up, a tradition you two have forged, him washing the dishes and you drying them. Not much dialogue takes place between the two of you and there is no need. For all the instances where you believed the need for conversation, you appreciate this silence so much more - how there’s no urge to talk for the sake of talking and how much comfort there is with simply just being with Connor. After you’ve done the washing up and Connor’s hugged your mother goodbye, fist bumping your father hilariously enough, he’s climbing into his car and wishing you well.

“You sure you don’t need me to pick you up from Mabel’s?” coaxes Connor, the wiggle of his eyebrows offsetting the echoes of titters that leave your lips.

“I’m good, thanks. Need to shower and get ready, anyways,” a gentle gust of wind blows, fallen leaves scraping against the cement of your driveway. “We all know how long that takes.”

“I don’t mind waiting.” Connor simpers, says like it’s the easiest thing in the world and like it doesn’t demand for the city of butterflies within you to soar beyond their ability.

You flash a strained smile, giving the top of Connor’s car a pat as your posture straightens and you step away from the vehicle. “Goodbye, Connor.”

“See you soon.” and just like that, he’s gone with the wind, taking a little piece of you with him.

It’s when you’re strolling your way back inside the house, halfway up the stairs to your bedroom that your mom gives you a gentle call, beckoning you back down the stairs to find her in the dimly lit living room, mahogany reading glasses hanging low on the bridge of her nose whilst the quiet snores of your father and his baseball game fill in the background noise.

She folds her newspaper, crinkles running up your spine as she addresses you. “So good to have Connie over, makes me miss him more when he’s away.”

Connor is like a son to her, the better part of your childhood glued at the hip whilst your parents cooed and awed at your loyalty to one another. He helps around the house with no complaint nor expectation of compensation, buys her favourite flowers every Mother’s day with an additional heartfelt gift come her birthday. He listens, he jokes and he cares. What more could she ask for?

“Can’t imagine how much more you miss him whilst you’re away.” she comments, throwing her denim clad leg over the other, directing all her attention to you, swaying between two feet with your hands behind your back, sceptical.

“Well, we try to meet up when we can, so it’s not too bad,” your hand goes to scratch the back of your neck, chin jutted as your head leans to the side. “…Is that why you called me down?”

Awkwardness rarely rears its head in your household built upon openness and unconditional love, which is why the unspoken truth your mother struggles to vocalise raises a red flag, your skin prickling as you fiddle with your hands behind your back.

She’s looking at you now, a maternal love in her eyes as she speaks up. “Maybe, I can’t really put my finger on it, really. I did, however, want to say that I hope you guys keep each other in your lives, however that may pan out in the future. There’s a special happiness in your eyes I want you two to be selfish with.”

It’s a small thing, she says. A snowflake amongst the pile of snow in the realms of your mind, but as you lay in bed later on that late afternoon, staring at the gold stars Connor helped hang up in your room, your mind wanders places it never conceptualised. Inserts Connor in places in your life where he hadn’t been previously - opposite you illuminated by a candle-lit dinner, dancing in a kitchen as you prepare breakfast and kiss each other in between, above your bare body as he holds you in the palm of his hand like you are the most precious thing the universe has gifted him. It’s a point in time that despite busying yourself with dipping your toes back into your hobbies - heck, even walking your next door neighbour’s golden retriever to clear your head - it never quite leaves you, awakening something deep and dormant in you that never goes away.

Snapping out of your syrupy daze, you adorn yourself in your finest line dance clothing, slipping on your gingerbread cowboy boots before you’re tying bows in the pigtails of your hair. Your mother yells down the stairs for you and you leave in a flash, kissing her goodbye as she drops you off at Punch and Judy’s, your jewellery clinking together as you walk through the main entrance.

Much like your first night back, the bar is illuminated in dim light and sharp LED lights of varying colours. Cowboy hats dominate the sea of customers, the building crowd of the bar dressed in shades of denim and tired leather cowboy boots. Knowing the others have already arrived, saving a spot at a nearby booth, you decide to make your way to the bar first, ordering your signature berries-flavoured cider, to which Punch (co-owner) makes quick work of, the cold beverage in your hands before you can blink.

“Beer not to your liking, sugar?” A smoky, mellow voice grabs your attention.

You spare a glance at the source of the gravel voice, eyes long lingering as they capture the image of a face that stirs a flip in the pits of your stomach. The man stood beside you braces his muscular arms against the hickory brown of the wooden bar, his sleepy chocolate eyes trained on yours as he takes a swig of his tequila flavoured Desperado beer. Locks of umber messily cascade along his face, unless tucked away in his vintage black cowboy hat that ties together the rugged cowboy look he presents with the sweet addition of his light stubble. To make things worse, he’s stupidly fit, his black t-shirt clinging to the curves of his muscles like second skin. If it were up to you, you’d-

“Like what you see?”

The smug comment snaps you out of your hazy olge, a pout forming upon your lips with an accompanying knit in your eyebrows. You make a point to angrily grab at your pint glass, ingesting a big gulp of the sugary alcohol whilst the rugged cowboy laughs to himself.

Even his laugh is attractive. Sick bastard.

“Coming from a man drinking a Desperado? Funny,” you have to laugh at whatever lame attempt of making conversation this man is pulling, Punch masking his misplaced laughter behind a cough as he polishes a pint glass. “How flirtatious you are.”

You admit, your latter remark is more bark than bite, a quick chirp that refuses to feed his ego yet grab his interest all at the same time. The ruse proves to work in your favour as the sexy cowboy gives another one of his huffed laughs, his body turned towards yours.

“Give me a chance, sugar. Just tryna start the night off right,” he counters, so brazenly confident in himself that you don’t know whether to laugh or shy away from his prying eyes. “Tequila beer and beautiful company - sounds about perfect to me.”

You react in a juxtaposition, eyes rolling and cheeks flushing as you divert your line of sight away from the handsome man flirting with you at your hometown bar. Perhaps, he’s some city folk travelling through the town, fancying himself a good time at Punch & Judy’s weekly hoedown Fridays, a little bit of flirting on the side to inflate his ego and keep his blood pumping. Whatever reason explains his presence, you are not one to complain. Your love life isn't very entertaining to put it mildly, so you're willing yourself not to get swept up in his caramel eyes.

Against the wishes of your quickening heart, you decide to give Mr. Handsome Traveller the time of day, body shifting as you face each other finally. “You don’t quit, don’t you?”

He cocks an eyebrow your way, something sneaky and sugary in the lines of his smile. A brief pause follows his actions, the soft rustic sounds of old town country murmuring from the jukebox nearby filling up in the space between your figures. It’s when he’s about to make yet another cocky comment that your conversation is put on pause.

Connor’s voice calls your name, head turning to find your best friend standing in between you and the Punch & Judy’s cowboy of the night, eyes wide and expectant as they shift back and forth in the middle of your standing figures.

“Dew, forget about Desperados tonight. The lady in bows will have your head otherwise.” Handsome Traveller nods his chin towards you, humour dancing in his smile as he snickers into his half-full glass.

Then, it dawns on you. Dew? One of the handful of nicknames Connor’s adopted over the course of his livelihood. So, they’re acquaintances? Or closer? Your eyes frantically search for social clues to point you in the right direction.

“The lady in bows is my best friend,” Connor explains, a bite to his words as his eyes glare a knowing look at Sexy Cowboy. He then goes on to face you, gaze softening almost immediately as his head tilts in his friends (?) direction. “This is Brandon, or Dewey One.”

Oh. Makes sense, you rationalise. This is Brandon, Connor’s close friend and teammate on his current team out in Minnesota, the one who gets into fights he can’t win on the ice whilst Connor trails nearby picking up his fallen gear. The one he told you a couple of days ago that was coming up to visit. And, of course you were flirting with him.

Of. Course.

“Dewey One?” you ask, minorly deflecting from your embarrassment and still genuinely curious.

Connor inhales, as if to speak but Brandon beats him to it.

“Brandon’s just fine,” he interjects, expression unassuming as Connor’s eyes put his visiting friend underneath a microscope. “Nice to meet you, darling.”

Normally, you’d wrinkle your nose at the sometimes sleazy pet name Brandon casually calls you, except this time round you find it more amusing than cringe-worthy, which is how you find yourself grinning as you two exchange a handshake that testifies to how strong Brandon is. You clear your throat to stop the circus unfolding within you.

“Come on,” Connor gestures over to you to follow suit. “Can’t keep ‘em waiting.”

You call out an agreement over your shoulder as you go to grab your drink, the hairs on the back of your neck stand to attention as a close whisper brushes past your ears.

“I ain’t no quitter, sugar.”

The next couple of hours are spent packed into a crimson leather booth that peels at the ends, going from topic to topic over many a pints. Brandon fits so easily into your group, his infectious energy illuminating as he takes up space without regard, his confidence more enticing than suffocating. Everyone seems to be in good spirits as the alcohol keeps flowing and as you sit back, careful eyes watching your friends engage in conversation, you wish for this to be your forever for as long as you'd like for it to be.

A nudge against your shoulder turns your head, greeted by Connor’s sage eyes. “You ready for Judy’s Line Dance?”

His rhetorical question draws a laugh from you. “You say that like I don’t do this every time I come back.”

“Yeah, but if you were ready then, you would’ve brought your cowboy hat,” comments Connor, his veiny hands grasping gently at the ends of your braided pigtails accented with a bow. “What? Wanted to show off your pretty bows?”

He thumbs the ends of your hair, engrossed in the strands and its feel and for some reason, the casual intimacy of the moment inflates something in your chest, a balloon about to burst as you forcibly breathe in and out, clearing your throat afterwards. “They're my favourite accessories.”

Connor huffs, corners of his lips lifting gingerly as he continues his motions with his hands whilst your body remains rigid with the exception of your racing heart and crimsoning cheeks.

Your mother has definitely planted a seed you cannot unroot.

“Yeah, you’re almost always wearing them in your BeReal. posts. They’re real cute.”

For a fact you know so well, Connor’s confession comes as a pleasant surprise, one that shallows your breaths and quickens your pulse. It makes you reflect back on before, when all was platonic and the comment wouldn’t have made you bat an eyelash. Now, your skin tingles and you’re struggling to find the words to encapsulate your affection past your dry mouth. So, like many others in your position, you settle for a safe reply.

“Aren’t you a charmer?” you roll your eyes, brushing off his grasp because you might combat otherwise, projecting your attention ahead of you to come face-to-face with Brandon, who despite the engaging conversation he shares with Owen, his eyes skirt over to you.

You look away, even more flustered than before.

It’s just your luck when you hear Judy’s tap incessantly against an old microphone that you have something else to hold your focus, eyes brimming with glee as she announces the dances for the night and their updated partner songs. Last time you were here, they were still playing their beloved country hits and you danced along thanks to the amounts of alcohol you consumed, but their new playlist of pop hits within the past decade or so, you’re more motivated than ever to tear apart the dance floor.

“If you ain’t shy to do a little two step, please make your way to the dancefloor please.” Judy grins into her mic, tipping her cowboy hat as patrons make their way over to the illuminated space.

Connor makes way for you to exit the booth, your boots hitting the ground as you iron out any kinks in your outfit. Amidst your actions, you catch other movements out of the corner of your eyes, to which you find Connor playing with the ends of your bow this time round. There’s always been something so sweet and tender about him - in the way clouds are amongst a blue sky, in the way laughter spills over so easily in the presence of a found family and in how harmonies make you feel as if you're floating. But, it’s never been like this before, this intense and vivd. In a way that rids you of all thought and scares you beyond your deepest fears all at once. You’re still finding your footing in this new territory, a plain that speaks to the existence of your feelings but has no road nor destination. It’s a simple plain you seek to find some end to, picking up clues along the way that predetermine what the future holds. At the beginning, the animosity scared you pale and grey. Now, the end is what grasps your fear in a fierce chokehold. To pry yourself from the jaws of unhinged anxiety, you allow yourself to relax, to seep into the present and take it for what it's worth because the end is unknown and you’re not there yet. Not by any measure of time, you hope.

“Kick butt out there, rockstar.” His big smile deepens the soft lines of his face, a pure display of pride in his features as he gives you a pat on the back and gives way for you to shine.

It’s small, insignificant in the grand scale of things, but your smile deepens too and you nearly float to the dancefloor, adrenaline rushing through your body as the DJ prepares the upcoming music.

As you settle in line, you feel a light pressure lay upon the crown of your head, eyes darting to find Charlotte in the line next to you, giving you a wink before she faces forwards, thumbs slotted through the loops of her flare jeans. Her straw cowboy hat no longer, you reach up to find said object upon your head and with a chuckle behind your hand, your thumbs hang on your belt loops and let the music guide you.

It’s only when you’ve done your first turn that you realise that Brandon has also decided to join the line dance, huffs of amusement sounding from you as he glides and slides with a confidence dusted with his normal dash of comedy.

When Judy announces it's time for the partner dance, it’s your cue to catch your breath as you plan to evacuate the dancefloor. As mentioned earlier by Charlotte, the pretty sandy brown haired man who’d bought her a drink earlier in the night circles his arms around her waist as she gives him a smitten grin. You beam at the endearing sight, about to make your way towards your booth but are stopped in your tracks as a calloused hand clasps around your wrist.

Brandon’s expression is more sheepish than you’ve ever seen, his eyes distracted as they wander away from you. You raise an eyebrow.

“Who says the night has to end here, sugar?” His voice trembles partially, its edge lost in the coyness lining his smile as he finally looks at you with a dazzle of hope in his eyes.

A momentary pause delays your response, the moment used to turn the cogs in your head and sneak a glance back at your booth, where Connor was last you saw him, eyes trained on you as he simply watches the interaction. Under the weight of his gaze, a creeping sense of embarrassment climbs up your back, scolding the skin. You’re about to give your reply when the music starts up and Brandon speaks again.

“Put this desperado out of his misery and allow me this one dance?”

It’s so cheesy, maybe even idiotic - the words he proposes to you but he’s trying and that’s what appeals to you most, warms your heart and sways your response as you send him a nod that has Brandon cheesing ear to ear, his hand leading the way as you two fall in line.

You haven’t had much experience line dancing with a partner, the closest experience to this being a night you barely remember, happily back sliding with a fifty year old local in your college town bar who wanted to feel young again. Regardless of the fact, there’s no time to mull it over as the music already starts and your fingers are interlocking, matching up with the rest of the duos as you dance, cowboy boots stomping as you make a scene.

In all the commotion of heavy stops and ongoing thumps of Rihanna’s ‘S&M’, Brandon manages to catch your attention, mirroring your movements to a tee.

“You and Connor don’t do this much, do you?” he queries.

“You kidding me? Connie has two left feet, I’d be left for dead if it wasn’t for Charlotte.” You yell over the blaring upbeat country music, arms extended as Brandon glides you further away from his figure.

“Good thing I’m here tonight.” jesters Brandon, and you laugh along because you’re tipsy and having a lot more fun than you imagined.

Despite your familiarity with the dance routine you two execute to a tee, you’re caught off guard when Brandon brings you inwards, bracing you against his hard chest before his arm circles around the circumference of your lower back, holding you steady as he dips your body slightly. Your foot is kicked out, your (Charlotte’s) straw hat’s fallen to the scuffed dancefloor and you’ve just had the wind knocked straight out of you, eyes feverishly searching for answers as the bar falls to a hush.

You’re looking in each other’s eyes now, chest heaving and high off the adrenaline pumping through your veins from all that dancing. All time ceases to exist and it’s just two of you, sharing laboured breaths and looking for any cues for how this will end. It appears as if you’re in your own head at this point, combing through a thousand possibilities all at once to respond however you see fit. Thankfully for you, Brandon breaks the silence.

“One night and one night only.”

The sentence sends shivers down your spine and you’re pretty sure Brandon feels you quiver in his arms as he gives a brief chuckle, hauling you up onto your two feet and bringing you back to reality. You don’t really find their footing after that.

The rest of your time at Punch & Judy’s passes by in a flash, more pints being consumed over your group’s loud chatter as the night stretches on. Charlotte and her blue eyed companion indulge in another dance before he’s whisking her back to the bar and paying for everyone’s next set of drinks - bless his heart. He introduces himself as Jack, a new face in town and as he and the boys exchange pleasantries, the wild eyed non-verbal dialogue you engage in pieces together Charlotte’s sentiment and if it isn’t enough, when Jack makes his departure, she gives him a kiss on the cheek and bides him a coy farewell, a promise to meet in the next coming days on her tongue. One thing is certain, when Jack makes his exit from the bar, the door shutting behind him, you’re yelling and shaking each other’s shoulders in glee, stupidly happy and sharing that with one another.

Your table has their last drinks and before you know it, you’re being squeezed into the back of Owen’s pickup truck, sandwiched between Charlotte and Connor whilst Owen and Brandon sit up front. Over the murmured sounds of slow alternative music, you get bits and pieces of their conversation, the two excitedly talking about their shared love for Legos and the most they’ve splurged on one set. You shake your head with a laugh, going to share your merriment with Charlotte, only to find her soundly asleep, a light snore bypassing her punch pink lips.

“How you holdin’ up, champ?” Connor’s low voice draws you in, a slight head turn in his direction. “Don’t think I’ve seen you dance like that since we were ten and begging our parents to have a sleepover.”

The image is so vivid in your brain, two wide eyed kids that held hands as they begged and pleaded to have a sleepover, only for their polite request to be refused. Taking matters into your own hands, you dragged your parents’ big hands into the living room, where in front of them and an oblivious Connor, turned on MTV and danced to some popular song of the time. Lucky for you, it worked. Unluckily, Connor would hold that over your head forever onwards.

You’re cringing into your hand, face mangled in discomfort as you wish away the reality of you doing that away. “One of us had to convince them. Plus, it worked, didn’t it?”

“I can’t argue with that,” Connor laughs behind a fist before his hand falls to his side, a moment of quiet between you two. “You and Brandon seem to be hitting it off.”

A single eyebrow raises to express your confusion, perplexed frown prominent not because of his statement which is completely true, but because there’s an edge to his voice - something unfamiliar and cold in the way he says his words - a tone you’ve yet to hear, even after all these years. Uncertain how to proceed, you choose to be cautious about the matter, selecting your words carefully.

“He’s nice,” you state, because Brandon is but something in you twists uncomfortably, feels the recognizable pangs of embarrassment as you’re subjected to uttering this out loud. Or rather, in front of Connor. A betrayal of some sorts. “You were right about him fitting right in with us.”

There’s a strange shift in the air in the backseat of the car, the once peaceful quiet now becoming increasingly heavy and awkward as your words hang in the air like knives. Connor absorbs your words, stare averted as he watches his fingers fiddle with the lock of the door on the windowsill. You run your palms against the material of your denim shorts because you don’t know what to do with them otherwise.

It’s only when you’ve scratched the back of your neck, eyes stiffly roaming the interior of the car that Connor replies. “Yeah..I guess I just didn’t know how well.”

You’re about to ask him what he means by that, going to press him but Owen’s suddenly shut off the truck, his blinding interior lights turning on and him killing the ignition, alerting you of your arrival. Connor climbs out before your vision reverts back to normal, so you put the matter on pause and softly wake up Charlotte who sheepishly wipes away dried drool at the corner of her lips and climbs out the pick-up with you. You’re about to shut the door behind you, though someone beats you to it.

“I got it.” Brandon’s husky voice sounds from behind you, the slam of the door following.

You send an appreciative smile his way, perhaps a bit of timidity mixed in there too, turning to include Charlotte in any possible conversation to come, only to find her halfway up the porch stairs of Connor’s house.

How is it always the two of you left alone?

“Let’s head in, it’s chilly out here.” suggests Brandon, you falling in line with his request as the beginnings of goosebump dot your arms, the roughness of your skin hitting an all time high as Brandon’s large hand falls to the small of your back, guiding you up the stairs into the cosy and quaint house.

Hums of conversation lead from the back porch of Connor’s house, the presence of your friends known as you wordlessly navigate your way through the halls of Connor’s house, hallways and framed pictures you’ve committed to memory. When you’ve made your way to the kitchen, you find Owen nursing a cool bottled water, hair tousled and cheeks dusted in pink.

“There you two are,” announces Owen, fingers threading through the waves of his brown hair. “Everyone’s out back - apparently, Quinn’s out back too.”

You waste no time beelining for the backyard, the sudden weight of your reality dawning on you the second you stepped through Connor’s doorway, a cold shower of water easing you out of the mirage you’ve impulsively floated in. Once you’re outside, the cool air sinking into your skin, you spying the usual suspects - Quinn, Charlotte and Connor gathered together around a fire Quinn boasts about making. His glee is short lived.

“That boy scouts training finally coming in handy, huh?” Charlotte banters, a suppressed smirk sneaking amongst her features as she takes a seat in one of the camping chairs surrounding the fire.

“You laugh now but when you need someone to tie an impossible knot and survive off the land, don’t come running to me.” responds Quinn, taking a swig of his beer as Charlotte holds her hands up in surrender, laughing regardless.

You’re about to turn on your heels to head back inside, retrieving a beverage of your own, but a familiar call of your name is stopping you in your tracks.

“I’ve got your cider here,” alerts Connor, expression indifferent as he approaches you to hand off a can of your favourite berry cider and a bottle of water. “Blankets are on the chairs too.”

It’s embarrassing how much you want to melt into this man’s arms right now. Nonetheless, for reasons you know all too well, you express your gratitude in a toothy grin that he mirrors with a closed mouth, pulling you down into the camping chair beside his.

Soon enough, Brandon and Owen are sitting round the fire too and your night ends like this, light-hearted discussions under the stars as the heat from the open flame soothes your heavy eyelids closed. Whilst you’re mildly awake, you don’t miss the glances you and Bradon trade over the sandstone fire, loaded questions in his eyes. Had this been any other occasion, any other person not linked to Connor, any other reality where your current feelings didn’t exist for Connor, then there would be no questions asked, blossoms of wine doting both your necks come tomorrow morning. Alias, these were not the conditions and simply lounged in your camping chair, hoping Brandon didn’t look your way every time Connor’s hand would play with the bows in your hair.

Arm hanging out of his shiny porcelain white pick-up truck, Brandon squints as the rays from the blistering sun reflect into his eyes. Having said their goodbyes earlier, Connor and Brandon dab each other up with good-natured smiles before Brandon throws his focus over to you, standing with a bit more awkwardness than you’d like.

“Take care, Lady in bows,” Brandon says, a well-mannered nod sent your way with a closed mouth smile. “Don’t give Dewey a hard time. He’ll come round.”

For a split second, you’re eyeing him as if his face contains all the answers, but when he gives you that knowing look, the same one Charlotte and your mother give you any time Connor’s name is mentioned - you know. Know all too well and blush as a result, head snapping behind you to see if Connor’s within earshot. Thankfully, he’s in the middle of chatting with his brother, hands in his pocket as Quinn points off into the distance. You circle back to Brandon, the apples of his cheeks clear as day as he snickers like he’s been told a secret.

It’s as if this best kept secret brings you infinitely closer, your walls falling as you begin to bare the depth of your sentiment surrounding Connor. There’s no more beating around the bush, so you lower your head as you kick at the rocks at your feet. “You think so?”

You hate how small your voice comes out, meek and questioning everything known to man. It’s unfamiliar and not to mention, uncomfortable in every aspect of the word. Alias, Brandon sees you - catches the vulnerability you’ve shared with him and embraces you with a kindness that ushers a relieved sigh from you as he responds back.

“I’d bet my NASA Space Shuttle lego set on it.” Brandon banters, smirk soft and small.

So, he’s serious. Very serious, it seems because you know how treasured the item is to him. You exhale a breath you hadn’t known you were holding.

“Thanks, Brandon,” you breath, coyness coating your cheeks as your hands fall behind your back, your fingers tangling. “Don’t go fighting no alligators.”

“We can only hope,” Brandon gives his side-door a smack, rounding up everyone’s attention. “I’m hitting the road, fellas. Enjoy the fair for me, yeah?”

A chorus of agreements go off from behind you before Brandon gives one more salute, speeding off into the canary yellow sun. The small crowd outside Connor’s house disperses and regroups again later on that day, refreshed and ready to attend the local fair held every summer and the highlight of the year.

The fair lives up to its expectations, grand and joyful with a variety of rides ranging from teacups to a catapult-like ride that swings back and forth and then upside down. You’re distracted by all the colours, the sights and sounds that you’re so oblivious to what goes on right before you, until your vision is shrouded in black and your face is submerged in fluff.

Retracting, you blink your eyes to adjust to the change in lighting, lips parting as you stare at the massive latte-coloured teddy bear that Connor presents to you, the rest of your friends nearby taking their turns at the darts board way ahead of them.

He must see you struggle to find the words, his grin infectious as he jests, “I think I’ve finally out-conned the concessionaires.”

You must look like an idiot, or a deer in the headlights as Charlotte jokes, disbelief strikingly apparent on your face as you reach for the souvenirs, the fluffy animal so cosy in your arms and melting your heart into a big puddle of goo. “Thank you, Con.”

“Don’t mention it.” a smile plays tenderly on his lips, the sheer kindness he captures in his sage eyes enough to make your pulse race and head spin.

After the thoughtful gesture, your high spirits cannot be tamed as you indulge in every little thing your heart desires - laughing a little harder, smiling a little wider and stuffing your cheeks full of hearty food that makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. Charlotte basks in your glee, speaking of a glow you radiate as she snaps photos of your stuffed cheeks, a knowing smirk on her lips as she hands you your teddy bear once your food is finished. You don’t reply, exchanging words through your glances as you make your way towards the second bit of rides the boys want to try.

“Wait, isn’t that…?”

As Quinn’s voice trails off into the distance, you find yourself turning in the exact direction where he directs your view, eyes landing on a pair of figures - one being Connor and the other being, Amelia, Connor’s ex-girlfriend from high school and most notably, his last girlfriend. Her waves of blond hair glisten in the sunshine, something like a Renaissance painting. Her smile bright and wide as she greets Connor with an enthusiastic hug, a hug you feel lasts longer than necessary.

They then go on to immerse themselves in conversation, and for the life of you, you can’t look away - pry your jealous eyes away nor dry swallow this bitter pill because she’s still so into him. Hands familiar and all over him, leaning in when she gets the chance and beaming like she’s won the lottery. In all fairness, her life’s been such a tale - excelling academically, incredibly driven in all sports and other extracurricular activities that garnered her attention. And such a kind spirit too, always there to help no questions asked that it made you physically sick that you could foster any ill feelings towards her, because she’s such a light and maybe Connor would see that too. As he did when they were together.

You’re too busy losing yourself in a sea of self pity that you don’t notice Charlotte's attempts to snag your attention nor other things at first, your illegitimate fears getting the best of you but as your posture stoops, your eyes floating everywhere around the busy fair that it pauses on Connor’s figure. Once immersed in conversation, he appears distracted, indifferent somehow as his attention wanders, wanders over to you as his line of sight floats over to you from time to time as the conversation stretches on. At first, you think it’s your mind playing tricks on you, feeding into delusions that’ll soothe your pity party, but at some point, he holds your gaze, giving Amelia a pat on the back before he’s jogging over to where your friendship group is, not even uttering a word as he slots himself between you and Owen.

“What was that about?” Quinn just has to ask.

“Oh, Amelia just wanted to catch up,” he sounds distracted, his mind elsewhere but you don’t dare to indulge, your sight directed elsewhere as you grip onto the plush teddy bear as if it were a lifeline. “She says hi, by the way.”

You don’t do much listening after that, tuning out all the colours and sounds of the fair as you ride the highs and lows of what your life has become.

A sense of urgency plagues you from that day forth, a hurriedness in your actions as your anxieties get the better of you, going from lounging around in day old pyjamas covered in crumbs and mystery stains to getting a head start on your master’s personal statement and running every errand you’ve been procrastinating. Your parents swear you’ve become a different person - venturing outside the house before noon to visit the bank to change your address or go get your car serviced. Perhaps seeing Connor with Amelia was the jump start you needed to stop relishing in instant gratification, distracting yourself from facing any sort of music that pertained to the future and all its question marks. You still hang out with the others, more so Charlotte as you spend a few afternoons at the lake with one another, feet dangling into the water as she updates you on her adventures with Jack.

It’s the first time someone’s pursued her with such sincerity and charm that she’s hesitant about his authenticity. And yet from the sounds of it, Jack doesn’t mind one bit and shows his patience as they get to know each other, the smitten man taking your best friend on dates that further solidify their connection. You couldn’t be any happier for your best friend, this kind of treatment a long time coming, all of which you express just to see her blush and dive into the cold lake water to avoid further talks. You chase after her, teasing her mercilessly as the thoughts still linger at the back of your mind - your own sentiment with regards to Connor and what has come from the change of heart.

Emotional anguish and so much fear you’re not sure what to do with yourself. It takes a week of mulling things over, his missing presence due to off-season hockey training for you to make up your mind, peeling into his driveway and hiding your apprehension behind a strained smile as he greets you at the door. You preoccupy every bit of silence with running chatter, because you don’t want to hear yourself think, a multitude of topics discussed over vodka pasta you make together before you’re finding your way into his bedroom, the early evening sky greeting you as he flicks on his buttermilk bedside lamp.

He brings out his guitar, the same one you gifted Connor two years ago at the height of his newly-found hobby and plucks the strings, creating a melody you compel yourself to relax into, somehow ending up sandwiched in between him and the guitar as he directs your fingers to play one of your favourite songs, just because.

Apparently, your shaky hands don’t make for good playing material.

“You’re shaking like a leaf, you cold or something?” notes Connor, his looming presence over your body sending you into overdrive, your skin feverish and mind imploding from overwork.

“This is different.” you annouce, because it is. Unlike times before, it didn’t mean as much to be alone in his bedroom with him, getting glimpses into the life he’s lived and who he is as a person through all his possessions. You could handle the casual intimacy - the soft spoken whispers, the unprovoked kindness, the skin to skin contact that didn’t send your heart into a series of flutters. Now, all you can do is bat an eyelash, many at that, and this you must make known. For the selfish reasons you can think of.

“What d’ya mean?” he mumbles, clearly distracted and known the wiser to his breath fanning over your neck, goosebumps rising against your skin as your body grows rigid against his.

So acutely aware of your proximity, of the bursting feelings that thud at the confinement of your chest, your thoughts scatter like glass. “This, Connor. Being like this…with you.”

That strikes a chord with Connor, his motions ceasing altogether as his hands drop from the guitar and you’re forced to face the music. Sink your teeth into this undeniable truth that’s followed you all these years and you’ve been too blind to see. Confront the holy truth that maybe there was more divine work intertwined in your story with Connor, that maybe the universe wrote you two as one heart as opposed to two. That, as the summer days ticked by, the sun seeping into your skin, your love grew for Connor like molasse - slow and thick and palpable that once you were aware of its existence, that’s all that consumed you. Coated in his syrupy love, an endless desire.

You’re facing your best friend in spite of the hellish screams in your mind to play this off as some random mood swing, a joke even, because laughter follows you two everywhere, right? But, you know. Know better than anybody else that Connor knows you, like the back of his hand. Sees right through any charade you may jester him with, so any attempts to divert the conversation are as pointless as anything. Your confession starts and ends here.

A flicker of concern mixes in the dark of his eyes, hands clasped together with a crease in between his eyebrows. “I don’t follow.”

A full body sigh draws out of you, shoulders sagging and back curving, your hands casting aside the acoustic guitar with caution. You’re back to staring at each other, in the silence of the night, caged in between four walls that burn your eyes white as you once again grapple with your innumerable feelings and the finality of it all - this longing.

“Don’t you think,” you croak, question in your eyes as you look up at Connor, stifling any rise in emotion within you. “-this summer has been different?”

His sage eyes cast away, pink lips settling into a pout as he racks his brain for whatever answer you may be looking for. “No? Maybe? I don’t know.”

He adds on, looking back at you as he leans closer without fault. “Is this because it’s your last summer before you graduate?”

Connor’s got a point. When you’re trying to kid yourself into not having romantic feelings for your childhood best friend, your mind wanders to places where it has more control. Plans for after college, what modules you’ll be taking, what societies you want to join, what last things you’d like to cross off your list before you’re forced into full fledged adulthood. It’s a thought that lingers ever so presently at the back of your mind, like background music stuck on loop, but ultimately, Connor has missed his mark and you tell him so.

“Partially, but,” you wet your lips, struggling to find the words again as the burn against your cheeks proves to be insufferable. “This is what’s been on my mind more than anything else.”

Your point is accentuated by your single finger gesturing between the two of you, a poor attempt at best to foster some sort of confession of your romantic feelings. Because it's so scary, lending these thoughts your voice because they become much more real, spoken aloud for his ears to hear and his heart to see. For his heart to feel and what then? What awaits you once your confession reaches his ears? The unknown is scary, chilling to the bone and you wish to shroud yourself from it as long as there’s daylight.

There’s a beat before you hear Connor’s voice again. “What about us?”

Hearing him vocalise those three words makes the moment so real, so vividly intense that it sends chills down your spine and slows your laboured breath, the thump of your heart all you can hear aside from the ticking clock against Connor’s bedside table. It ticks and ticks, signifying the curtain call to your summer long charade.

“Connor, I..” It’s as if the magnitude of your feelings have manifested into some beast, with razor-like fangs and sharp claws that slash at the confinements of your chest, the words of love dying on the tip of your tongue as the moments hangs over your head like a gauntlet. You’ve never been so scared before, driven nearly to tears as your desperate hands grip at the material of your hoodie to ground yourself in some sort of way whilst you try to push yourself. To see this through until the very end and leave the destination unknown.

“We’ve been friends our entire lives. I don’t know anything beyond being with you and I never wanted to, and I feel like that means so much more than it did years ago,” his eyes are on you, undivided attention served on a silver platter that you turn away from, for its sincerity and shine. “Maybe, I did know deep down inside what I know now all those years ago. Like when I cried and begged for you not to leave the Pas. Or when you held my hand any chance you got when we were kids, or anytime you smiled at me really that let me know I always liked you. Maybe, even love you - I don’t know. But, what I do know is that I just couldn’t leave for Calgary without letting you know. Even if that means…”

You don’t have the heart to utter your next words, a dagger to the heart at even the possibility of losing your best friend and partner in crime. Perhaps, it isn’t worth saying - this whole grand love confession because this is a risk you’re not ready to face. However, despite your thundering heart against your bruised chest and however many times you’re second guessing yourself here, the weight lifted from your words is undeniable. An unspoken truth that had been set free, that needed to be set free - whatever the fallout may be.

A snicker snaps you out of your deep seated fears, your scattered daze settling on the view before you, one you had least expected. Connor, eyes cast away from yours as he huffs into his hands, a laugh you’re undecided where it derives from.

“…Are you laughing at me right now?” You feel awful for even asking such a ridiculous question. At the same time, you’ve just been as vulnerable as you’ve ever been in your entire life - some hesitancy is to be expected.

At your question, Connor’s huffs of delight cease and stares at you at alarm, realising his mistake. “God, no. Fuck, I’m so sorry, I just-”

“You used to rub dirt on me, and now you're proclaiming your love for me,” an airy laugh puffs out of his moving chest, a mixture of disbelief and amusement painted amongst his chiselled features. “It’s a bit of an adjustment.”

He seems…happy? Relieved? You’re not really sure, but what you at least find peace in is that there’s no sunken look about him, no expression worn that conveys disappointment and hurt because that’s all you’d have to see to know where his heart lies.

“Good or bad?” you ask.

His eyes bounce back to yours, those same olive eyes you’ve spent years looking into, glimmer with a sparkle that you’ve yet to see and robs you of rational thinking as your heartbeat picks up the pace.

“Good,” he whispers, like it’s a secret for just the two of you - one that is small and fragile, but so special and cherished that it makes your heart squeeze. “Because, there’s no one else I’d rather be with. Not by a long shot.”

You swear you could cry, burst like a dam and drown in your tears that overflow with such joy and relief because this is it for you. So right and settled, being where you’ve always meant to be - so loved and treasured by the one person who knows you better than yourself, someone who’s seen you at your most awkward and at your worst, and loves you because he has. Because he’s seen it all and wants to spend the remainder of his life doing so, a conscious choice he makes everyday because he loves you and you love him.

You’re unsure how you’ve ended up like this, limbs curled up in your lover’s lap as he cups your cheeks, rough thumb caressing the skin as his love shines through his gaze that blows his iris’ out of view. He looks so beautiful like this, unabashed and vulnerable, secure in love and what destiny holds for you. He looks at you as if you colour his skies and spin his world round and just like that, you lose yourself in him. Thread your fingers through his strands of umber brown and kiss him like you mean it. Kiss him long and hard, and with everything you have because it’s long overdue, so needed that you melt into him, lips overlapping as you taste destiny on his tongue.

The story of you and him, a tale as old as time.

#connor dewar x reader #connor dewar #connor dewar fic #cd24 #minnesota wild #toronto maple leafs #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #hockey fic #connor dewar fluff #dewey 2 #brandon duhaime #dewey 1 #dewey #residenthughes

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vroomvroomcircuit · 9 months

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The World did not end

(A/N): 'ello and welcome to my first F1 fic. I'm quite new here (not to fanfic or tumblr, I mean F1), but I want to give back to the F1 community, since you all helped me out tons during a really rough period these last couple of months.

Pairing: Lando Norris x platonic!reader

Warnings: mentions eating food, death of a loved family member, grief, it sounds sad, but it's actually pretty sweet and hopeful (it's based on a tiktok trend), English is not my first language btw

Wordcount: .7k (she is a shorty)

Masterlist ______________

Finding Mclaren’s reserve driver crying in the cafeteria wasn’t what Lando expected to stumble upon, when I went to check out where the repeating music came from. It sounded like a sad song that could land a high spot on his next Spotify wrapped.

“Uhm, (Y/N), what’s wrong?” he asks gently as he approaches the table. After a startle she turns off her phone, which has been playing the music. Frantically, she wipes her tears. It still does nothing against the fact that she has been crying and that her blood shot eyes are very visible.

Lando shakes his head. When people think Oscar is an introverted person, she is the masterclass of introvertedness. Like, the last stage of a pokémon evolution. That’s why seeing (Y/N) cry in a semi public place like the cafeteria calls for concern.

“There has to be something. The food here is not that bad. I mean, I have the same reaction when I see fish being served, too. But today I felt like the meals were rather good. So do tell. What’s bothering you?”

First she shrugs, the twenty year old not being able to find her voice immediately. “The- the world didn’t end when I was 13.” The tears are coming back again, restricting her voice once again.

Lando gathers her into his arms. even though he doesn’t understand what is happening at all. Does that matter right now, though?

The girl needs another minute or two until she is composed enough to explain the reason behind her crying. “There is this Tiktok trend going viral right now. It’s about people saying what mundane things they are able to do, or-or which things they have achieved, and all that because the world did not end when they were a certain age. They mean they got through some heavy event in their life. And because they got through this, they are able to do said things or achieve this.”

He nods, understanding the bittersweet and hopeful outlook this kind of videos can bring. “And something heavy happened to you at 13?” He probes while trying to keep a cautious tone, not wanting to overstep any boundary he doesn’t see.

“My, you see, when I was 13, my grandmother died. This was the first time I felt real grief. I wished for the world to end, because nothingness would have felt better than this immense amount of grief. And this led me to thinking of how many times I wished for the world to end. Because there were important and life changing events approaching me so quickly. When the world ends, I wouldn’t have to go through them, right?

And suddenly I’m 18, writing my final exams in school and it felt like the biggest task in my life. it felt like make or break. But the world did not end. I was able to graduate.

Then I got into the drivers academy, I am training, studying, and meeting people. I’m doing everything and anything. Because the world did not end when I was 13.

And it didn’t end when I was 16, overwhelmed with studying for school. It also did not happen when I was 19 and put under contract to be a reserve driver for Mclaren.

The world never ended. I begged and cried for all of this to stop. To have peace. Because I thought that I would only feel at peace, when nothing happens anymore. And the world didn’t end and now I sit here with you, talking about a tiktok trend.”

Lando understands her train of thought and sentiment immediately. “You know, I’m happy it didn’t end. These past couple of months with you here were pretty fun. Even Oscar admits it! With that true little smile, not in that monotone tone of his. These interviews and the media stuff is much more fun with these silly remarks of yours. And you are an amazing human being. I’m really glad that your world did not end, because meeting you made mine better.”

(Y/N) laughs, the tears being gone and cheeks heating up at that confession. “I’m glad too. Otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to ravish my way through the mountain of pasta minutes before you came in.” They giggle, knowing they share similar food preferences and have the culinary plate of a four year old toddler.

And all that, because the world did not end.

#lando norris x reader #lando norris x platonic!reader #x reader #x platonic!reader #reader insert #formula 1 fic #f1 fic #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic

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thewulf · 1 year

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So Clueless || Aaron Hotchner

Summary: Request - I do want to add to your plate if you don't mind 😬 can I request a hotch x younger!reader fic where it's years after WITSEC and his retirement and he's remarried to someone younger he met at his new, normal person job... Read Rest Here

A/N: I'm back!! Loved writing this one so much! Hope you guys enjoy :)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Y/N

Word Count: 3.8k+

You never planned to change your last name if you ever got married. You came through on that plan after falling in love and marrying Aaron Hotchner. He, in his early fifties, and you, a little younger than that, fell in love quickly after meeting at work when he started there almost ten years prior. You were a zookeeper and Aaron was your area manager, the rest was quite literally history.

The two of you hid the secret relationship until he was moved elsewhere in the zoo finally allowing you to come out with it. Dating turned to an engagement turned to marriage. You became Jack’s, now 17, stepmom and brought in his younger brother, Riley who just turned 9, and sister, Madison who was 7, not too long after the two of you tied the knot. Weeks turned to months turned to years and you loved your life, you really did. But the kids were getting older, and you needed a bit of a challenge. Aaron joked about you joining the FBI and the idea stuck. You weren’t a profiler, no, but you would make a damn good communications liaison. You’d basically become that for the zoo you were working at anyway. Your position of zookeeper gradually shifted to communications lead throughout the park.

Your plan was put on hold until one fateful afternoon when you saw the elusive job posting come through to your inbox. You just kept rereading the job posting before making sure your resume was up to date. You wanted to apply but decided to wait for Aaron to make sure it looked as good as possible. He worked there for years, he had to have some tricks up his sleeve.

It wasn’t a few hours later that all three of your children and Aaron came bounding through the front door off to do whatever they had planned. You’d always offered to pick the kids up from their various sports practices after work, but Aaron often refused, he wanted to spend the time with them. You could only imagine how guilty he felt about missing out on Jacks start of life. He refused to miss out on any of Riley’s or Maddie’s.

“Sweetheart.” Aaron kissed your cheek as you finished putting dishes in the dishwasher.

“Hi hon.” You hugged his side pulling him into your embrace, “How was your day?” Laying your head on his chest you looked up to him with all the love in your eyes.

“Pretty uneventful. Mandy and Anthony were at each other’s necks again. The animals behaved better than people, the usual.” He hugged you back brushing a few strands of stray hair from your eyeline.

This was his favorite part of the day, spending time with you. The fact that he knew he got to come home to you warmed his heart. Too often before he spent time in hotel rooms instead of his own bed. Oh, how he loved his own bed.

You grinned, “They just need to hook up already. For everybody’s sanity’s sake.”

“Y/N!” He laughed squeezing your side.

You pulled away from him shrugging, “What? You know they only bicker like that for one reason. They both need to just need to get it over with. I think Tammy said she was going to kill one of them sooner or later if they don’t shut the hell up. Her words, not mine.” You pulled a beer out of the fridge handing it to him. It was a Friday night, neither of you had any commitments in the morning, why not get your husband a little tipsy?

He took it from you, happily, “Cheers.”

You clinked glasses with him giving him nothing but a happy smile.

“Anything we’re drinking for something?” He raised an eyebrow, surely profiling you.

Letting your head nod up and down you laughed softly, “How do you always know?”

He smiled walking closer to you, “It was once my job to notice.” He pulled you back into his embrace by looping a finger through your jean belt loop, pulling you right towards him.

“Speaking of that.” You leaned your chin on his chest looking up at him with a smile. You didn’t miss his eyebrow raise in curiosity, “Job opening just came through.” Handing him your phone you waited for him to say something, anything. He knew how hard you’d been working to set yourself up as the most desirable candidate. Often going to lectures and seminars. Inserting yourself in the world you were so far away from. Going to go get a criminal communications degree at the FBI’s favorite school, Georgetown. You wanted more, needed more than what you were stuck doing.

He nodded giving you another once over, “Honey are you sure?”

“I’m positive.” You smiled, “I finally graduated with my criminal communications degree. I’ve outgrown my position at the zoo. I think it’s perfect timing Aaron.”

“Okay sweetheart. Let’s go get that resume cleaned up.” He reached for your hand ready to get down to business. He’d do anything for you, and this was what you wanted so that made it what he wanted too.

You weren’t sure how much Aaron had helped but you knew it had to be more than he was admitting to. He claimed he simply gave Prentiss and Strauss a call to put in a good word. You knew it was more than that when you got the compensation offer for far more than you’d discussed. You weren’t going to question it though. Your mom always told you never to look a gift horse in the mouth.

You’d have assumed Aaron had told somebody of your relation to him. That assumption was soon to be proven untrue when you met the infamous BAU Unit Chief Emily Prentiss from all of Aaron’s stories who was clearly trying to figure you out. When she asked you, “Are you married?” You knew she hadn’t a clue who you were. This was so Aaron to keep his two lives completely separated. A little heads up would’ve been nice though.

“I am. I have a stepson and two kids with him.” You smiled wondering how long you could play this game until they figured it out.

Emily smiled pressing the elevator button going up, “What are their names?” She was just being friendly. Knowing she was childfree for good reason.

You knew it wouldn’t give you away in the slightest, but it gave you the slightest thrill to speak his name out loud, “Jack is my stepson. Riley and Maddie are my younger two.” You pulled out a picture that strategically hid the younger Hotchner’s face showing it to Emily.

“They’re adorable.” She handed the phone back to you.

“Do you have any?” You asked knowing the answer. It felt odd knowing everything about her, yet she hadn’t a clue who you were. But you had to play stupid, or you’d make it pretty obvious something was up.

She shook her head, “No. But I have six agents that act like it sometimes.” She shot you a wink letting you get out of the elevator first. You got along great with the team after quickly recognizing JJ, Spencer, Morgan, and Penelope from Aaron’s pictures. Playing dumb was getting harder and harder throughout the day when you let it slip that your husband’s name was Aaron and that his son Jack had just gotten his license in a story you were retelling. Something they had just been told by him not that long ago. Surprisingly nobody picked up on anything, not that you could tell anyway. You weren’t a profiler but being married to one had you pick up on the small things that people normally glossed over.

When you got home that night you had Aaron howling with laughter after you detailed the day and how his old team didn’t seem to have a clue that you were in fact his wife of nearly ten years now.

“Don’t tell them. Let’s see how long it takes.” He cupped your face in his hands brushing his thumbs over your lips softly, waiting for your response.

A slight nod in his hands, “Any reason?” You asked, all too curious.

He shook his head, “Let’s see how well I trained them.” He laughed again. You joined in finding his joy more than contagious. More often than not he was in an incredible mood finding any and every reason to make you smile.

“They’re not doing so well Agent Hotchner.” You baited him. Taking a step back with a silly little smirk you watched his reaction.

He threw his hands up, “it’s only been a day sweetheart. Give them a week or two.”

“That’s a deal.” You grinned pulling his waist in for a quick kiss on the lips. Grinning when you felt him smile into the kiss. You felt those similar butterflies you always got from him. How he managed to make you swoon all these years later was beyond your wildest dreams.

They in fact did not figure it out within a week or two. It had been a month now since you started working with the BAU at the FBI and they had yet to even piece two and two together. You’d given them your whole life story minus pictures. The only good excuse you had was that you were private. It worked though. Nobody pried. You provided the same courtesy to them too. Only digging as far as they’d let you.

Aaron had even gotten his longtime friend and colleague, the one you’d actually met, Rossi to play the game. He stopped by the offices every now and then to help the team when they were in town. Retirement was great but even he had to admit he was terribly bored. He claimed he needed to keep his brain from going mushy, so he had to help on cases.

He was having all too much fun testing the team, “Y/N.” He called bringing you back to the present and away from your mind.

“Yes, Rossi?” You looked up from the stack of paperwork you were powering through, definitely your least favorite thing about the job.

“How’s your husband doing? Haven’t talked with him in a while.” He smirked knowing only you could see his face.

He wasn’t technically lying. Aaron and Dave normally spoke almost daily. They’d been missing each other this week though, “He’d good. Said he’s looking forward to seeing you and Pat this weekend.”

Morgan frowned interrupting the conversation between the two of you, “You know her husband?”

Had somebody finally started picking up on it? How was Rossi going to talk his way out of this one?

Rossi nodded, “Oh yeah, we go back years. Friends for a long time. It’s a small world.”

Derek nodded trying to get a better read on the situation, “They’ve known each other longer than we have.” You smiled. If the team hadn’t been so overloaded he might’ve picked up on it. But he simply nodded turning back to his massive pile of bullshit he had to get done before he could leave.

“That was close.” You whispered earning a soft chuckle from the older man.

“I’ll see you later Y/N.”

You waved, “See you Dave.”

“Small world? Huh?” Derek looked back up giving you a side eye almost as if he didn’t fully believe your story.

“Incredibly small.” You confirmed.

If he knew he didn’t say a word. It wouldn’t be that hard to hide if they did any sort of digging, which you were sure Penny had already done. Why she hadn’t told the whole team was a mystery unto itself. There wasn’t a chance she didn’t do a deep dive on you for Strauss before the FBI hired you. Maybe Aaron had gotten to her before you did?

You only laughed when you saw Rossi’s old pickup truck siting in your driveway as you pulled in after working later into the night. To your delight the house was quiet leading you to believe the kids were elsewhere for the weekend. Aaron always had a plan, always. Something you’d grown to love very deeply. He could take charge of any and every situation no matter how big or small.

“David, I thought you said you’d be over Sunday. Not that I’m not happy you’re here.” You grinned setting your work bag down by the kitchen island.

“That was the plan until this afternoon. Aaron needed to know how his team is missing every sign.” David poured you a glass of the chilled Pinot Grigio he brought over.

“They are busy Rossi, be nice.” You took a long sit of the cool wine.

Rossi smiled, “We have to send in the big guns Monday Aaron. Jack has to come in. Bring in Y/N’s lunch or something.”

“That’ll give it away.” You grinned setting the glass down.

He shrugged, “They’ll never figure it out at this rate.”

Aaron sighed, “I’ve got to admit. I’m a little disappointed.” The smile on his face betrayed his words though. He loved every second of this. And with Jack being off for the summer he didn’t see why he couldn’t conveniently drive him in to drop off his mom’s lunch.

The plan sprang to life when Monday rolled around. You couldn’t believe Derek had gotten up almost the second that Jack walked out of the elevator. Waving him over you didn’t notice any of your teammates watching. Unreal, what were the odds of that.

He’d almost gotten in and out unspotted, or so you thought, before Derek walked back over spotting the now grown Hotchner.

“Hey kid! What are you doing here? You grew another three inches since the last time we saw you a few months ago.” Derek roughed the teen’s hair up. You only grinned sitting in your seat, somehow he’d missed the entire interaction between the two of you.

“Just dropping off my mom’s lunch.” Jack smiled knowing what game he had to play too. The Hotchner boys were having way too much fun with all of this.

“She works here?” Derek asked, surprise evident in his voice. He didn’t suspect a thing.

“She does.” He didn’t elaborate any further knowing he’d give the whole gig up if he did, careful not to look back at you.

You watched as Derek tried to figure out who the hell it could be. Obviously it had to be somebody on the floor. It wouldn’t be long before he put it all together now, “Well I hope that means we’ll see you some more kid.”

He nodded, “When I’m not in school. See you later Derek.”

“See you Y/N.” He waved making sure not to blow his cover.

“Bye Jack.” You winked at him making sure Derek couldn’t see, “I’ll see you later.”

When you looked back over at Derek he was staring right at you, “Sweet kid.”

He nodded confirming what you had just said. Curiosity got the better of him as he asked, “Did you see who his mom was?” Missing the fact that Jack just said bye to you and knew your name.

You shook your head, “Afraid not.”

“Interesting.” He kept looking at you. Then to the lunch that was sitting at your desk then back at you. He had to know. He was far too smart not too. But he didn’t say a word.

Raising an eyebrow, you knew he was so close to connecting the dots, “What is?” Giving him a sweet smile trying your best to play it off.

“Hotchner’s kid being here. Last thing I expected to see today.” He sat down at his desk across from yours.

You bobbed your head along, “Old boss?”

Derek hummed turning back to his paperwork letting you know he was getting back to work. How he hadn’t gotten it yet was a little surprising to you but being bogged down with so much work probably did have something to do with it. You didn’t see Spencer sitting there at his own desk across the aisle listening in very closely. He did see Jack come right up to you handing you a brown paper bag before making a beeline to Rossi’s office. It didn’t take him more than two seconds after that to realize you were his old boss’s wife. How could he not have seen it? Sure, you didn’t take his last name, but he still should’ve put it together. You weren’t shy about using his and Jack’s names.

Spencer let out an audible sigh once he realized deciding to keep his mouth shut. It was clearly a game at this point. How long would it take the rest of the team to notice?

You smiled looking at the team photos on the wall in the conference room. It was fun to see Aaron in his element outside of what he does now. It was hard to believe he was so serious and rigid. So different than the carefree man he was now. The one he was allowed to be after taking the retirement deal Strauss offered him all those years ago.

“That was is 2009. We were all pretty new to the team back then. Minus Hotch and Rossi.” Spencer’s voice spoke from beside you. That drew your eyes away from your young husband and back towards him.

“You all look like babies.” You laughed scanning over the much younger faces of the team members.

Spencer smiled, “I’d like to say we were naïve too, but we were years into it at that point. We’d seen it all, how awful humanity could be.”

You couldn’t fully understand Aaron’s stories until you had gotten here. This team truly saw the worst of the worst and stories only told you so much. In just your month here you fully understood. You got why he cautioned you. You could certainly handle it. It didn’t make it any easier though.

“Yeah, at least you had each other right?” You asked.

“Couldn’t have done it without them.” He turned pointing towards Aaron, “Without him. He did a lot for us. Miss him a lot sometimes.”

“He’s handsome.” You grinned not thinking Spencer had a clue of his relation to you.

He ignored you asking his own question, “Did you change your last name when you got married?”

You shook your head quickly, “No, too much of a hassle now a days. My friend got into a legal nightmare with taxes when everything didn’t switch over properly.”

He laughed softly enjoying your rambling, “What’s his last name then. Aaron what? Don’t think you ever told us, Y/N.” He leaned back on the wall grinning like a little Cheshire cat.

Busted. He had to have known. Do you tell him? Might as well, “Hotchner.” You bit your cheek to hide the little smile that was threatening to spill over.

He clapped his hands together, “I knew it.”

“Course you figured it out.” You laughed seeing the excitement of being right cross his face, “What gave it away?”

“Jack dropping off your lunch.” He scratched the back of his head, “It’s a little embarrassing I didn’t figure that out sooner.”

You shrugged, “It’s not like I’ve met you before. Plus, we’re more than a little busy here.”

“Is that why we didn’t get an invite to the wedding? He wanted to hide that side of his life away?” A flash of what looked like hurt crossed his face before a neutral expression took over.

You shook your head quickly, “Our parents didn’t even get an invite. It was just me, Jack, and Aaron.” You bumped your hip against his trying your best to reassure him.

Relief washed over, “Small wedding.”

You laughed, “Very intimate. We’d both already done the big fancy weddings. We wanted to make it just about us. It was incredible.” You admitted to him. Divulging another aspect of your life to him that had yet to come up. You’d gotten married and divorced. Married far too young with no plan didn’t make for a very loving and lasting relationship.

“Wait.” Derek’s booming voice came from the entrance of the conference room, “You’re married to Hotch?”

You spun around on your heal facing Derek and the team behind him with equally confused expressions, “Guilty as charged.” You smiled at them. You had to start laughing seeing all their expressions go from confusion to recognition to acceptance.

“Finally!” Penny let out a rather large sigh of relief, “I’ve been hiding that for far too long.” She shot you a wink.

Derek cocked his head to the side, “Why didn’t you say something baby girl?”

You spoke up for her knowing he was about to try and guilt trip her, “It was Aaron’s idea. Rossi and I just played along. Penny’s good at keeping secrets.” You returned her wink noting Rossi’s absence. He’d be so annoyed he missed this.

Derek’s jaw looked like it was about to hit the floor, “Well I guess it’s nice to formally meet you Mrs. Hotchner.”

Shaking your head you responded with a big cheesy grin on your own face, “He thinks he failed you all at this rate. We had a bet that you’d get it within two weeks. He took the under.”

“Don’t look so smug Hotchner lite.” He took two fingers and pointed them right at you.

The entire room erupted at that one, “Hotchner lite. I like that one.” You answered him once all the laughter died down.

“Alright,” Emily commanded the attention back from the room, “Hotch owes us all a round after pulling that little stunt.”

“That he does.” You agreed, “He said your all invited over once you figure it out. Consider this the formal invitation.” The team agreed before the day started and the case was given. Fortunately, the case was local.

When you got home late that night you found your husband quickly wrapping him in a big hug before spilling the details of your day. He stood there listening to every word like it could be your last. Just another thing you adored about him. He just made you feel so cherished and adored.

“Of course, it was Reid.” Aaron chuckled once you finished the story, “For as smart as they all are they can be so clueless sometimes.”

“That’s what I said!” You joined in the laughter with him as the two of you snuggled in on the couch. Neither of you making a move to turn on the TV, just enjoying each other’s presence. Leaning your head down on his chest your eyes drifted shut listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“I love you sweetheart, get some sleep.” He ran his hands through your hair knowing that’d knock you right on out.

“Love you.” You mumbled before falling asleep on top of him, happier than ever with the way your life seemed to just fall into line.

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so-much-for-the-seashells · 4 months

Text

Coffees, Plural

Colt Seavers (The Fall Guy 2024) x Reader

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the characters in this story except for Sheila and the reader insert!

Author’s Notes: Reader uses she/her pronouns and is AFAB; reader has an immigrant mother, however where her mother is from is unspecified. The plot of the movie hath been screwed with, basically just imagine the movie with no *SPOILERRR* murdering by our dear leading man, that Jody and Colt are just friends and Colt never had his accident. While I don’t like erasing big plots it was hard to work around it with the timeframe of both the movie and the fic, hopefully the writing makes up for it 🙃 Jody and reader are friends from college, Colt and reader meet on the set of Metalstorm. If you like the story, a comment would be super appreciated! Part two and three are out! Icons by @gosling-girlx !! She’s the best!

Content/Content Warning: Nothing crazy, this is just the meet cute!

𐬿𐬼𐬿𐬼𐬿𐬼𐬿𐬼𐬿𐬼𐬿𐬼𐬿𐬼𐬿𐬼𐬿𐬼𐬿𐬼𐬿𐬼𐬿𐬼

If you had asked me what I thought I’d be doing with my life ten years ago, me-from-ten-years-ago would have told you something along the lines of “I don’t know,” “teacher,” or perhaps “nomad.”

That would’ve been her (me-from-ten-years-ago’s) third year of college, where she was newly 21, burnt out, sick of the education program, and just about ready to drop out.

Then she discovered makeup. Fun, out of the box makeup. Her immigrant mother, who really did mean well, had given her a graphic liner palette for Christmas- “Oh honey, I thought this was the makeup you wanted!” And sure, it wasn’t what she had wanted… at first… but then, the week before exams in a fit of stress, she tried it out. Five hours later she discovered a talent she never knew she had, and had created a look that had astounded both her and her roommate, Jody Moreno.

She’d always been good at the basics- rarely did a day pass without getting a compliment on her eyeliner wing or her ombré eyeshadow, but this graphic liner? This was where it was at. It challenged her and made her smile, and she finally found what she wanted to do in her life. Makeup-more specifically the out of the box makeup- had been what spoke to her after years of not knowing what it was that she truly loved.

She- I- dropped out the day before my exam. A couple years later, after some practice and online beauty school, I had a steady gig going with weddings, senior pictures and other fancy clientele. My mom wasn’t super hyped about the idea of a makeup artist daughter at first, but once she saw the bank I was making within half a year of working her mind was changed.

Now listen. I wasn’t actively looking to be this restless soul who wouldn’t stop until she found “the perfect gig.”

But quite frankly, the makeup that pays the best is usually the most boring in composition. I could do these plain, “natural” looks in my sleep. But the thing was, nothing was giving me the same rush as when I ventured out of “normalcy” with that graphic liner years ago. Sure, in my free time I’d practice the cool graphic stuff, even venturing into more VFX style stuff, like wicked scars and things, but my free time was few and far between.

About a year ago, that same Jody Moreno, my old roommate reached out. As far as careers go she definitely had a straighter path than me. For as long as she could remember she wanted to be a director, she’d tell me. We both went to community college, but for her it was for her undergraduate so she would have a fall back if her film degree didn’t end up taking her anywhere.

Film ended up working out for her, and though we lost touch after community college, from what I’d seen on her Instagram she was doing pretty freaking well for herself, and I was happy for her.

Her producer finally gave her a shot at directing her own film last year, a movie called “Metalstorm.” Some sort of space opera with a cowboy of all things, starring world-famous actor Tom Ryder.

Now, I’m not personally too big on Tom Ryder movies- he comes off as a douche and his acting is… a choice, to say the least.

However, when your old roommate reaches out with a job proposition to be a part of a Tom Ryder movie, you don’t say no.

I couldn’t have said yes faster to Jody’s offer. I remember gawking at the screen when I read her message-

“Hey, y/n!

I know it’s been a long while, and I’m sorry for that!

To make up for it, I was wondering if you’d like to work as makeup artist on this movie I’m directing? It’s sort of a space opera with a cowboy- I know, it sounds random- and the producer’s letting me do some of my own hires if I’d like.

Anyway, if you’re interested, I’ll provide you with more details. We’ll be shooting in Australia, and I’ll get you your own trailer on set. Just let me know!

X Jody Moreno”

I could barely register how adorable it was that she still signed off with an X after all these years because of how shocked I was.

First was the fact that she had gotten her own movie- it wasn’t so much shocking as incredible, and super exciting.

Second was the fact that she was offering me a job, and that she remembered me when she got big in the industry. I had told her before I dropped out to remember me when she was famous, as a joke, but I guess she took it seriously which was extremely endearing.

I replied with an enthusiastic “yes!” and the next thing I knew I was in Australia.

I’ve gotten to do all sorts of weird makeup things since I’ve been here, including funky scars and alien makeup. It’s the dream, and it’s a blast!

I have even been trusted to do Tom Ryder’s looks, which thankfully don’t take too much effort or time because as I suspected, he is in fact a massive douche with an ego the size of Mars. I was able to get him passed over to Sheila, our executive makeup artist who takes no nonsense, and who cuts him off by busting into song- usually an eighties hit- any time he tries to speak. She has a great voice, so both the lack of his asshole words and the presence of her beautiful voice are very much welcomed.

Sheila liked the work I was doing for the Space Cowboy scars though, so she gave me Douchebag’s main stuntman to work on.

Enter Colt Seavers. Six feet of pure muscle and a well filled out frame, blue eyes with an energy that can only be described as “puppy-like,” brown hair that’s dyed blonde on the tips to match Douchebag, and a rogue-ish beard. He’s undeniably attractive, and he’s got a sarcastic sense of humor to match.

Basically, he’s what Tom Ryder is played out to be, but better.

When I had first met him, it took me a hot minute to pick my jaw up off the floor. It was a Monday morning, three months into my time on the filming site. I’d over slept that morning, and made it to the makeup trailer ten minutes late, worried that my new client would be wondering where I was. In my defense, 6 in the morning is too early to be doing anything.

I had breathed out a huge sigh of relief when I found out that he was apparently also running late, and grabbed a grape soda from the mini fridge in the trailer. We had every flavor- from cherry to pickle- but I was most fond of grape.

Sheila, who was my main friend in the makeup crew as well as being my most direct boss, didn’t have to come in for another hour because Tom Ryder was always (at least!!) an hour and a half late to every appointment. I didn’t really know the other artists at the time, so I just sat in my chair waiting for my client as the others worked on the early clients. They were working on the extras who played humans in the upcoming scene, making sure everyone had a unique futuristic look.

Ten minutes later I decided I was sick of waiting and pulled out my graphic liner, the same pallet from ten years ago. It was a little worse for wear, about half the colors missing and the others not far off. But it reminded me of my roots and why I was where I was, and I couldn’t bear to part with it- even if I was in dire need of pink. Kidding. I love the thing, so, so much.

I ended up doing something elaborate with purple, green and blue arches. It sort of looked like the northern lights, if the northern lights were a dramatic eyeliner wing.

I was nearly done with the touch ups, too locked in on the look to notice on the figure that appeared behind me somewhere between the second swipe of purple and the subtle yellow accent.

“Hi! You must be y/n, sorry I’m late-” came a soft, low voice that had a slight gravel to it. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t exactly focusing on the exact tone of his voice when I jumped with a slight squeak and dragged yellow down the side of my face. Real nice.

“Oof, sorry!” he said. He was holding two cups of coffee, and he looked very unsure of what to do.

If wiping yellow eyeliner down the side of my face hadn’t been embarrassing enough, I just had to look up. I caught his blue-eyed gaze in the mirror, took in all six feet of him and was basically, to put it as elegantly as possible, completely taken aback by his hotness.

I promise I’m not a superficial person, by the way. Colt Seavers is just really this pretty. I’ve never been one to notice the “intensity of the blue hue of [one’s] eyes,” or any romance novel cliche like that, but Colt Seavers was a very different story.

Remember how I mentioned that my jaw had been on the floor when I met him? When I stopped mentally drooling over him in his dirty white Space Cowboy costume with all its latches and gold accents I realized that my mouth was actually open. Oops. Really great first impression.

“I’m so sorry. Let’s try this again. I’m y/n, and you’re-“

“Colt Seavers- stuntman, and guy who scares makeup artists when he’s a half hour late. Sorry I startled you,” he apologized genuinely.

“It’s all good,” I said, standing up. His chest is eye level, and I don’t really know how to feel about that. “I’ll tell you what- how about you take a seat and just give me a minute to wash this off,” I suggest.

“Yeah of course, please, take your time!”

“No worries, it’ll be just a minute. You can set your coffees, plural, on the counter in front of the chair,” I told him.

“My coffees, plural, and I are grateful for your kindness,” he teased. I shook my head and smiled, and then walked into the bathroom of the trailer to fix my face. About a minute it was off- thankfully my old pallet wasn’t the most top notch makeup. I returned back to my little booth of sorts, where Colt sat comfortably, his leg bouncing up and down.

“Are your coffees, plural, comfortable?” I asked by way of greeting.

“Why yes they are, thank you,” he chuckled.

“I’m going to get started on the scarring in your face, if that’s alright?”

“Of course.”

“So… the coffees?” I tried to make conversation as I pulled a couple of pallets out from the drawer in the booth.

“They’re my life force,” he says dramatically.

“Oh yeah?” I first grab an alcohol wipe, and gently wipe his face.

“Yep- and also the reason I was late. Sorry again, by the way.”

“No worries- I was late too. Only ten minutes though,” I start applying primer with a fluffy brush.

“We can’t all be a half hour late,” he conceded as if it were an accomplishment. I liked his humor right off the bat.

“That is true…” I agree as I finish applying the powder. “Alright, we’re going to let that sit a minute. Care to tell me how your coffees- plural- made you late?”

His ears turn red. Man, he’s cute.

“Er- I have an affinity- not an addiction!- for coffee, if you couldn’t already tell.”

“An affinity?” I raised an eyebrow, trying to emulate The Rock in my stare.

“Yes, an affinity,” there was that little laugh again. It’s sort of a giggle, and definitely unexpected from this guy who looks like a walking action hero. I liked it. “Anyway, I drank a cup-or two-before getting into this costume, thinking that if I had to, er, piss, I could get out of it easily. It took a half hour to get into all of these damn buckles, and by the end of that half hour, guess who had to piss?”

“The costume designer?” I joked. That got a laugh out of him, again.

“Yes, the costume designer, obviously. But yeah, apparently a side effect of my coffee addic-affinity is perpetual lateness.”

“Huh, I’ll have to keep that in mind,” I noted as I reached for one of my pallets. “I’m going to start on the scarring on your face, there’s one that goes on your left cheek and another where your hair’s parted.”

“Okay, sounds good.” It’s quiet for a little bit, but not necessarily in an awkward way. I’m about halfway done with the scarring on his cheek, the one that’s supposed to look like a fresh wound.

“So, how’d you get into makeup?” Colt asked, careful not to move his mouth too much.

“Oh, that’s a bit of a long story,” I told him, adding highlights to the scar.

“I’ve got time,” he said, the corner of his mouth quirked up.

“If you say so…” I mumbled, before telling him the abridged version of how I got into makeup.

“I have to say, I’m really glad your mom bought you the wrong pallet,” he commented at the end of my story.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, you’re really good at what you do,” he complimented, sincerity in his voice as he checked himself out in mirror. By that point I had finished his face, and stepped behind him so he could see himself. We both smiled, eyes meeting in the glass.

“Thanks,” I said, trying not to cringe at the light blush that had appeared on my face.

Looking back on it, I think my crush on Colt Seavers really did develop on day one. But little did I know, it’d only get stronger.

𐬿𐬼𐬿𐬼𐬿𐬼𐬿𐬼𐬿𐬼𐬿𐬼𐬿𐬼𐬿𐬼𐬿𐬼𐬿𐬼𐬿𐬼𐬿𐬼

#colt seavers #colt seavers x reader #colt seavers x you #ryan gosling x reader #ryan gosling #fanfic #the fall guy #the fall guy 2024 #meet cute #colt seavers fanfiction

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bloomingdog · 5 months

Text

Acolyte

word count: 2.7k a/n: hii i'm going through a depressive episode and this is my fic about soap with a depressed reader cos he's my babygirl. might expand on them idk i love soap i wanna keep writing for him

Johnny is a friend of Kyle’s, and Kyle is a friend of Farah, who is your friend. And Johnny, or Soap, is here because Kyle invited him since he had “nothing better to do”. And it’s alright, he’s fun and a little loud, he talks over people but always apologises. You were a little nervous to meet him, having been promised a get-together with people you were already well-acquaintances with, but the tears in your eyes, from laughing, that is, dismiss all previous nerves.

“And then he-” He’s cut off by his own wheeze, it’s been going for a couple of minutes; him and Kyle trying to retell a story about their captain, but they keep getting interrupted by their own laughter. You don’t think it’s that funny, if anything their reactions are the thing that make you all go into hysterics. It’s hard to feel sorry for all the other patrons.

You feel drunker than you really are, save for Farah, you only had two to three beers each. It’s the kind of silly drunkenness induced by being with friends. The forgotten UNO cards on top of the table shake as Johnny’s fist hits the table trying to catch his breath.

And the pub’s playlist keeps playing every top #1 hit from the last 20 years. And at some point you’re all performing a rendition of smash hit “500 miles”. And you’re getting giggly with sleep. And Farah’s driving you home. And she’s asking you about Johnny, which makes you giggly all over. And she’s telling you he’s single.

And then it’s morning. And there’s a message from an unknown phone number.

“Hey. This is Johnny.

Just wanted to let you know I had a blast last night, loved meeting you :-)”

It makes you smile trying to figure out what to write back. Why is it so hard to sound nonchalant while also a little interested in getting to know him?

“So did I!

Haven’t laughed that hard in a while lol”

That’s cool, right? It’s half a good response at the very least, since you get a response back.

“Wanna meet sometime?”

Oh, that’s good. At best, you get a little attention and maybe a lay, at worst you get a new friend. You keep texting throughout the day, you two fit like a puzzle piece: talkative, extroverted and active. He sends you a picture of a squirrel he saw earlier on his morning run, you send him a picture of your cat back with the caption “my asshole son” to which he replies “don’t be mean to him”. Those little interactions keep getting exchanged. On Monday, you send him a fun fact about a shark that had a virgin birth. Tuesday, he’s telling you about his fear of dogs. Wednesday is the perfect occasion for a picture of your cat, Gus, sleeping in a funny position. Thursday, your phone pings with a string of texts ranting about Glasgow City. Friday you’re texting Johnny that you’re at the restaurant you��re meeting at, a hole-in-the-wall that mastered the art of oily food and crispy chips, he replies he’s running late.

“I’m so sorry for making you wait.” Is out of his mouth before any greeting. “Are ye hungry?” It’s more a conversation starter than an actual question.

“It’s okay! No worries.” You’re just happy to be hanging out, not bothered by his tardiness.

The two of you sit and chat, you learn he has a tattoo of a revolver but won’t say where. He laughs at the face you make while imagining where it would be. “Don’t be dirty!” He chastises, it’s within the law that you steal one of his chips as payment for the teasing. You ask where does Soap come from.

“A’m good at cleaning.” It’s a short answer that explains enough, you’re not keen on pushing the topic any further. Luckily, he changes the topic rather quickly, it looks like he’s not a big fan of silences. “Tell me aboot Gus. How’d you get him?”

“A colleague’s cat had kittens, she was trying to find them homes, Gus was the only one left, runt of the litter you know?” He nods, listening, interested in what you have to say. “Kept pushing and showing me pictures of the guy until I caved. When I took him home he wouldn’t stop screaming, I think he might be part siamese, they’re really vocal. So, he kept me up all night, I thought he was sick or something, I even took him to the emergency vet, turns out he’s just a dickhead.” He smiles at the insult. “A very cute one, though.” You add, it’s hard not to love him even if he wakes you up at 6 a.m. on the dot.

“Can I meet him someday?” he might if you’re lucky enough.

You might as well thank every saint, divinity, and omnipotent being for your luck tonight. He accompanies you home, only because “he’s a gentleman”, according to him. The kind of gentleman that kisses you dizzy and gets invited into your flat.

You text Farah about the events of the evening before falling asleep, it’s not kiss and tell if she’s your best friend. And in the early morning you’re both woken up by an angry Gus, whose side of the bed has been stolen by a guy that almost doesn’t fit in it. You’re cuddled on his side, one leg over his.

“Gus-Gus….” It’s a groggy mumble of displeasure, you know he only wants to be beside you, but the hour doesn’t help your mood. Still, you move away from Johnny so he can jump onto your chest for cuddles.

“He does skirl alright.” That morning voice might actually be the death of you.

“Told you. He’s an asshole.” A breathy laugh makes his bare chest move as he turns to face you.

“He’s real cute though.”

“Are you not tired?” The early morning light peeks through your window, the sun isn’t even out yet and you can’t imagine anyone that is appreciative of being woken up so early.

“Naw, no’ really. ‘M used to it.”

It feels weird, good weird, to have him in your bed like that. Barely a week since you met, and he feels so close, more like a friend than a one-night stand, more than a friends-with-benefits. He checks the time on his phone before speaking again.

“Ye want breakfast?” Your eyes are closed again, hugging Gus close to your chest, hand moving up and down his fur but not doing much to pet him. His call of your name is answered by a groan, it makes him chuckle. He scoots closer to you, you can feel his arm coming up for Gus to sniff and the cat readjusts himself so his head is closer to Johnny’s. “Hi”.

Oh but the warmth dissipating from his body is to much, that and the soft noise of Gus’ purr drives you to fall asleep again. You only half dream, a mixture of images that won’t make any sense once you’re awake again, which happens rather soon as the bed adjusts and you feel a hand run through your hair.

“Can I make tea?” His voice sounds softer than earlier, you nod, opening your eyes just a smidge to look up at him.

“Biscuits in the cupboard…”That’s as much as you can muster now. “Wake me up when it's done?”

“Course.”

He left with Gus following behind, but you can’t seem to fall asleep again. That was…rather intimate. Your stomach feels hot and your chest tighter. Shooting your eyes open you’re quick to grab your phone again, Farah replied an hour ago.

“Wooo! Good for you”

“You’re gonna have to tell me everything about it btw”

“Farah”

“How pathetic is it to have a crush on your one night stand?”

Oh you don’t like that, calling him a one night stand, feels too impersonal, rude almost.

You’re getting out of bed, into your restroom and to the kitchen.

“Good morning” He leans against the kitchen counter where your meds are,he’s looking at his phone waiting for the kettle to boil, clad in his boxers from last night, hair a mess and body soft under the morning light. Even though it’s the same body it feels so different from last night, scars, bigger and small, litter his body, it’s muscular and soft at the same time, big pecs a tad too inviting and a tattoo on his forearm. Reaching for the pills would mean standing next to him, probably brushing against—no, touching him, and that makes you nervous. Oh. You’re embarrassingly down bad.

He stayed the entire weekend, Friday through Sunday. Next week it was picnic and football. You’re convinced any major team would be jealous of your 1-person teams and 5 meter field. He’s good, but you’re full of fear as he chases you for the ball, it’s the predator-prey kinda adrenaline that makes you score.

“Yes!”

“Offside! Offside!”

“What do you mean offside? There’s no one I can pass the ball to!” In fact, there’s not even a goal. You grab the ball and go back to him, looking straight into his eyes in fake defiance.

“Talking back to the referee? That’s a red card.” He looks so handsome like this, standing tall and unmovable, even if only joking, and you let him know via a quick kiss to his lips. He’s pulling you back to his lips not even half a second after, deep and slow, giggly. “Bribin’ me, huh?” You let out a soft, happy, sigh and kiss him again.

“Wanna go home?”

You tell Farah everything over a cup of tea and a piece of cake, of course. And she laughs at you, not in a mean way at all, only friendly and amused, still you hit her arm.

And the following week it’s film night. This one’s more spontaneous than the others, it’s been a tough week at work, you want a quiet evening and some company so you ask him if he wants to come hang out, he replies saying that he’ll be there in 30.

It’s the two of you, your favourite take out, Gus-Gus sitting on the back of the sofa and Fargo on the TV. He’s not paying as much attention to the film as he is to you.

“What?” You say, turning to look at him.

“Ye’r a beauty.” You smile shyly and kick him on the leg with your foot slightly. “A’m serious. I like you a lot.” A big smile grows on your face, and it’s enough confirmation for him to know you feel the same.

Or at least he thought so. There are no plans for this weekend, not for lack of trying, that is, Soap’s been trying to text you all week, it’s a big shift from your daily texting. He misses the little life updates you send him. Tuesday, he thought you might just be busy. Wednesday he stops trying to contact you, did he do something wrong? Went too fast? Are you ghosting him? What did he do that was worth the silent treatment? Thursday, he tries calling you, multiple times. Friday all rational thoughts have left his brain, did something happen to you? Are you okay? Christ, what if you’re dead? He texts Farah, swallowing his embarrassment.

“She’s okay, I think.”

“Going through a bit of a depression episode at the moment.”

“She’s going recluse, I know she wouldn’t mind a bit of help.”

“I have a spare key to her flat if you want to come get it.”

The string of texts floats around his mind, spare key in hand in front of your front door. He’s been inside before, but he was invited in, this feels invasive, but Farah trusted him, and she knew you best. He sent you a message before showing up, the last bit of chivalry he can offer before showing up in your home, it went through, and he hoped you read it even if you didn’t reply.

He calls your name upon entering, no response. Gus comes running up to him to headbutt his legs and meow, a quick look lets him know his water bowl is clean and automatic feeder full, that’s a good sign. His voice trembles as he calls for you again.

“You know where she is?” Great, now he’s speaking to the cat, and he meows in response, great, an actual conversation with a cat. Gus takes off and squeezes himself into a room with the door ajar, your bedroom. He knocks before entering, not expecting a response. The room is dark except for the light coming from your laptop, empty and half-full glasses taking up most of the space on your desk, chair full of unfolded clothes and a doughnut of blankets on the bed.

“Go away.” The doughnut speaks. His heart breaks at the sad, much softer than usual tone of your voice.

“Love.” The pet name slips from his lips, he notices but doesn’t attempt to correct himself. He walks closer until he’s sitting next to you. “Can I help you?”

You shake your head no, or what’s visible of it. “Go away, I stink.” He chuckles.

“That’s fine, smell better than the lads in base.” It’s a pathetic attempt at humour, you still shake your head no.

“You don’t have to do anything.” You don’t sound sad or angry like he thought you might, it’s emotionless, almost like an automatic generated response.

“But I want to. Want tae tak’ care o ye” He wants to make everything better, wants to fix everything, wants you happy and energetic and smiling. It’s silly how much he cares for you after barely a month of knowing eachother, scary now that he’s admitting it out loud. He pulls down the blankets for a full view of your face, his hand goes to your hair, it’s tangled, he’s careful not to pull on it. “Am gunna run you a bath.” It’s not a question, you laugh slightly and he smiles, realising what he said. “Didny mean it like that, c’mon.”

He helps you up from the bed and into the restroom. From your seat ion the toilet, you observe the way he turns on the tap and rummages through your cabinet, trying to find something to put in the water, you assume. “The orange bar in the back.” He halts, looks for a second and comes up with it, he leaves it on the sink while he turns off the water, you grab the bar and crumble a bit of it into the tub. He looks at you and gets up, you take it as your cue to undress and get in. Johnny comes back with a change of pyjamas and underwear and leaves again. You can hear him moving around and making noise, talking to the cat in occasion, while you clean yourself, when he comes back it’s to put your dirty laundry in the hamper. You don’t know why that’s the thing that makes you break and start crying. As soon as he notices, he’s on his knees next to you, softly caressing your cheeks and moving your damp hair away from your face.

“Whit’s wrong?”

“I don’t want you to do this.” Is no reply to his question. “I don’t want you to have to do this.”

“M’eudail.” He starts. “It’s okay.”

“No it’s not!” You look up at him” I’m so sad all the fucking time and I don’t want you to have to deal with that, it’s not fair to you, you know? I don’t want you to have to take care of me or put up with me.”

“But what if I want to? Wanna take care of you, wanna put up with you.” You shake your head no, looking back down.

“Johnny, I’m so much. I get so clingy and stupid.”

“That’s fine by me.” There’s no deterring him. He lifts your head up by your chin to kiss your forehead, bright blue eyes staring at you.

And you realise how ridiculous this is. You’re crying in the bathtub, your friend-situationship is on his knees next to you, again, crying in the bathtub. You let out a sigh and nod.

“Okay.”

#cod mw2 fanfic #cod x reader #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #john mactavish x you #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mactavish x you #johnny soap mctavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish x you #soap x you

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grave-z-boy · 1 year

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Right so I love your writing and just need more mx m cause fuck I'm tired of imaging dead me .

I'm a Trans man..I think ( female to male ??) So I was hoping for a fic somewhat like that . Arthur and reader meet when they're female but 2 years later or so they meet again and arthur doesnt recognize y/n (because they transitioned) I just want some fluff and acceptance of that . I know back then homosexuality was a big no no and being trans is unheard of so it'll be fun to see where you take it.

Arthur Morgan x Trans!Male!Reader

Summary: You’ve felt stuck and unhappy for years, so, in pursuit of your own happiness you leave everyone and everything you’ve even known behind. Including your currently out of state lover, Arthur Morgan.

Word count: 6,011

Warnings: reader is a bartender, reader steals, readers sister and mother are mentioned, implied past sex between Arthur and reader, drinking and alcoholism mentioned (not reader or Arthur), y/n and his guns, guns mentioned, shooting mentioned, abandonment, hurt comfort, reader being One Of The Guys™️, sleep deprived Arthur, Tilly being helpful, reader get misgendered and deadnamed a lot but it’s before they knew he was trans, reader cries really fucking hard at one point Arthur being sleep deprived, sleep deprive Arthur being really gay for Reader, not mentioned in the story but the reason Arthur is so tired is because about half way though his second trip to town his horse bucked him off for pushing her too hard and he had to walk the rest of the way, worlds longest warning list damn

Sept. 15, 18XX

My Dear Arthur Morgan

It’s been thirteen months since I saw you last. The time has passed slowly for me- sometimes it felt as though I was standing still for days at a time. Like everyone and everything around me was moving forward- but for me, and only me, time stood still. In the months since you’ve left it seems my joy, as well as a my love for my home town, has dwindled to nothing. Staying here, the way I am, it pains my heart. I know I said I would be here, that I would wait for you to return. But I need to change and the change that I need cannot be achieved here. The people here know me, they’ve known me my whole life, and no matter what I do I will always be that same little girl to them.

I’m heading up to a little town in Nevada, maybe I can start over there.

Always yours, D/n.

Arthur received your final letter months ago. In the time since he’s read it hundreds of times, mulling over every little detail. The crumbles in the paper, the unevenness of your writing, the all too familiar tear stains that permanently warped small circles on the page, the way your name ripped through the paper, as though you’d traced it dozens of times before sending it off.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever understand what happened, why after all this time of waiting, all this time of writing him dozens of love letters, why you decided to say goodbye, he understood change. Arthur has seen people change, he’s changed, and if it was change you needed he’d do it again. But you left. If he really wanted to, he could find you, ride day and night, ask everyone he saw if they’d seen the beautiful woman that he loved more than anything. But…

You didn’t want that. You didn’t want to be hunted down, you didn’t need to be convinced. You needed change, not a reason to stay the same. So he let you go and even when the following days were filled with the nothing but pain and confusion and the complete desolation your decision brought, he still let you go.

The gang knew he was hurting, he was withdrawn, went off on his own for a couple of days. They figured he went to find you, but when he returned, without you and in a severely worse state, they knew not to press him on it.

You weren’t much better.

This was your decision and you were going to live with it. You yearned for Arthur, every day and every night, it was different from waiting for him in your hometown, he was the one who’d left then, but you knew he’d come back to you one day. Now you were the one leaving, and you could never go back to him.

You needed to move on, you sold every piece of clothing you had to a local tailor, it was almost funny to see some of your nicer dresses displayed in the window the next morning, early on, your new wardrobe came from various drunk men. You’d be surprised just how much you could find in an alley next to a bar. After you had an outfit, a proper male outfit, you were able to assimilate.

You lived above a tavern. The owner was far too old and far too tired to run it anymore, and he wanted to live in his own house for the first time in decades, so he offered you the place for a little over a hundred bucks. You worked at the bar at night, while you handled various chores and other responsibilities during the day. The pay wasn’t great, but you had a permanent place to stay and spare food from the bar to eat, and it was more than enough.

You’d taken up a new name, y/n, you thought about it for a long time before you left. A good name, the name of a proud man with no connection to who you were before. No one ever questioned you. You were just a man to them. They teased you, in the earlier days, called you feminine, pointed out your hand, your cheeks, and your hips among other things, but in the end it was just teasing, they didn’t know why you were like that, and they didn’t question when you put in an effort to change or hide your more feminine aspects. Maybe they were just too drunk to care.

You loved this life, you were just the friendly bartender.

But even with this new life, you found yourself missing aspects of you’re old one.

Your old friends, your old family, your old lover. They wouldn’t take you back, not like this, they’d think something was wrong, they’d try to change you, try force you back into the box you clawed yourself out of.

But still you dreamed of them, your sisters cooking, the way she was effortlessly graceful even when she was teasing you, your friends, the girls you’ve know since you were in diapers, singing, making flower crowns, getting into trouble. Arthur…

You dreamed of Arthur the most. Your days and nights were filled with thoughts of him. You think back to your last night together, the way he held you so tightly, you swore you could still feel his hands there. The praises he muttered, the love he confessed through out the night, every move he made, the way he left and the hole that was left in your chest after.

You dreamed of him, like one day you’d wake up and he’d be beside you. And he tell you that he loved you, not d/n, not the girl from before, but you, y/n, as your truest self.

But just like yesterday, and the days before that, he wasn’t there when you opened your eyes.

The sun was just coming up. But the sliver of light that did shine through the window seemed to magically be angled at your eyes. Making the rest you so desperately wanted impossible.

You pushed yourself up with a groan, your elbow popping the moment you were upright, your eyes were just barely open, you scratched your chest and let out a long yawn.

Your room was still dark for the most part, but you were still able to pull on some pants and fasten a belt so you could head downstairs. The tavern was empty, you cleaned up good last night and you wouldn’t have to worry about really opening until later. Still, you unlocked the front door and flipped the wooden sign in the window to say open, the people here knew you weren’t really open to serve, you were just open to the chatty people that passed through in the morning, locals coming to say hi, or travelers in need of direction, others came to sit with their friends and get out of the violent Nevada sun. Either way, you’d be polite enough to them, but they weren’t welcome for a drink for another couple of hours.

Stepping into the backyard you picked the laundry off the line and into a basket. You heard the bell up on top of the front door ring a couple of times. As you got closer to the back door you could hear the faint chatter of two people inside, Doctor Mayer, one of three doctors in town, and Anita, a house wife. She was in here more often than her husband was, but you always figured that she just needed something to do while he worked considering you’ve only ever seen her drink a handful of times in the past year.

When you came through the back door she let out an excited yelp,

“Y/n!” She shouted, like she hadn’t seen you the night before.

“Mrs. Matthews.” You said with a respectful nod. “How’s you’re husband?”

She groaned, “paranoid.”

Setting the basket down on the bar, in between the upturned stools, you turned back to her.

“He used to be a farmer, farmers are always paranoid.”

“He was not a damn farmer, don’t let that man fool you, he was a farm hand, it’s different,”

Dr. Mayer piped in, his voice low and tired, though that just how he always sounded, “the bastard smells like one…”

“It’s getting warmer out there.” You responded, leaning against the bar.

“Doesn’t mean he has to walk around smelling like a damn animal!”

You laughed, turning back to Anita, “what does your husband do anyway?”

“He’s a banker, which is why he’s so damn paranoid in the first place.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well..” she stated, adjusting herself in her chair, “one of his colleague’s brother-in-law told his colleague that he saw a gang ‘a outlaws heading up this way, but here’s the kicker, Johnny, the colleague, is a notorious liar. Lies left and right like his life depends on it.”

“Johnny Flores?” You asked.

She smacked the table, “That’s the bastard!”

“Yeah, he comes in here every Wednesday like clockwork, telling the boys his stories. It’s a surprise the whole town hasn’t heard about this..”

“Well, it isn’t Wednesday yet, is it? It’ll make it’s way into you’re bar, don’t worry”

You laughed again, grabbing the basket off the table you said, “Alright, I’ll be back in a minute, got a few more thing to settle.”

You weren’t too worried about the rumors, there wasn’t much in the town anyways, no sheriff either so if they did come and make noise, it’d be a free for all and they’d leave with less than they came with. Everybody had a gun, hell- you had two, a shotgun the last owner had given you, and a pistol Arthur had given you a few weeks before he left, one was under the bar on a shelf, the other was under your bed, you’ve never really had a need for either, but if Johnny was being truthful for once in his life, which you doubted, you figured it was good to have them.

That night, when the bar did open, a few unfamiliar faces strode in, though none were to shady. A couple of working girls took to them quick and they were gone after being chatted up by for a bit. Outside of that, it was a normal night.

You closed late, shooing out the last drunk nearly two hours later than usual. Wiping down the tables, flipping the chairs and stools on them, washing the glasses, sweeping, mopping and making sure the front and back door was locked before heading upstairs. You scrubbed yourself down at your washstand. Of all things you missed from your old home, your bathtub was one of the bigger ones. Your mother had invested in it early on, and now you were saving to have one installed here too. What you wouldn’t do for a hot bath after a long day. You were almost there, another fifty dollars and you’d have all the money you needed. That’s were a good portion of your money went, you didn’t mind, after all you’ve sacrificed you deserve something nice.

——-

A couple of weeks later, Wednesday afternoon, Johnny Flores and a couple of his friend decided to take over the seats directly in front of the bar. Again, he told stories of bandits headed your way, but he was “serious” this time.

“I swear, I know what I saw, Dutch’s boys, just like the damn posters! I saw them coming from the east, clear as day.”

Before one of his friend could respond you asked, “and what the hell were you doing in the east, huh?”

“Well-“ he straightened himself out, “I was out with my lady friend-“

“The prostitute-“ his friend, Oscar, interrupted.

“-Not a prostitute, she's a-”

“-escort-” both Johnny and his three friends said together, they've heard that one before.

“Isnt that the same thing?” you asked.

“He doesn't think so!” Oscar said.

“They almost knocked our carriage over!” Johnny shouted, getting the conversation on track.

“Sure they did..” you said, drying the glass in your hand before setting it back down. “Bet they stuck you up too, only let you live cuz you're so pretty.”

“Go to hell, y/n.”

“I'll go where ever your lying, drunk ass ain't.”

“Im not lying, and I’m not drunk either, so get me another whiskey, asshole!”

“Hey now,” Daniel, who was also a regular, piped up, “careful how you talk to him, he might shoot ya’”

You set the glass down in front of him, he snatched it quickly, gulping it down.

“Or I might just piss in your whiskey.”

He choked hard, luckily the drink went down his throat instead of all over your counter, then you would have shot him. His face morphed to one of irritation, but his friend's laughter was infectious and he found himself laughing along with them.

The night ended with you carrying a passed out Johnny to the alley, you cleaned up, scrubbed yourself down, and went to bed just as you always did.

The next morning a delivery was made to the bar, food and alcohol, you kept your meats and some of your more expensive liquor in the ice box and things like bread and supplies were kept on the shelf. Food wasn't ordered commonly in the tavern, but there were those who ate here nearly every night because they had no skill for cooking and no one else to do it for them. You enjoyed those people, and you think they enjoyed you too, especially since the last owner would drive them out if they tried to come in for more than three days in a row. He thought that they were stealing food from other customers, but you didn't, You knew they were just hungry and needed to eat, and they couldn't be stealing because they always paid.

After that, your day was pretty normal- other than what you consider to be one the best things to happen to you in a long time- your bathtub, your beautiful porcelain bathtub with golden feet and faucet, was done. Fully installed and in perfect working order. You weren't going to pretend to understand how the man you paid did it, but he did. And finally, after what felt like years, you were able to take a hot bath.

It was weird, staring down at your distorted body as you soaked. Usually, when you scrubbed yourself down at the washstand all you could think of was how desperately you wanted this to be over. Your mind was clear, but that clarity only lasted so long though, as it did most nights, your mind wander to Arthur.

Saying you missed him was redundant, it was meaningless, it was stupid. You know, but you did. Letting out a long sigh, the last time you saw Arthur was like a dream, you spent an entire day together, you woke up together, ate together, bathed together, dressed together- everything you did, every little move you made reminded you of that day. And with Johnny spreading rumors about the Dutch’s gang, you heard his name more and more. You let yourself sink into the water, your eyes clenched shut as warm water covered your face. You stayed there longer that you should have, when you finally sat up, you were nearly gasping for air.

You got out few minutes later, you were tired, dressing yourself halfway before collapsing into bed.

You didn’t dream that night, your mind either too tired or too pained to show you your usual fantasies.

——-

Arthur swore he wouldn’t look for you, he swore it to you and to himself that he’d let you be free. But it seemed unavoidable now. Dutch had settled the gang in a large clearing in Nevada, the gang was mostly hidden by a small chain of mountains, and there was a streak of towns and settlements all within a couple dozen miles from each other.

There weren’t many cities in Nevada, it was dry and damn near impossible to farm out here if you didn’t know what you were doing, and if that wasn’t enough, the heat would be.

You were out there somewhere.

Dealing with the heat, with the drought, and with the shitty crops. And you still didn’t go back home. He’s been to your home. He's gone back dozens of times, you were never there, whatever you wanted to do, whatever changes you made, you succeded. He was happy for you, you were happy, God he hoped you were happy- he doesn't know what he'd do if he found out you weren't. If you were somewhere miserable and sulking, all this time, when you could have been with him.

He pushed those thoughts back- you were happy, you had to be.

When Arthur mentioned he was riding into the nearest town, he got a few odd looks. It wasn't a secret that you'd run off to Nevada, not even close. Most didn't say much, maybe a quick good luck, or a request for something from town. Some didn't say anything, but Dutch did. Dutch warned him, warned him about you and how some changes weren't good, and if Arthur did see you that he needed to be careful.

Arthur wasn't one to ignore advice, and he didn't ignore it, he thought about it as he road through the desert lands of Nevada, but whatever changes you made, he could handle it. He wasn't a child, he didn't need have his hand held. There wasn't even a guarantee that you'd been in this town, or the next one. So for all he knew he'd never have to face you're changes.

The town was bustling with life. The people went about their business. The town was…normal. Small, busy, and normal. He road in unbothered, no one here seemed to care enough to even look when the man when he trotted by.

Hitching his horse to a sturdy pole he set off to one of the small shops nearby, after picking up some extra oat cakes and apples for the horse, he tried to find the sheriff’s office, only to find that this town didn't have one after asking a mildly disheveled yet nicely dressed man for directions, no government either. The town was its own unit outside of the occasional trading.

“Danny Hikman used to be the law here, well, not really, but he kept people on the right track. Encouraged them to do right- and get guns, he used to run a bar a little down the way, gave it to his nephew or something-” the man said, laughing slightly.

“‘ bar any good?” he asked, only half listening to the man.

“The best, fresh food, cold whiskey- bartenders a good guy too, won't hesitate to throw your ass out though.”

“I’ll bet- which way’s that bar, again?”

———

You started serving earlier than usual today, mostly so you could close earlier without complaint. The familiar chime of the bell above the door called your attention for a less than a second, you recognized Johnny, then looked back down at the glasses you were cleaning.

“Changing your schedule on me, Johnny? I thought you were a Wednesday man?”

He let out a short laugh, sitting in the spot directly in front of you, “just showing a friend around.”

“You’re friends are all alcoholics, I doubt they need help finding a bar.”

“Hey now, I’ve got a new friend. Mr. Uhh-“

“Arthur.”

You felt like you’d just jumped out of your skin, the glass in your hand clattered against the floor, ever so sturdy. Landing thankful one piece. Staring at the man in front of you, standing just behind Johnny, Arthur Morgan, right there, looking just the way he did when he left, just the way you remember him.

He glanced at Johnny, then back at you- it felt like he looked right through you. Looking at you with none of the love or adoration from before. Because he loved d/n, not y/n. Y/n was just a bartender to him, an awful one who apparently couldn’t even hold a damn glass.

Your heart felt like it was collapsing in on itself, your chest was tight and you could feel your throat start to close as tears weld in your eyes. Quickly, you broke eye contact with Arthur, ducking down under the bar to grab the glass, using the sleeves of your shirt to wipe the forming tears in your eyes before standing up.

“Sorry boys,” you muttered, “you’re, uh, friend startled me is all.”

Taking off his hat and setting down on the counter, Arthur took a seat on one of the stools.

“Sorry, your friend here talked you up quite a bit, had to see for myself if what he said was true.”

You let out a laugh, forced and almost nervous, setting the glass down with the rest of the dirty glasses, you said, “Trust me, it’s true, what you looking for Mr. Arthur?”

“Just Arthur, and whiskey, thanks.”

You nodded to the man before heading to the storage room, you’d hate to admit it, but you wanted to run, straight passed the storage room and out the back door. But that would make Arthur think something was wrong, and yes, something was wrong, but he didn’t need to know that. He didn’t recognize you, and that was okay, it was supposed to be okay, you left so you wouldn’t be recognized, you left to start over. But he’s out there, and you were hiding in the storage room so you wouldn’t have to face him. You gave yourself a moment, for your throat to release and for your heart to stop pounding and aching. Only the pounding stopped. You needed to work, you couldn’t let them know anything was wrong.

Grabbing a bit of higher quality whiskey out of the icebox, feeling the frosty glass sting your hand as you carried it out of the storage room. Without looking up at the man you grabbed one of the clean glasses and poured him about half a glass. You remember Arthur complaining about it once, only getting serviced the tiniest amount of alcohol, no matter the price. Capping the bottle you gave a short wordless nod before setting it under the counter. Arthur grabbed the glass, before he could speak you were on the other side of the bar, serving somebody else.

Johnny didn’t stay long, he had other things to do on a Thursday afternoon, but Arthur stayed, you poured him a couple more glasses before cutting him off, at least from your expensive whiskey.

“How much do I owe you?” He ask, his speech a bit slurred as he sat unsteadily in his seat.

“Nothing, I’ll put it on Johnny’s tab, come Wednesday he won’t notice it.”

“Thank you kindly-“

“Y/n-“

“Thank you, y/n.”

“You have a good night Mr. Morgan.”

You crawled into bed that night, still in your day clothes, feeling like your heart had been torn out of your chest. And you cried, you cried until the sun came up, until your body couldn't cry anymore and every sound you made was a rough heaving sob. And when you had no more energy left to sob, you stared at your open window, watching the sunrise, listening to the people.

You were supposed to open today, unlocking the door and flipping the sign, staring out the window, at the people, at Mrs. Matthews waiting across the street for you to open your doors.

You flipped the sign back, you stated at the word “OPEN” facing you, then at Mrs. Matthews's face fell as the word “CLOSED” faced her.

————

Sitting on his cot, journal on his lap, Arthur stared at the picture he drew. It wasn't perfect, considering he was half drunk when he drew it, but it was something. The bartender from last night. He was…something. A nervous something. Arthur felt bad for him when he dropped the glass, then he just…stared at him, long enough for Arthur to get a spark of familiarity when he saw his face. Arthur tried to get his attention as the night went on, ordering drinks, asking questions, trying to get the man to stay close, be he'd walk away the moment he'd answered or served him.

He wasn't like that with other patrons, he laughed, he joked- then he kicked everyone out.

He heard him say he was closing early, but let him stay until he finished his last drink. Arthur thought about the name he'd given. Y/n.

“I see you're drawing d/n again, did you catch her in town?”

Looking up he saw Tilly standing next to him with a kind smile on her face.

“No, it's not d/n, some bartender in town, he looks so familiar.”

Tilly hummed, sitting on the cot with Arthur and taking the book out of his lap. She flipped through the pages quickly before finding a drawing of d/n, with your final letter stuck right next to it.

“Needs a change, huh? Maybe she skipped town and became a bartender, you never know.”

“A bartender and a man?”

“You never know Arthur. Maybe that's why she left, couldn't make a change like that where people know you. They would've hunted her down.”

“Tilly..”

“Maybe you should talk to the bartender, if it's not her then it's not her, but if it is, are you really going to miss seeing her again because you won't take a chance?”

Handing the journal back to him she said, “Just think about it, at least.” Then she walked away.

————

You heard the slam of the front door behind you as you sat the freshly cleaned glasses on the rack. If you were going to sulk and lock yourself in the bar then you were going to clean while you did it.

“We’re closed..” you said, your tone not exactly customer friendly.

You had a list of things you needed to do, you've already mopped the floor, scrubbed the tables and walls, washed every glass, plate, and utensil, did your laundry, scrubbed your tub, cleaned your room-

“D/n..?”

You paused, then glanced over your shoulder. You knew it was him, you already knew, you knew his voice too well to ever mistake it. Taking a breath, you hands shaking and heart pounding, you turned around.

“Arthur, I-” you breathed out, but you didn't know what to say. “How did you-”

“Lucky guess..”

Taking slow steps towards the bar, you heard him sigh.

“Are you…okay?” he asked, unsure.

You nodded, “Yeah, yeah I'm okay.”

“We should talk-”

“Yes, we should-”

You stepped from behind the counter, still unsure as to what could happen next. Then, without warning, you were pulled into a tight hug, Arthurs's body practically enveloping yours. You stood there, holding him as tightly as you could until your arms started to burn from the strain.

You didn't know what to say, or how to explain what happened, the realization you went through while he was gone, why you left.

When you pulled away you still didn’t know what to say, you opened your mouth to talk but no words came out. You kept your face glued to the ground for a long moment.

“You look different, I didn’t recognize you yesterday..”

You pulled out one of the stools.

“I told you I needed change.”

He pulled another out beside you.

“I know, I just don’t know what I was expecting.”

“This must be so confusing.”

“It is, but I’m betting it was more confusing for you that it could be for anybody else.”

Leaning on the counter, you looked up at him.

“I guess so. In my home town I figured that they’d be a little more angry than confused so I left..” you stopped, taking a breath, “I didn’t want to leave you, Arthur.”

Arthur sat there silently, his eyes turned towards the counter.

You couldn’t help but stare, you haven’t seen him in so long, his eyebrows were slightly scrunched downward, his pretty blue eyes focused on nothing as his mind raced. His fingers tapped against the counter every few seconds. You tried not to let that anxious feeling in your chest build, but the longer he was silent, the harder it got to push down.

“You said you aren't happy anymore..”

You blinked.

“I wasn't.”

“How about now? Are you happy now?”

“I'm.. I have more good days than I did before, so…yeah, I'm happy.”

He stayed silent for another moment. You figured he was just trying to find his words.

Then, when he did speak,

“I still love you.”

You sighed, “I still love you, too, Arthur.”

Another long silence passed. It was odd, you've dreamed of seeing him again, all the damn time. And now that he's here you didn't know what to say. Your relationship, how ever strong it was before, was dying. Even though you loved him and he loved you.

Arthur was having similar thoughts, he didn't care how much you changed, he wanted you to be happy. That's all he wanted for you. But he wants to be with you, he doesn't care that your a man, it doesn't matter to him, he doesn't think it's ever mattered. He's never thought too hard about it. But now, with you sitting there looking the way you did. Looking so different, so muchlike yourself, so much more at peace even though you were being confronted, he thought, ‘yeah, I could be with a man.’

Before he could, you took a chance.

“How long you thinking of staying in town for, Arthur?”

———-

You laughed, he missed your laugh.

“You can't just go around taking people's clothes off!”

“I needed clothes and they were so drunk they wouldn't miss them!” you argued.

“How have you not been caught yet?”

“I bought new clothes!”

“Why couldn't you do that first?”

“I needed to avoid suspicion.”

“Avoid suspicious by stealing clothes..”

You laughed again.

You and Arthur had found your way upstairs, both of you sat on the floor, leaning back against the wall. He asked you how you ended up here, it was funny, explaining to Arthur, a known outlaw, the various ways you broke the law, and having him lecture you.

“I will not take this from an outlaw!”

“You're an outlaw too, now, Clothes Bandit.”

“Oh that's awful, why couldn't I get something good?”

“‘Good’ like what?”

“I don't know, you're better at naming things than I am.”

He looked over at you a small smile on his face.

“Really now, Mr. Y/n, how’d you come up with that anyways?”

“Well I found a baby naming book.”

He sat up, giving you a look.

“Are you serious?”

You looked at him for a second, a stren expression on your face, then slowly a smile broke out on your face.

“You're an ass.”

“You really think I got Y/n for a baby naming book?”

“You could have!”

“But I didn't-”

Eventually, after showing him your room and the various aspects of your new life that you adored (yes, the tub too), you headed back down to the bar, only to see Daniel, one of Johnny’s friends, behind the bar serving himself.

“Daniel, I'm going to kill you, how many drinks have you had?” you said, rushing over to him, snatching both the glass and bottle from his hand.

“One-” you gave him a look, he caved quickly with a sigh, “five.”

“Goddamnit.”

“‘M sorry, you are closed, your never closed!”

“I wouldn't be serving drinks this early anyways!”

He laughed, walking around to the other side of the bar, “I'm special though right? Won't get shot or banned or nothing?” he practically pleaded, but formed it like a question.

“No, you're not banned, but you still need to leave.”

He sighed, dragging himself out the door.

Sighing yourself, you turned to Arthur, “See what I have to deal with?”

“‘Seems like a handful.”

“Daniel is harmless, he's just an alcoholic.”

“Never met a harmless alcoholic.”

“He's harmless now, he doesn't want to risk almost getting shot again.”

Arthur laughed, sitting at the bar, just like had yesterday, “Who shot at him?”

You stared at him for a moment.

“You?”

“I gave him plenty of warning, see that hole in the wall that there—” you pointed to the very back wall of the tavern, between two tables was a loosely patched hole, “- warning shot, missed him by an inch.”

“Who the hell taught you how to shoot?”

“I taught myself, maybe I could teach you sometime.”

“Very funny, y/n, I wouldn't mind seeing you shoot sometime though.”

“There's a range in the next town, I could take you there sometime.”

The two of you talked until the sun had fully set and the town had gone quiet. The bar made you feel more open somehow, it always did. Arthur helped too, you guess. You missed him, you missed being like this, so normal with him. You were surprised his quickly things settled back in place, like neither of you had ever left. It was clear that you were different, but Arthur seemed to accept this change flawlessly. He never messed up, seemingly having ingrained every aspect of your new life into his mind.

Y/n, Mr.Y/n, Sir, he even called you handsome, you swear you nearly fell over when he did.

By midnight, you both were tired, and despite what he planned before, which was bringing you- if it was you, back to camp with him. But that plan never fell through, you ended up pulling him into the bathroom with you. You thought you'd be uncomfortable at first, but you figured if he was going to be back in your life you should get used to him seeing you naked again. But it wasn't, it was calm, comforting. You were thankful for your massive bath, the both of you fit well, you sat behind him, his hat tossed in on top of the heap of clothes you two had left, you ran your fingers through his hair, water from your hands running down his face. He hummed in contempt. He didn't speak much at first, simply enjoying you and your presence. It wasn't until the water had begun to cool and the cold air of the Nevada night started to seep in did he pressed himself closer to you, muttering something quietly.

It wasn't until you got out, long after the water cooled, we're you able to figure out what he was saying. You had some clothes you figured might fit Arthur, something you'd bought impulsively without actually checking to see if you could fit it.

“You have…nice arms-” he muttered.

You were pulling your pants up over your waist when he spoke, you turned to look at him, one hand holding your unbuttoned pants up, you asked, “Arthur, are you drunk?”

“No, no I'm just…real tired.”

“Didn't get much sleep?”

“I didn't sleep, I kept thinking of you.”

“When was the last time you slept?”

He groaned, “Tuesday, I was on watch Wednesday, I was pre occupied by your ass on Thursday, and now here we are.”

“Fucking Christ, go to sleep.”

“I want to look at you, I missed you-”

“I'll be here in the morning Arthur.”

He didn't respond for a long moment, you figured he dozed off finally, until you decided to switch shirts, shoving the one you had on into your drawer and pulling out another.

“You have a nice back too-”

“Good night, Arthur.”

Your night ended with you curling up around Arthur, your arms nearly wrapped completely around him. You didn't dream again tonight, your usual fantasies of seeing Arthur were deemed useless now and we're thrown out with the rest of today's mental trash.

#arthur morgan x male reader #arthur morgan x male!reader #red dead redemption 2 x male reader #red dead redemption 2 x male!reader #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 x male reader #rdr2 x male!reader #rdr2x male!reader #male!reader #male reader #x male reader #x male!reader #male y/n #x male y/n #arthur Morgan x male #✮ — z-boy

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sweetkpopmusings · 2 months

Text

long for you (act three) | h. hyunjin <3

a/n: and just like that, i present to you the last installment of long for you ! i hope you enjoy the ending (i promise it's a happy one) <3 thank you so much for reading this fic :,-) pics not mine <3

♡ find all parts here ♡

content: fluff, romance, fake dating, angst, a happy ending | wc: 4.2k | warnings: none really! | pairing: nonbinary!painter!hyunjin x gn!writer!reader | requests: open

synopsis: y/n is a writer with a long-awaited, well-deserved career opportunity. despite the excitement, there’s one major problem: the publisher expects a modern love story, equally romcom-like and authentic, but y/n lacks the inspiration to write something worth reading. through a chance meeting with mutual friends, y/n and hyunjin bond over upcoming deadlines and creative blocks. before the conversation ends, they discover that the ridiculous plot of fake dating might just work to solve their inspirational dry spell.

act three: here, with you

jeongin, running back and forth from one corner of the exhibition to another, barely registers the door opening. it isn’t until he hears seungmin’s classic, hey! yang jeongin! that he breaks away from the artwork surrounding him.

“care to tell me why you’re interrupting my very important work?”

seungmin shrugs, “you have five days until opening night. there’s plenty of time. besides,” seungmin flashes his friend a golden retriever grin, “you can always make time for your favorite person in the world!”

“i…i don’t even know where to begin with unpacking that.”

“then don’t,” seungmin sets his bag down on a table near the entrance, pulls out a large stack of papers, and strides towards jeongin, “i wanted to lend you this.”

jeongin’s brow furrows, trying to make sense of whatever seungmin dropped on the worktable in front of him, “what’s here, with you and what does it have to do with me?”

“it has nothing to do with you,” seungmin laughs, “but when i was reading through it, it reminded me of your friend hyunjin and their relationship drama, which, given how much you’ve told me, i’m quite invested in.”

the gears turn in jeongin’s head as he thumbs through the manuscript in front of him. seungmin waits somewhat patiently, reminding himself that jeongin’s brain is probably too preoccupied with the art show logistics to make the connection in a timely manner.

“how would this even…oh wait, is y/n your new writer?!”

though jeongin’s jaw has dropped from shock, seungmin calmly nods, “yeah, and this is probably illegal, so only share it with hyunjin. i don’t care too much about them reading it because i think they could…benefit from the novel’s perspective. plus, i want to know the resultant ‘tea,’ as it were.”

“how is it that none of my friends can use slang without sounding like the elderly?” jeongin sighs, putting his hand on the title page, “but understood. i’ll guard it with my life and tell hyunjin that their access must remain top-secret. do you want us to shred it after he’s finished reading it?”

seungmin shoots jeongin a why is that the first thing you thought of? look and replies, “just text me and i’ll come pick it up.”

“oh, yeah, that makes sense. well, thanks!”

“yeah, yeah,” seungmin goes to collect his bag at the front, “be sure to let me know what happens after. i’ll see you later!”

jeongin waves to his friend and pulls out his phone to text hyunjin. typically he doesn’t like to meddle in his friends’ business, but he can’t deny the excitement bubbling inside him at the thought of this book changing the course of hyunjin’s relationship with you. not to mention the bragging rights he’d have if he played a part in you two getting back together.

jeongin returns his focus to the gallery setup, keeping an ear out for the door this time, so as not to miss hyunjin’s fateful arrival.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

every time hyunjin comes back to their apartment, his eyes land on the manuscript, which sits unassumingly on the coffee table. given that meticulously selected art books are displayed on the coffee table, if one wasn’t looking for the manuscript specifically, it would remain unnoticed, merely an afterthought.

hyunjin is always looking for the manuscript, though. try as they might to ignore it, they unconsciously glance at it every time it’s near, ensuring that it hasn’t been lost. ensuring that it’s still there, waiting for him.

jeongin wouldn’t have passed it along if it were going to hurt him, right? hyunjin can’t think of any real reason not to read it. they don’t care about any publishing rules, and they’re not worried about jeongin telling anyone else about it. and yet, hyunjin can’t get past the title page. they long to know what truths are hidden in that stack of pages, but they fear that they’ll be hanging on to every word, unable to return to a world that isn’t filled with you. then, thoughts of his mistake swarm his mind, leaving hyunjin spiraling into regret, self-criticism, and anxiety. who knew it would be so difficult to read a book written by someone you admire?

hyunjin counts down the days to the exhibition’s opening night. they haven’t asked whether you’ll be there. jeongin could know from the rsvp list, or changbin could know through felix. he wonders if you’ll show up. he understands why you wouldn’t; hyunjin of all people could understand why you wouldn’t want to be there at all, especially on opening night. sure, they would be heartbroken–even more than they already are–if they didn’t see your face in the crowd. again, though, they can’t blame you for your absence, if that’s what you choose. plain and simple, hyunjin just misses you. they’re not sure if they have the right to reach back out to you, but he plays out scenarios in his head of what could happen at the gallery, if only you walked through the door.

“hyunjin!” changbin chirps on the phone as soon as hyunjin accepts the call, “are you excited for tomorrow?”

hyunjin smiles, “yeah, it’ll be great.”

“great doesn’t even begin to describe it! it’s only an exhibition featuring work by the most talented, most gorgeous artist in the city!”

they laugh at changbin’s enthusiasm, a slight pang in their chest emerging when they think of how you’d roll your eyes at his friend’s endless flirting, “as always, thank you for your undying support.”

“of course! now, i actually wasn’t just calling because i missed your voice. we–me, jeongin, and minho–were thinking it’d be fun to go out for a late dinner after the grand opening. you in?”

“i don’t know…” hyunjin sighs, “i’m not sure if i’ll feel up to it afterward.”

“no worries!” changbin’s smile is audible, “you can let us know tomorrow night what you feel up to. we can always celebrate you on a different day!”

“sounds great, thank you,” hyunjin replies with as much excitement as they can muster.

“well my dear, sweet, beautiful, charming, brilliant artist friend, i should let you go. i’m sure you’ve got a whole lot of prep left, and you need to get your beauty sleep! i’ll see you tomorrow night?”

“you can count on it. thanks changbin.”

“any time. i love you!”

hyunjin laughs at changbin’s extra sweet tone for i love you and his subsequent giggles, “love you too.”

changbin squeals, which prompts hyunjin to hang up before their eardrums are irrevocably damaged.

after the phone call, hyunjin wanders around their apartment, jumping from task to task in order to take their mind off the next night’s possibilities. soon, but not soon enough, it is a reasonable time for them to go to bed. he finishes his nighttime routine, hoping slumber will come as soon as he is under the covers. unfortunately, as luck would have it, the hours pass while hyunjin lies awake, thinking of you.

they groan and climb out of bed, walking to the kitchen to make some tea. once again, even in the dark, their eyes find the manuscript. this time, however, they think if i can’t get them out of my head, i might as well read it, regardless of how much more i’ll miss them after.

with a sigh, hyunjin sinks into their couch and pulls the manuscript into their lap. they stare at the title page, saddened by the fact your name isn’t beneath the title. when they get the courage to read the first line, they smile. your voice comes through with each word, and it’s as though you’re having a conversation in his living room. hyunjin finds comfort in this, even if you’re not here with him.

after a couple of chapters, it’s apparent why jeongin gave hyunjin the manuscript. while the characters don’t follow the exact same plot as you two, their dynamic is all too familiar. the story grips hyunjin, and he craves everything it has to offer, soaking up every detail as though their life depends on it.

much to hyunjin’s surprise, dawn is breaking when they start the last chapter. perhaps it’d be more responsible to sleep, but hyunjin can’t fathom putting your book down. if he gets the chance to look you in the eyes again, he thinks it’s only fair to do so when he can confidently express how beautiful your story is. so they charge on, desperate to know what the end is for these lovers.

as soon as hyunjin flips the last page over, they sit back into the couch cushions and take a deep breath. hyunjin smiles, proudly thinking i can’t believe they managed to make something so perfect out of something so…human. a yawn cuts the early morning stillness, so hyunjin returns his empty mug to the kitchen and shuffles into bed. spending the night with your voice, your written presence, relieves his body of all the stress it was carrying. the second his eyelids flutter shut, he slips into a peaceful slumber.

the peace is broken hours later when his alarm chimes, more aggressively than they would prefer. hyunjin checks the time, bolting out of bed when they realize they have slept through at least 30 minutes of snoozed alarms.

frantically, they text jeongin about their potential delayed arrival, stumbling their way to the closet. hyunjin has never been more relieved by the fact that he picked out his outfit the day before.

by some miracle, hyunjin is dressed and made up with two minutes to spare. they rush to the front door, struggling to put their boots on while they simultaneously gather everything into their bag.

“oh, wait!” they exclaim to the empty apartment, kicking off their shoes.

hyunjin runs to the coffee table, flips to a page in the manuscript, snaps a picture, and hurries back toward the apartment’s entryway. in a flash, they are out the door, confident they now have everything they need to get through whatever tonight has in store.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

felix grins as he hands you a drink, “here you go!”

“thank you!” you grin back, unable to resist his cheeriness and the joy of free refreshments.

“can you believe how many people there are here?”

you follow felix’s gaze as it rakes over the crowd. you know jeongin’s gallery isn’t small by any means, but you’re still surprised this many people can fit here without breaking any fire codes.

“i guess i can. hyunjin’s pretty well-known.”

he nods, not unaware of the way your smile falters when you say their name.

felix lets a few beats pass, so as not to make his conversational distraction too obvious, “so, you were telling me about how you ran into chan the other day?”

“yeah,” your smile returns, “he was in town interviewing for a new job. i called him afterward, and it looks like he’s getting the offer. if it comes through, he’ll be moving here.”

“wow! that’s a bit of a plot twist,” felix chuckles, “how do you feel about him moving back here?”

“good. it’d be nice to reconnect with him after being apart for so long. while we had our obvious reasons for keeping a distance, both of us admitted that we missed being in each other’s lives. chan even said,” you bite your lip, preparing yourself for felix’s reaction, “he wants to give us another chance if he moves here.”

your friend’s jaw drops, and you can’t help the giggle that falls from your lips when you see how wide his eyes have gotten.

“whoa! now that’s a plot twist!”

you laugh again, and felix continues, “do you want to get back together with him?”

you take a sip of your drink, pausing to find the right words, “i’ve been thinking about it a lot since he brought it up. nothing’s certain yet because he doesn’t know whether he’ll be moving here anyway. but i can’t deny that the prospect of being with chan again is appealing. i’ll always love him, and we’ve grown up now, so things could be different. of course, i realize that it’s not enough to build a relationship solely on good memories and lost potential. i guess what i’m trying to say is that–”

“hi everyone!” jeongin lightly shouts to get the attention of the crowd, “thank you all so much for coming here tonight. i always appreciate people taking the time, though i’m sure you’re here for the free food as much as you’re here for the art.”

the crowd laughs, and felix leans over to you, “tell me the rest of the chan stuff later?”

“you know it,” you whisper back, quick to turn your attention back to where jeongin stands.

“it is no secret that tonight’s artist is a friend of mine. i’ve been championing their work for years, but i have to say this collection is one of their best. while the paintings speak for themselves, please welcome hwang hyunjin for a few words on their newest series, long for you!”

you clap with the rest of the gallery visitors, trying to ignore the shaking in your hands. the nerves aren’t surprising, but they still overwhelm you. your heart pounds, unsure where he’ll appear from. it must’ve only been five seconds, but it feels as though an eternity has passed between jeongin saying his name and hyunjin stepping in front of the crowd, beautiful as ever.

you shuffle slightly behind felix, hoping this will decrease the possibility of you and hyunjin making eye contact. thankfully, it works, as hyunjin begins their speech without any sign he has noticed your presence. the second their voice spreads throughout the silent gallery, you are mesmerized, praying your face won’t give you and your lingering feelings away.

“thank you, jeongin, for the introduction and the opportunity to showcase my work,” hyunjin nods toward their friend, “this series is very special to me for a couple of reasons. when jeongin asked me to create work inspired by ‘yearning,’ i was completely at a loss. i don’t think i’ve ever experienced such a lack of inspiration before. it felt impossible, like i was staring down the first failure in my artistic career. i actually was about to back out of the agreement, but, by a stroke of luck, maybe even fate, i met someone that changed everything.”

breath hitching in your throat, you grasp onto your drink with both of your trembling hands. felix glances at you, and you nod, signaling that you’re okay. for now, at least.

“they taught me so much about art and about love,” hyunjin pauses, searching the crowd until, much to their surprise and relief, their eyes land on you, “and, after making a foolish and immature mistake, their absence taught me hard lessons about yearning. these pieces are as much about the desire you feel towards someone special as they are about the ache you feel when that person is gone. i cherish each painting because i cherish the subject, the person portrayed here, the most. in making this series, i realized that yearning is quite a selfish thing when you’re the one that created the distance in the first place. believe me when i say that i have never yearned more, nor felt more sorry, in my life.”

hyunjin’s words hang in the air, and, try as you might to keep your composure, you cannot tear your eyes from theirs. though they are across the room, the way his eyes are locked with yours yields the kind of intimacy you feel only when you are inches away from your lover. heart pounding, throat closing, eyes glistening, you hold hyunjin’s gaze because you don’t know what else to do. then, just as you feel you are being completely unraveled, they look away from you and toward the rest of the crowd.

“thank you all for bearing witness to this part of my heart. before i send you on your way to examine my latest creations, i would like to leave you with a quote from my favorite writer,” hyunjin inhales slowly, deliberately forming each word with the utmost care, “in an upcoming work, they write, ‘after all that had happened to us, and in spite of whatever would come, the center of everything was this: i have longed for you since the moment i met you; therefore, i will always love you,’” hyunjin pauses again to ensure the crowd absorbs every precious word, “i hope you all find the one you long for most, and i hope you never let them go. thank you.”

with a small bow, hyunjin ends their speech and steps away from the center of the room to the sound of applause.

“whoa, that last part sounded like something you would write. that’s crazy!” felix faces you, shocked smile faltering when he sees your frozen state.

“yeah…” you attempt to smile when you nod in agreement, “actually, i wrote that.”

felix’s jaw drops, “oh, wow. wow. that was beautiful! you really are a force to be reckoned with. those words cut straight to the heart, y/n.”

“thank you,” your voice comes out barely as a whisper, “i’m going to get some fresh air.”

understanding your body language, felix asks, “do you want some company?”

“no, it’s okay. i’ll be right back. you stay and enjoy the art!”

felix smiles at you reassuringly, promising to be right where you left him whenever you return. much to your chagrin, in your efforts to sneak out of the gallery, you pass by hyunjin talking with a group of people. you desperately hope that he did not see you as you push through the gallery doors and step out into the fresh night.

before you can take enough deep breaths to untangle your twisted stomach, you hear footsteps behind you.

“are you okay?”

hyunjin’s voice floats through the air and envelops you. despite the anxiety and exhilaration coursing through your body at their proximity, the sound of hyunjin’s voice still manages to relax you.

“yeah, i’m fine,” you lie, “don’t worry about me. it looked like you were in the middle of an important conversation, so you should go back before they miss you.”

hyunjin shrugs, stepping closer to you, “they’re not the ones i care about.”

“oh, i see.”

you wish you could kick yourself for such a lackluster reply, but you settle for looking away from hyunjin. there are few cars on the street, making it difficult for you to pretend you’re paying attention to anything other than the person beside you.

“i’m really sorry if it was inappropriate for me to quote you at the end of my speech without giving you credit. i was able to read your manuscript–i swear i got it through official channels–and it was so captivating and touching that i thought i could pay homage to you by mentioning it. i wasn’t thinking about the implications though, so i’m sorry.”

against your better judgment, you glance at them and smile softly, reassuringly, “no, it’s fine. i mean, it probably is a violation of confidentiality, but that’s not…i’m not upset because of that.”

“oh, so it’s the other selfish thing i did then? i do owe you an apology for that. a real one, not just one i say in a room full of other people.”

you chuckle at their delivery, unable to resist their charm. thankfully, they don’t leave you with the responsibility of responding.

“from the bottom of my heart and with everything i have, i am so sorry. i was an idiot. i…i got scared because i wanted our fake dating to turn into real dating. i didn’t know what i was doing, so i ran away. i ended our relationship because i couldn’t, wouldn’t find the courage to ask you for what i truly wanted. i hurt you, and that’s the worst thing i could have done. i’m sorry,” they pause, hoping their rambling doesn’t dilute their message, “and i don’t expect you to forgive me. i just…i owe it to you to be honest. you deserved better than what i did.”

hyunjin stares at you, kind smile coupled with a serious, tender look in their eyes. you’re stunned at how genuine their apology is, how generous they are with their true feelings. for the first time in weeks, your heart doesn’t feel so heavy.

“you ended things because you wanted…more?”

though your voice is soft, hyunjin hears you with complete clarity, “yes. in truth, i fell for you, y/n,” hyunjin chuckles, “i guess i took the fake dating trope and turned it into a fake dating to lovers storyline.”

you grin, “i can’t say i’m surprised that you’d commit that much to the bit. you’ve certainly got the romantic tendencies of an artist.”

you join their laughter this time, waves of relief washing over you. even after everything, the cold night transforms into something much more comforting when hyunjin is here with you.

“though i don’t deserve it, i would like to be with you. i want to be your partner again, but a real one, if you’d let me.”

“hyunjin…” you face them fully, absorbing the tenderness of the moment, feeling your stomach fill with butterflies and your heart fill with longing.

all the questions, uncertainties, and anxieties that have filled your days since hyunjin walked out of that restaurant come back to you. at the same time, all the hopes you had when you were getting to know hyunjin hit you full force. though you were working to be okay with a future that didn’t include hyunjin, you can’t deny that there remains a part of you that wants everything you had with them. those two months filled with hyunjin felt so right. it wasn’t just the fact that they inspired you and played an instrumental role in the completion of your first novel. no, it was just as jisung had pointed out: hyunjin changed your outlook on love, for the better, by being the kind of person you could love and be loved by.

“it’s okay if you don’t feel the same,” hyunjin smiles, “you deserve to know that someone out there feels this way about you. you deserve to know that you touched me profoundly, and i’m forever changed for the better because i met you.”

tears prick the corners of your eyes, feeling pure happiness for the first time in weeks, “i feel the same. i…”

you sigh, at a loss for the right words that could capture everything you’re thinking. they don’t pressure you into responding quickly, but, not wanting to leave them in suspense, you settle for the simplest expression of your heart.

“i want to be with you too, hyunjin. if you’d let me, of course.”

you swear you’ve never seen someone smile so brightly before. instinctively, you reflect their joy, savoring the moment that rewrote your story from one of heartbreak to one of hope. this, you think, is the kind of thing you wouldn’t have thought was realistic before you met hyunjin.

“you know, i was almost late for the show tonight,” hyunjin chuckles, a little sheepishly, “i overslept and had to rush out of my apartment to get here in time. normally i would never dream of getting ready so quickly, but i managed to make it here with a few minutes to spare. even jeongin was surprised.”

hyunjin laughs, and you tease, “i’m surprised too. it’s pretty out of character for you to rush to do anything,” you giggle at hyunjin’s pout, “what was so different this time?”

though your tone was playful, hyunjin looks at you sweetly and replies in a voice full of sincerity.

“i guess,” they reach out and intertwine your hands, “deep down i knew i was rushing my way back to you.”

oh.

you smile down at your hands, flushing pink from the warmth of hyunjin’s touch. you feel their eyes on you, but you take your time before meeting their gaze again, wanting to convince yourself that this moment is, in fact, real.

“i guess i need to call chan and tell him that i just want to be friends.”

“wait!” hyunjin frowns, “who’s chan?”

you laugh at their childish expression, endeared as always by his flair for the dramatic, “don’t worry. changbin flirts with you waaaaaay more than chan ever would with me.”

hyunjin cackles at this, jealousy subsiding into pure joy at the fact that you’re choosing him over someone, anyone else. they too have to convince themself that this dream has really come true.

hyunjin points their head toward the door, “shall we go back inside?”

you nod, “i’m sure people are wondering where the guest of honor is hiding.”

hyunjin laughs, leading you back towards the gallery full of art enthusiasts and paintings apparently inspired by you, “i think it’s time i introduce everybody to my muse.”

you smile, falling into step beside hyunjin without a second thought. as you two leave the cold night and weeks of longing for one another behind you, you think that maybe, just maybe, it’s not only fictional lovers that get the happy endings they deserve.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

tag list: @velvetmoonlght @tirena1 (<333 tysm)

#sweetkpopmusings #stray kids fluff #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids fic #fake dating au #skz hyunjin #non idol au #skz fic #skz x reader #skz fluff #skz au #stray kids au #stray kids hyunjin #stray kids angst #skz angst #long for you

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fluentmoviequoter · 1 year

Note

I love your writing it's great could you write a Dalton Lambert x reader where the readers a single mom to a one year old chris introduced them and they hit it off so they've been together for 6 months and then before that friends for 6 months so the baby was 6 months old when they got together and is now a year old so Dalton became readers baby's step dad a little and reader and her child go with Dalton to his home for Thanksgiving break and meet his family obviously Cali doesn't really care and is happy to have a sister and niece now and Renia is happy to know Dalton is happy and absolutely loves the reader and her kid and then foster being the teenage boy he is doesn't really care that much but obviously Josh doesn't really like reader cause she's a young mom and is skeptical of her considering the problems he and Dalton have

So sorry for the long wait! I hope this is along the lines of what you wanted. I think this is my longest fic and it covers over a year; I tried to follow your timeline. Thank you so much for the request and the kind words!! Enjoy and let me know what you think! :)

Warnings: fem!reader is pregnant and gives birth (no detail), unnamed child (nickname: Bump), marriage, lots of fluff, some angst towards the end. 3.8k+ words

A/N: The title is from "Come Together" by Aerosmith, which has absolutely nothing to do with the fic, I didn't explain why the reader is a single mom, that's up for interpretation/reader's choice. I also made a very obvious reference to another Ty Simpkins movie.

One and One and One is Three

✵Last October✵

“Dolphin, please!” Chris begs, extending a store-bought Halloween costume.

“I’m not going to another party with you, I’ve learned my lesson,” Dalton responds, crossing his arms.

“Fine.” Chris sighs. “I guess I’ll go by myself, just a poor, defenseless girl, and hope for the best. I thought we were friends.”

Dalton groans as he tips his head back, running a hand through his hair. “Why do you always do this?”

“Because it works. Now go change, we need to go.”

Chris tosses the costume onto Dalton’s bed before walking out.

Dalton takes a deep breath before picking up the bag.

“Iron Man? Really?”

After changing, Dalton meets Chris outside the dorm building, standing silently as she playfully fawns over him. The closer they get to the party, the more Dalton appreciates the cheap piece of plastic covering his face. Maybe he can get through the party and back to his dorm without any incidents this time.

Chris leads Dalton inside the house, greeting people and looking around as she walks toward the kitchen. Dalton hears several other Avengers yelling at him but pretends not to notice them. As he prepares to ask Chris what or who she’s looking for, she stops abruptly, and he nearly runs into her.

“Baby Bump!” Chris yells.

“Chris,” Dalton hisses, concerned he will have to break up a fight. He takes off his mask to prepare.

Chris hugs someone and then steps aside. “Dalton this is Baby Bump. Baby Bump, Dolphin.”

Dalton tells you his real name as you tell him yours. You laugh as you repeat his name and shake his hand.

“You’re…” Dalton begins.

“Pregnant?” you suggest. At the same time, Dalton finishes, “A kangaroo.”

“Oh. Yeah, I’m a kangaroo. And you’re Iron Man.”

Chris interjects to say she’s going to find food. You nod sweetly and smile, sending Dalton’s mind into overdrive as he imagines you looking at him like that.

“Do you like Iron Man? Or did Chris get your costume? She wanted to pick mine, but I vetoed that.”

“Yeah, yeah, Chris picked it. She forced me to come, so I didn’t have much of an option,” Dalton answers.

You nod and smile up at him, making him wish he had the mask back on to cover his warming cheeks.

“You make a very attractive Iron Man if it helps.”

“I’m pretty sure you could tell me I look stupid, and I’d say thank you.”

You laugh, and Dalton thinks it’s the best sound he has ever heard. You look over your shoulder for Chris and shift your feet to find comfort.

“Do you wanna go somewhere else, or sit down? Anything?” Dalton offers, raising a hand toward you slightly.

“Yeah,” you answer with a sigh. “But you stay here, enjoy! Chris should be back soon.”

“Chris isn’t coming back, it’s like her favorite thing in the world to abandon me at parties. So, where to?” Dalton offers his arm, and you loop yours through, smiling as he walks you toward the front door.

“Why did you agree to come?” you ask as you exit the house.

“I’d never let Chris go to a party by herself. This one seems like a decent one, so I’m okay with leaving her.”

“Bad experience with a college party?”

“Frat party the first week.”

You make a sound of agreement. “You’re a good friend.”

“You never told me where you want to go,” Dalton points out, trying to get your attention off of him.

“I’m craving something really weird, so if you want to go home-“

Dalton cuts you off with a dramatic shake of his head. “Let’s get it. How weird can it be?”

✵Last November✵

“What do you guys want for dinner?” Chris asks, looking up from her phone.

“Your favorite concoction?” Dalton suggests, looking over at you, where you’re lying on his bed with your feet up.

“Never going to let me live that down,” you grumble. “I’m pregnant, Dalton, it was a one-time craving, get over it.”

“Yeah, Dalton, give your pregnant best friend a break. You’re so mean,” Chris adds, winking at you quickly.

Dalton rolls his eyes and returns to his drawing, listening to you and Chris discuss what to order. When the two of you decide, Chris places the order and then says she has to finish some laundry before it gets delivered.

“What are you doing for the break, Dalton?”

Dalton abandons his drawing; his interest shifted to talking to you. He sits at the end of his bed and stretches his legs beside yours. “My dad’s coming to pick me up after my last class, so I’ll be with them for Thanksgiving. What about you?”

“I’ll be in labor, hopefully.”

“You’re staying here?”

“Yep. My stuff got delivered to my new apartment yesterday.”

“Need help unpacking?”

You open your mouth to answer, then tense as a contraction seizes you.

“Was that a contraction?” Dalton asks, sitting up as his eyes widen.

“Yeah, just Braxton Hicks. I’ve had more of them this week.”

“If I’m not here, you’ll call when you go into labor, right?”

“Depends on what day it is and how fast it happens.”

Dalton says your name, waits for your full attention, then says, “Call me. No matter what day or time.”

You nod, then raise your hand and allow Dalton to pull you up to a sitting position.

“Bet you never thought one of your best friends in college would be pregnant.”

“I’ll admit, I never thought about it. But I’m glad we’re friends.”

Dalton stands and helps you up the rest of the way, opening the door as you promise to return in time for dinner.

As the door to the bathroom closes, you feel another sharp contraction. Your eyes widen when you realize what’s happening.

Pulling your phone from your pocket, you click Dalton’s name on your favorites list.

“Hey, Baby Bump, did you fall in?” Dalton answers.

“My water just broke.”

You hear Dalton stand and start running. “I’ll be right there.”

“Sorry about dinner.” You exhale sharply as you experience another contraction. The phone beeps as Dalton hangs up.

“Did you seriously just apologize about dinner while you’re going into labor?” Dalton asks as he walks into the bathroom. You see his shoes outside the stall you’re in.

“Yeah.”

“We’ll talk about that later. Let’s get to the hospital.”

From the moment you walk out of the bathroom stall until your little girl is placed in your arms, Dalton’s hand doesn’t leave yours. He wipes your hair from your forehead and tells you every encouraging thing he can think of. Feeling closer to Dalton than ever, you nearly answer ‘Lambert’ when the nurse asks for your daughter’s last name. You decide not to tell Dalton about that, though.

When you finally force Dalton out of your apartment before Thanksgiving break, you promise to keep him updated. Dalton doesn’t tell his family exactly why he keeps checking his phone, but the smile on his face when you send a picture of you and your daughter tells everything they need to know. Even if Dalton doesn’t know yet.

✵Last December✵

“I missed you so much,” Dalton says as he hugs you. “You look amazing.”

“You were gone for a week, Dalton, I look exactly the same.”

“I got Bump some Christmas presents.”

“I’m not sure how I feel about Chris’s nicknames. Actually, really nervous to hear what she calls me now.”

“Oh, I know what she’s planning to call you and I’m getting in on it,” Dalton says with a smile.

“Wait, did you say Christmas presents? She’ll be less than six weeks old; she won’t remember it.”

“But you’ll remember her first Christmas, and you might need some of them.”

You nod and pull Dalton into another hug, whispering, “I missed you, too.”

The door opens, and a handful of gift bags enter before Chris yells, “Merry Christmas, Momma!”

“Oh, no,” you whisper, hiding your face in Dalton’s chest.

“Oh, yes,” he whispers in reply. “Momma.”

✵May✵

“I know something is going on between you two, Momma.”

“Chris, Dalton and I are just friends,” you insist, for the hundredth time.

“He acts like a dad to your kid, more importantly he acts like your husband, and you’re going to sit there and tell me you don’t want more?”

“We’re just friends.”

Chris’s smile grows, and you furrow your brows as you wonder what you said wrong.

“You didn’t answer the question. You want more, don’t you?”

You bite your lip and look over to your sleeping daughter.

Chris leans forward as she says, “Then do something about it.”

“Like what, Chris?” You stand and pace as you explain, “I can’t just tell a guy, who I’ve only been friends with for seven months, by the way, that I’ve fallen in love with him and can’t imagine my life without him. No one wants a girlfriend with a kid, besides It’s bad enough that he stayed by my side while I had a kid and buys her everything.”

“You said no one wants a girl with a kid then immediately said Dalton treats your daughter like his own.”

You wipe your hands down your face as you sit back down. “I can’t lose what we have. Dalton is an amazing guy, but it’s true that girls with kids are less desirable.”

“No, it’s not.”

You jump at the sound of a third voice, looking over to see Dalton standing in your kitchen.

“How long have you been there?” you ask quietly.

“I’m going to give you two some time,” Chris announces, sending Dalton an encouraging nod as she passes him.

Dalton waits for the door to close before he walks over to you, looking at your daughter before meeting your eyes.

“You are not undesirable because you have a kid. You are beautiful, brave, self-reliant, not to mention an amazing mother. Some guy will be very lucky to have you.”

“How much did you hear?” You repeat.

“Just that you think girls with kids are less desirable. Which isn’t true.”

“Really? That’s all you heard?’

“Yeah.” Dalton’s eyes soften as he kneels before you on the couch.

“What’s going on?”

“If I tell you something, and you don’t agree with me or feel differently, can we still be friends?”

Your daughter starts crying, and Dalton rubs his thumb across your cheekbone before standing and picking her up from her playpen. Dalton bounces your daughter and smiles at her until she starts laughing.

“Momma is nervous, but she doesn’t need to be, does she?” Dalton asks in a high voice. He shakes his head dramatically, drawing a laugh from you and your daughter.

Hearing your laugh, Dalton looks over and sees you smiling. He sits beside you, holding your daughter in his lap.

“I’m in love with you. I have been since after that Halloween party, and I just keep falling more in love with you,” you admit, playing with your fingers.

Dalton’s smile grows slowly, and he stands up, spinning with your daughter. “Did you hear that? Momma loves me too! Yeah, she said it! The big l-word, can you believe that?”

You smile as you stand and walk to Dalton’s side. He tucks you under one arm, kissing your temple quickly. “In case my victory lap didn’t make it clear, I love you too.”

“Even though I have a kid?”

“Are you kidding? I love her too. Professor Armagan is convinced she’s my kid anyway.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. I drew a picture of her and no matter how many times I try to explain the situation, she swears that it’s my kid.”

“I think she is, too. Maybe not by blood, but you’re the only father she’ll ever know, Dalton. She loves you; no one else gets her to laugh like that.”

“She cried when I walked in,” Dalton states with narrowed eyes.

“To get your attention, Dalton.”

Dalton gasps and looks over to her. “Really? You did all that just for me? Now I’m going to have to spend more time with Momma though.” He lowers his ear like she’s responding, nodding and shrugging to his imagined conversation. “Of course, I’ll still visit you. But I may have to kiss Momma when I come in or take her on a date. I promise we will still be best friends though.”

“I love you,” you whisper, looking into Dalton’s eyes.

Dalton removes his arm from your shoulders and holds up one finger. He sets your daughter back in the playpen, placing her favorite toy beside her before returning to you. Dalton wraps his arms around your waist, and you raise your arms over his shoulders.

“I love you. More than you know,” Dalton whispers.

Dalton tips his head down and kisses you, laughing into the kiss as your daughter squeals happily in the background.

✵October✵

“You two should do a couple’s costume! It is your one-year anniversary,” Chris says as she drags you and Dalton into a costume shop.

“We didn’t start dating until May.”

“But you should have started in October, that’s my point.” Dalton rolls his eyes when you look over at him.

“Joker and Harley?” Chris suggests.

“I like to think I left the psychopath back in the Further,” Dalton deadpans.

“You could have said anything else. Both of you,” you state, shaking your head as you look at the costumes.

“What would you pick?” Chris asks.

“Farmers and a pumpkin,” Dalton answers.

“That was fast. Wait, pumpkin?”

Dalton looks over at Chris, waiting for her to realize the obvious. “Oh! Right. I forgot that you’d want to include her.”

Chris walks to the next aisle, and Dalton returns to you, wrapping his arms around you from behind and resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Find one?”

“I think she’d make a cute Grogu.” You turn in his grasp, smiling as you ask, “Do you still have the Iron Man costume?”

“I think so. Why?”

“Because it looked really good on you. We could do superheroes.” Something catches your eye over Dalton’s shoulders, and your smile widens. “Or we could be the Incredibles.”

When you look back at Dalton, he’s looking at you like no one else exists.

“Or we could get married.”

You pull away from Dalton slightly, looking into his eyes. “Are you serious?”

“Would you want to? This isn’t an official proposal.”

“Of course, I would, Dalton.”

“What’d we pick? Besides PDA?” Chris asks as she returns.

“The Incredibles,” Dalton answers quickly.

“I think Bump has something for you, Momma,” Dalton says as he opens the door to your apartment after dinner.

Lit candles sit on the windowsill, and Chris and your daughter are wearing dresses. You look at Dalton with teary eyes, wondering what’s going on. You kneel in front of your daughter, and she makes grabby hands at a black box on the table.

“Wing,” your daughter cheers.

Chris winks at you before picking up your daughter and carrying her into your bedroom.

As you stand and turn around, you see Dalton kneeling in front of you, the box open to reveal a beautiful engagement ring.

“I love you. I fell in love with you when I first saw you dressed up as a kangaroo, and I can’t live without you. You and your daughter are the best thing that has ever happened to me, and I want to spend the rest of my life learning to be a husband and father with you by my side. Will you marry me?”

Tears slide down your face as you nod. “Yes, Dalton, yes!”

He stands, wrapping his arms around your waist and spinning you. You laugh as he slips the ring onto your finger, looking at it quickly before leaning up to kiss him.

“How would you feel about a Halloween wedding? For sentimental reasons,” Dalton suggests.

“Absolutely,” you agree.

Chris carries your daughter out, and she immediately reaches out to Dalton, squealing as he picks her up.

“Momma said yes!” He cheers, pretending to dance with her.

On Halloween, you and Dalton stand in a courthouse with outfits picked by Chris. Chris stands by your side, holding your daughter as you say your vows and marry Dalton Lambert.

As you exit the courthouse, you take your daughter from Chris and hug her close. Dalton silently asks for her, hugging her in the same way.

“You’re stuck with me now,” he whispers before looking at you, “and so are you.”

✵November✵

“Let’s go to my parent’s house for Thanksgiving. You can meet my family, and I know you didn’t get a real Thanksgiving last year,” Dalton suggests.

“I don’t know, Dalton. I mean, do they even know about everything that’s happened? About us?”

“My mom knows, and she really wants to meet you.”

Dalton wraps his arms around you, swaying you gently.

“Okay,” you respond with a nod. “Let’s do it.”

“I’m so nervous,” you tell Dalton as he pulls onto his parent’s street.

“Everything will be fine. They’ll love you; both of you.”

As Dalton parks in the driveway, he squeezes your hand and leans across the console to kiss you. As he pulls back, he sees his mom coming down the driveway.

“Here we go,” Dalton whispers before opening his door.

He hugs his mom quickly before coming around to open your door. After helping you out, Dalton says, “Hey, Bump, what are you doing here?” as he releases the car seat straps.

“Hi, sweetheart, I’m Renai. I’ve heard so much about you!” Renai introduces herself before pulling you into a hug.

“I’ve heard a lot about you too. I’m glad to finally meet you!” You respond before introducing yourself.

“And this is Bump,” Dalton says as he joins you.

“A pretty girl like this deserves a better nickname,” Renai says with a smile.

“Dalton!” Kali yells from the porch.

“I’m going to go become her favorite brother because I have a baby,” Dalton announces proudly before walking away.

Renai gestures for you to join her as she begins walking behind Dalton. “I can’t thank you enough for making Dalton so happy.”

“He’s made me happier than I thought possible.”

You hear someone say your name, phrased as a question, and look up to see Kali sitting with your daughter in the living room.

“Hi. You must be Kali, you’re Dalton’s favorite sister,” you tease before introducing yourself and sitting beside them.

“I’m his only sister,” Kali answers with a laugh. “Is she really my niece?”

“Yes, she is. Is that okay?”

“That’s awesome! Wait, so then you would be?”

“Your sister-in-law.”

“I finally have a sister!” she cheers before hugging you.

You make eye contact with Dalton over Kali’s head, smiling at him.

“Is that the wife?” Foster asks as he walks in.

“Yes,” Dalton answers before telling him your name.

“Cool. Nice to meet you,” Foster tells you before continuing toward the kitchen.

“He’s nice, just weird,” Kali tells you quietly.

“Dalton,” Josh calls as he walks in. He looks over at you, playing with Kali and your daughter. “A word?”

Dalton catches your nervous look and nods at you before following his dad outside.

“He doesn’t like me, does he?” You ask Renai as Kali continues playing with Bump, adopting Chris’s nickname.

“Josh has… trust problems and a lot of incorrect assumptions about single mothers. Give him a little time, and if he says something out of line, please don’t be afraid to put him in his place. As far as I know he means well, but sometimes he goes about things all wrong.” You nod, Josh’s voice becoming audible from outside.

“Would introducing myself make it worse?”

“Sweetheart, I honestly don’t know. I’ve known Josh a long time but even I don’t know what makes him so… Josh. But, feel free. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me to come yell at him.”

You thank her, then slowly approach the back door before stepping outside.

“Dalton, you can’t even tell me why she’s a single mom at her age!” Josh argues.

“I can’t tell you because it’s none of your business,” Dalton explains, with a level voice compared to his dad’s yelling.

“Hi,” you say, drawing their attention. “I know we haven’t actually met, and that you don’t trust me or like me because I have a kid and I was a single mom.” You introduce yourself and extend a hand, awkwardly waiting as he hesitates to shake it.

“My mom was a single mother, and she had so many problems,” Josh begins.

“Mr. Lambert, sorry to interrupt, but I’m not a single mom anymore. I understand your concern that I have a kid and what people could say about Dalton for being with me.”

“Oh, so because you have a boyfriend you aren’t a single mom? You’re already balancing a child and college, what could you possibly offer my son?”

“Happiness,” Renai says as she steps out. “Josh, let them explain before you start biting heads off and making this about you and your mom. I’m going to go finish cooking, and if I hear you yelling again we will be celebrating Thanksgiving without you.”

You lean closer to Dalton and whisper, “Your mom is awesome.”

He chuckles against you before nodding.

“Okay. Please, explain,” Josh tries again, crossing his arms.

You look over to Dalton and nod, allowing him to explain.

“We got married. Almost two months ago,” Dalton answers. “And the last fourteen months have been the happiest of my life. If you have a problem with me, or her, keep them to yourself, Dad. We aren’t here for your approval, we wanted to give you a chance to get to know your daughter-in-law, but if you want to waste that by being stubborn and letting your childhood trust issues get in the way, then that’s your loss. Because this is the most amazing woman I’ve ever met in my life and that little girl in there is my daughter, blood or not.”

Josh drops his arms and nods slowly. “I’ll be honest, I won’t be able to accept this overnight, but if you’re both happy and your lives are going where you want them to, then it’s your decision.” He turns to you and apologizes for yelling.

“It’s okay, Mr. Lambert,” you promise. “I know that trust and respect have to be earned.”

“Call me Josh,” he offers, a small olive branch.

“Food is ready!” Renai calls. “And Bump seems to think her last name is Lambert.”

“Maybe it should be,” you whisper to Dalton as you walk inside.

His eyes widen, and he stops walking before rushing to catch up and ask, “What does that mean? Bump Lambert does have a nice ring to it!”

#dalton lambert x reader #dalton lambert fluff #dalton lambert imagine #dalton lambert fic #dalton lambert #insidious #insidious the red door #requests #fem!reader #tw pregnancy

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vibratingskull · 3 months

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Hiiii I love your fics so much that I'm genuinely suffering from Yandere Thrawn Brainrot 😭 can I pretty please request Yandere Thrawn x fem reader where the reader is just accepting of his behaviour? like maybe she's a rebel who has been just abandoned by her friends so she just gives in because actually the attention he gives is really nice when she behaves or maybe she's one of the emperors daughters who is always kind of forgotten about in comparison to her sisters so Thrawns attitude isn't a red flag for her because he treats her so nice and has never once sidelined her or forgotten anything about her! I just think it's an interesting idea to play with like I'm sure Yandere Thrawn would be ecstatic to have a partner who doesn't bat an eye to his behaviour and soaks it up desperately, even the brothel fic you made could fit with Yandere Thrawn (look at how bad the brainrot is LMAOOOOO) ofc I'd have to request some smut in it like maybe he eats her out on his command chair 🤭 (that's all I can think about since the last Yandere thrawn AU you just posted haha make it as crazy as you want it to be tbh I love giving you full reign over this your smut is like high quality wine for me at this point!) Anyways! Before I get completely off track and send you a whole essay of ideas I just wanna say that I cheered when I saw your requests open and you don't have to write this idea or if you prefer to tweak it then that's absolutely fine! I hope you're doing amazing and I'm looking forward to your beautiful creations!!!

Yandere Thrawn is best boy, you cannot change my mind! He can be a murderous psycho or a complete puppy if you play your cards well. Aaaaaaaw thank you dear ❤️❤️❤️❤️ I'm really happy you like my silly stuffs, even the smutty ones (i'm so not confident about those), it will be a 2 parters !

ThrawnxF!reader

Tags: Yandere behavior (duh), possessive, painting, meet cute

You sigh, sitting alone at the table. You make your drinks twirl in your glass, silently observing the ballroom. Your hand supporting your chin you look at the couples dancing, the lively discussions around the room, the laughs and smiles, the kisses exchanged behind closed doors, and the champagne flowing freely.

You catch one of your sisters dancing with a suitor, a metal and gaz magnate infinitely rich, they have been glued to one another during the entire party. You turn your head to see another one leading a political discussion with her natural charm, they all laugh at her witty comebacks and believe every word she speaks like gospel. You turn again to see your third sister on the stage, singing softly a beautiful melody, admired by the rest of the audience.

And then there is you...

The fourth.

The last one.

You do not have the charisma, the talent, or the political gene to rival any of your sisters. No one knows what to do with you. Everyone planned a beautiful future for all your three sisters to make the Empire shine brighter but you? Nobody has any idea. All your professors searched for a secret talent, a hidden jewel, hoping you are simply a late bloomer.

But nothing came.

Oh, you tried. You tried so hard! Spending sleepless nights working on your studies to at least hope for a well-made brain. But you are so average, both in looks and intellect. Nothing shines about you, nothing is worth noting.

You sigh and finish your drink.

Your only little quirk is your paintings. That’s the only thing distinguishing you from your sisters, you not failing art class. It is quite fondly regarded when you’re five but when you’re an adult princess of the Empire you need other qualities and skills than a good brush move.

You just wanted to go to art school and live simply, not that overdramatic life wrapped in politics and secrecy. You wish not for the power and the riches, they bring you too much headaches. You want to leave the Palace, find a small apartment, get a cat, and for everyone to forget your existence and leave you in peace.

But no... Not a chance.

This very party is a shining example. It is officially a diplomatic meeting between high political top hats but the true goal of your father is to show off his daughters in the hope you find a future husband, wealthy and powerful, and then marry you off.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

You are a prop to your father’s politics. Good to lure a man and his funds into the imperial bank.

And right now you are failing spectacularly. Now that you mind per se, but the man you call father and emperor will inevitably learn about that and you don’t want to anger him. You still value your life.

You sigh again mentally preparing yourself to stand up and try to “seduce” men, feeling a headache rising, when-

“Will you allow me to join you?” A rich deep voice makes you turn your head.

Grand Admiral Thrawn, a hand on the back of the other chair of your table, is looking at you with a small grin and sparkling eyes.

“Oh...” You can only say, surprised for him to spawn out of nowhere, “I mean yes! Of course Grand Admiral.”

“Thank you, your majesty.” He bows his head.

He elegantly sits down next to you. Even his manners are impeccable, full of grace and dexterity. You feel so slow and clumsy next to him. You see his long, delicate fingers hovering over the canapes before choosing one and lifting it to his mouth to bite into it.

Maker, even Military officers are more dignified than you... You subconsciously straighten your back to at least match the energy he brings to the table, trying not to appear too sluggish.

You know this man for being the first and only alien to have reached the Grand Admiral rank, which is really impressive, you will give him that. He always struck you as a balanced and polite man. He revealed himself as an art enjoyer on your first meeting and very nicely proposed himself as a model for male anatomy. You accepted and you meet every other month when he comes back from his campaigns. He lets you draw and paint his body in silence for long hours before coming to take a look and give you advice from time to time.

And then he leaves. And that’s the end of that.

Or it is the end of your relationship because he seems to roam around the residency aisle of the palace a lot. Numerous times you caught the back of his head disappearing behind a corner when you left your studio after a long painting session. You have no idea what he comes here for in the residency wing of the Palace, nothing interesting for a Grand Admiral around here.

As a matter of fact, you do have an idea why he comes to this part of the Palace, you suspect he comes to visit one of your sisters regularly. And he must be seriously enamored for risking the wrath of the Emperor! You don’t even want to imagine his reaction if he discovered the Alien got access to one of his dear eldest!

You just hope the sister in question takes her precautions to not get caught.

That would also be a huge waste for the Grand Admiral, if an alien such as him managed to reach this rank it means he must be terribly good at what he does! Not that the Emperor shares any tactical info with you, his daughters, it is a simple observation. And he looks rather dashing too... Your vain side would be devastated to learn such a handsome man would be executed, that would be such a loss for the Galaxy you nod to yourself.

You remain silent, observing the guests and your sisters shining in their dresses and jewelry. They are so radiant, you think with envy. Typically the type of women a man as handsome as the Grand Admiral would pursue, they are in the same league.

Contrary to you.

You start feeling a tingle at the back of your neck and you turn your head to discover Grand Admiral Thrawn silently looking in your direction smiling softly. You spin your head again to see what he might be watching with such tenderness in his red gaze, only to see...

Nothing?

You frown.

“It is you I am looking at.” Thrawn’s deep voice rises again, with a touch of controlled amusement.

You turn back to him with an embarrassed smile.

“Oh, I just thought you saw... Nothing.”

He tilts his head slightly.

“What did you think I saw?”

“I don’t know, something interesting.” You take your glass to your lips to sip, feeling your throat going dry.

“But I am looking at something interesting. The most interesting person in this room.”

Oh okay.

You know where this is going, you know that sweet sugary tone.

“What do you want Grand Admiral?” You put your glass back with a clank, “What demand do you want me to ask my father?”

He cocks his head again, squinting like he didn’t understand your question.

“I have no demand to ask your father.”

“Of course you don’t.” You snort.

They always do that. Come with a sweet voice and a compliment and then beg you to interfere with your father in their favor.

You are no political genius but you recognize a freeloader when you meet one!

“You always come to me! You think I am the weakest and easiest to manipulate for your benefit, you come with doe eyes and then ask outrageous demands, in the hope of gaining political powers. Well, I am sorry, go knock on another door!" You speak irritated but low to not start any drama.

Vice Admiral Thrawn blinks at you. He shakes his head, trying to disarm the situation.

"I assure you, Your Majesty, I did not come to ask any political favors of any kind.” He reiterates softly, “I simply saw you, so beautifully dressed and dolled up and could not help but come to you.”

You sniff with disdain. Lies. If he doesn’t want political favors from your father then he wants access again to one of your sister's beds, another classic you had to deal with!

“I am sorry Grand Admiral.” You say coldly, “I have nothing to give you.”

His smile widens and you hear a low chuckle.

“But on the contrary, it is me who wants to give you something, Your Majesty.”

You look at him suspiciously as he takes something from his pocket. He puts a little box hermetically sealed in front of you. You tentatively take it and open the lid to discover a colorful powder in a tangerine shade.

You look at him mouth agape and mute with surprise.

“I heard you needed this shade to finish your latest painting.” He says softly, “I traveled the galaxy and found this powder made from local seashells in an isolated world. I saw it and knew I needed to get it for you.”

This shade...

Is the exact one you need, down to a t.

“How... How did you...?”

“That is not important, Your Majesty I know how much you care about this painting and wanted to help you.”

This painting, you saw it in your dreams.

It was a flash of a faded memory of your dead mother, smiling at you before the sunset. Long, long ago...

This powder is the perfect shade for her eyes...

“Oh dear Maker...” You start sobbing, hiding your mouth behind your hand.

“Your Majesty?” Grand Admiral Thrawn asks, “Are you all right?”

You nod, wiping any tear that might have rolled down your cheek, getting back control over your sobs.

“Yes... Yes. Thank you Grand Admiral, this is a very thoughtful gift.” You smile at him.

Now you feel dumb to have given him the cold shoulder.

But how did he know about that painting? You don’t remember talking about it to anyone? You specifically hid it behind a sheet.

“You are welcome, Your Majesty. It is my pleasure.”

His hand furtively reaches yours and caresses your finger with the tips of his own. You let him do it. You don’t know why. It is simply not unpleasant...

“I just thought... I’m going to sound stupid, bear with me, I thought you wanted to use me to get close to my sisters.” You chuckle embarrassed, “It is a bit stupid...”

“Why would I want to get close to your sisters when you are here?” He asks.

“Because... I am just me.” You shrug like it is evident, “Nobody knows what to do with me.”

“I have plenty of ideas of what we could do together.” He whispers, taking your hand gently to kiss it, his red eyes looking brazenly at you.

You feel heat spreading on your cheeks.

“Vice Admiral!” You choke “How dare... We are in the middle of a ballroom!” You chastise him.

“We can leave anytime you desire...” He licks your knuckles with the tip of his warm tongue, looking insolently at you.

You feel yourself melting into a puddle at that gaze on you. So many unchaste images cross his read shining eyes while devoring you. You feel stripped naked before him. You gulp and turn your head away, you cannot hold his gaze, you feel like you’re about to combust.

He chuckles and kisses your hand again.

“I am merely joking, Your Majesty. I know you cannot simply fool around with any man. But maybe you will allow me this dance?” He stands up, still holding your hand but awaits your response.

You gingerly look at him. Dear Maker, he is so tall...

He looks at you with a small smile, gently squeezing your hand.

“I... Can allow one dance.” You concede.

“You are so generous with me, Your Majesty. I thank you.”

He helps you stand and guides you to the dancefloor, his warm hand on your lower back. He spins toward you and grabs your hand, pressing your two bodies together.

“Hold on to me, Your Majesty.” He says sensually.

And he makes you spin and twirl on the dancefloor, holding you so close you can feel his high body warmth through your clothes. He is a very, very good dancer you realize.

The dance starts normal and modest as it should be but it slowly dissolves into... something else.

You can feel his large hands roaming your entire body, playing with the straps of your dress, raising the hem of your dress to touch your naked thigh, he grabs the pin and frees your hair in your back, he grabs your hips to press them against his in a sultry move, almost grabbing your butt...

It feels like he is making love to you, fully clothed and in public. You fail to put a stop to it and protect your modesty, he is just so good at it that you blindly follow him, losing track of time.

You gulp, losing your breath as he makes your head spin dangerously. He never once stops looking at you, devouring you with his shiny rubies, hunger lying deep in them.

You are breathless, straps down your shoulders, your skirt high on your thighs and your legs trembling terribly, threatening to give out under you if Grand Admiral Thrawn wasn't holding you firmly against his tall body.

“Gra.. Grand Admiral...” You can only say.

“Is there a problem, Your Majesty? We are simply dancing, like I promised we would only do.”

“This is not a dance! This is...” You try to get angry at him but your beating heart only pumps blood to your cheeks even more.

“You did not stop me once.” He tilts his head, “If you said no I would have stopped immediately.”

“Someone could see us! Someone-”

“There are a lot of people around us. They hide you perfectly, no one will ever know. You can let go entirely, let me guide you...” He whispers sultrily in your ear.

His hand on your back slowly caresses his way down towards your butt and his hand on your leg slowly brushes his way up towards your crotch.

This... This is so indecent!

So scandalous!

So obscene!

So...

You should slap him across the face and ditch him there but you want more of it. You feel fire starts in your loin, slowly spreading in your veins, coursing through your entire body.

Quite unexpectedly he lets you go. You look at him without understanding, he grins and kisses your hand gallantly again.

“Have a nice evening, Your Majesty. Thank you for this... Delicious moment. I will see you for our next modeling session.” He rolls his ‘R’ like a purr and leaves.

Did he...

Is he the one who ditched you? At the height of the tension? When you were about to say ‘yes’ to him? You remain standing still in the middle of the dancefloor, mouth agape, breathless, hair and dress in a mess. You walk back to your seat, your legs wobbly at every step.

You feel played.

How dares he come around to set you on fire and just leave you, arms dangling, craving for so much more?! Such a ... Tease! You readjust your dress modestly, making sure none of your sisters saw anything of this... Outrageous display. None of them are looking in your direction, they are fully focused on their friends or songs.

You sigh, feeling like an idiot. Typically a thing that wouldn’t have happened to your sisters, they would have either put a stop to it or enchanted him so much that he would have dropped to his knees, begging for more of them.

You're the only one dunce enough to get played like that.

But... You cannot help but like it. It felt good to be someone’s center of the universe, even for two fleeting minutes, feeling his daring hands exploring your body so... immodestly. No man ever treated you like that, even less a man so handsome...

You shake your head. Stop that! It is blind lust speaking.

Your eyes lay down on the little box. You reopen it, to be sure of its content. Exactly the pigment you needed, the exact shade and vibrance...

How did he know?

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

The first time he saw you was during an Imperial ceremony, from far away. The youngest of all the daughters, dressed in gold, pearls, and Orichalc. He was still a simple commodore back then, without as much power to himself. He was from very far away, not able to discern the features of your face, but it was clear from your body language and posture you didn’t want to be here.

Like himself.

Pryce was unavailable, a rarity for a shark like her to miss a political event like that, but she pressed him to go, to form alliances with as many senators as possible. How on the Warrior’s Blue Csilla was he supposed to do that? He is surrounded by sharks and snakes ready to eat each other for their selfish benefits, something so beyond him he simply forgets this is actually a thing people do instead of worrying for the good of the many...

Saying he was terrified would be false, but saying he was comfortable would be a lie.

It takes a lot to make him uncomfortable, but politicians always do the trick.

So in a weird way, he felt kinship towards you. He knew nothing about you, he was not even sure of your rank at that very moment, but like him, you wished you weren't there at that moment.

The massive difference was that he was anonymously sitting in the grandstand while you were on the big stage, to be looked at and admired like a pretty doll by everyone else. How uncomfortable it must feel... He felt sorry for you.

Despite your discomfort, you accomplished your duties with grace, obeying your role. It was commendable of you.

“Who are those young ladies on the side of the stage?” He leaned towards his sit neighbor.

“Do you live under a rock? They are the Emperor’s daughters, the Imperial princesses.” He got chastised.

He nodded thankfully and returned to his silent observation of the ceremony.

It was not so long in retrospect, but isolated on this stage it must have felt like an eternity for you.

After the ceremony was the real challenge for him, for two hours he had to remain comfortably seated in silence to observe a stage, now he was truly meant to go out of his way and meet politicians.

He had to take refuge to the buffet or the corners of the room more than one time. Why can’t he read and anticipate politicians’ maneuvers? Why was he so blind to this type of warfare? After a new uncomfortable discussion that ended up with him pissing off his interlocutor because they couldn’t meet eyes to eye he caught a cozy area, almost hidden behind heavy curtains with sofas and a fountain, isolated from the rest of the busy party. He entered, hoping to find some peace and quiet but he found a young woman here, dressed in gold, pearl, and Orichalc.

“Your Majesty.”Thrawn bowed respectfully, “I did not want to disturb your peace, I will leave.” He immediately excused himself and turned to go away

When...

“You may stay, sir.” You simply responded, not even looking up from your drink twirling in your glass. “I do not mind...”

“I thank you, Your Majesty.” He bowed again and took a seat.

Not on the same sofa as you, it would be terribly improper to impose his presence on a woman like that. He chose one a little removed from you to leave you in peace.

He was gathering his thoughts, but you kept catching his eyes, something about you was...interesting him. And he didn’t know what, nor the true nature of his interest in you.

“What?” You asked out of the blue, “You keep giving me side glance, you never saw a woman before?”

“My apologies, Your Majesty. It was impolite of me”

“Yes, it is. My father killed men for less than that.” You added acidic.

Something in your tone and demeanor... Like a heavy lassitude, like you were crushed by something. But what?

“I will keep it in mind, then. Thank you for the warning, Your Majesty.”

You sniffed with disdain before looking back down to your drink.

“So it’s you....” You finally added after several minutes of silence, “the Navy’s favorite pet.”

He turned back his gaze to you, squinting.

“The Navy’s pet?” He repeated politely.

“The only alien in the Navy, and a Commodore at that. You pissed off a lot of people, my congratulations.”

He was not able to judge if you were sincere or sarcastic.

“I do my best to do my job. But some people never seem satisfied, I cannot do anything more to content them, I am afraid.” He humbly admits.

“Like me.” You let out with a little voice.

You did not say more and he did not pryied.

“Why are you not enjoying the party, Your Majesty?” He asked, curious, “Your sisters are getting their fill.”

You snarled in response.

“If you came here to flaunt my dear sisters in my face you can leave, sir.”

“My apologies, Princess. I was simply curious why a young adult would not enjoy such a party.” He explained.

You turned your head and for the first time your gazes crossed.

“What about you? You do not seem the type to enjoy parties either.”

“My young years are behind me.”

You frowned.

“Are they?”

Well technically he is still considered rather young for Chiss standards with their longer lifespan but for humans, he is middle-aged. But you don’t know that.

“I am over 45.” He informed you.

The way your beautiful human eyes rounded up in surprise was quite delectable.

“You’re kidding.”

“I am not.”

“You barely look 35.” You responded astonished.

He came to understand it was a compliment on his physical appearance. Something he was not used to.

“I thank you, your Majesty. You look ravishing yourself.”

He stopped dead. Was ‘ravishing’ too much? How do you respond politely to a woman appreciating your physical appearance, and what is the proper and polite response when that woman is an Imperial Princess?

You gauged him up and down before exploding laughing.

Not one of those overly musical and false laughs of politicians and freeloaders, a true, pure, and sincere fit of laughter. Something coming directly from the heart.

Something fresh.

He remained still, not knowing how to react. Your laugh was quite pleasant to hear, and the smile you tried to hide behind your hand enhanced your features gracefully.

“Oh Maker.” You breathe to calm down, “You are quite funny, sir!”

He failed to see what was funny in his response but he was not starting to question a Princess. You sighed deeply, still shaken by the remnants of your laugh. At least you were smiling now, that heavy sentiment hovering over you seemed to have disappeared. At least for now.

“Thank you, your Majesty.” He diplomatically responded.

“So tell me truly, why did you come hiding here?” You asked, a bit more lively.

This time he was the one looking down at his drink for a fleeting moment.

“Politics... Evade me entirely.” He finally reveals.

“Same.”

He looked at you curiously.

“But you are a Princess of the Empire.”

“That doesn’t mean I can lead. I dislike politics. I prefer my studio.”

A studio? The type he is hoping for?

“What type of studio?”

“Oh ... Just.” You gave him a side glance and lowered your gaze, embarrassed “No. You will find it stupid.”

“I will not judge, Your Majesty.” He solemnly declared.

“I ... Paint. A little...”You revealed, fidgeting your fingers.

His heart jumped and all of his social anxiety and restraints lifted up like a cloud. You paint? It’s marvelous news! He loves paintings, why not tell him sooner?

“This is not stupid, Your Majesty. Art is a very noble and respectable hobby, I am a humble art enjoyer myself.” He explained calmly, keeping his growing enthusiasm on a leash. “Would you have pictures of your work to show me by any chance?” He daringly asked

You looked at him absolutely horrified.

Please, do not look at him like that...It displeases him, even though he doesn’t quite know why.

He likes it when women are comfortable with him, it is gratifying to be perceived as a protector. He wants you to feel relaxed around him.

Especially you

For some unknown reasons...

“I... No!” You hurriedly responded.

He tilted his head. He wanted to see some of your work. It is so important for artists to be seen and perceived for them to flourish in their talents.

He just wanted to give you a positive boost... But you denied him.

“I understand.” He responded, a bit disappointed to have lost this opportunity to speak about art.

You looked at him, embarrassed before rising on your feet to close the curtain entirely, giving the little salon a cozy and very intimate atmosphere. You took out your imager of your little purse and approached him shyly, suddenly self-conscious.

He looked at you approaching with an impassible expression, but hope constricted his heart.

“Do you promise to not mock me?” You asked like you weren't an Imperial Princess with significant powers.

No. At this very instant you were a shy, but hopeful young artist, ready to expose herself intimately to a fellow art enjoyed, pressing your imager against your chest.

You were taking a leap of faith...

And he was ready to catch you in his arms.

“I never mock an artist, Your Majesty.” He declared with all the serious in the world.

You gulped and sat down next to him, handing him the imager with a slightly trembling hand.

“This is not very good...” You warned him.

Who cares? If you are a beginning artist with a low level he will be more than happy to give you references and art currents to study to help you in your art journey.

But you were actually really good with a brush. No need to get all shy about it, you should be proud of your paintings!

You studied a lot of subjects and tried a lot of different techniques and materials, your style could be soft and appeasing with pastel colors, bold and brash with vibrant brush strokes, or gloomy and eerie, creating a haunting atmosphere.

But no matter how different your paintings might be there was one very clear constant for him.

Your innate good and soft nature.

Not in a fragile or virginal way, no. But something bright, shining like a real sun, luminous, warm, inescapable, and unstoppable...

How could you be Emperor Palpatine’s daughter?

How was that possible?

He silently observed your work under your worried gaze, awaiting his judgment. It is clear you hid this part of yourself from everyone else, and maybe he was the very first person who took interest in your hobby, the very first one you let gaze upon yourself so intimately like that...

Because it was very intimate, he knew it. He stripped your soul naked before him and he ogled without any shame, taking as many details as he could.

And he very much liked what he saw.

Where were gentle souls like yours in the galaxy? They appeared so rare and he would very much appreciate one in his life. A friend honest and deeply good by nature...

That sounds terribly enticing to him.

He knew nobody on Coruscant, spending his entire leaves in art galleries. But maybe now he could visit them with a nice company at his arm? Simple rendezvous filled with passionate discussions about art, speaking and debating a subject until you both lose your voices and only look into each other eyes to continue the discussion.

That sounds terribly nice...

But you are a Princess and him a Commodore. How would that work? He was not even sure he had the right to be in the same room as you.

But the idea was just so nice... An art partner, being friends with an actual artist, getting to witness the intricate process of creating a masterpiece.

That is just so alluring to him...

“So?” you asked with a short breath.

“This is high-quality work, Princess. You have an undeniable talent and obviously worked really hard to get to this level.” He praised, “I can only encourage you to continue.”

“You think... I could live on my brush one day?” You inquired, hope lying in your voice.

“It is a real possibility, I can see it happening.” He nodded with a tight encouraging smile.

“... Thank you.” You let him knew, “I...”

You seemed to be about to say something else but suddenly jumped on your feet, the heat signals of your face through the roof.

“I need to go! Good evening Sir!” And like that you left him, speechless, still holding your precious imager.

Maybe the tension of showing your art to someone else for the first time was too much for you. This was quite endearing and he let out a little chuckle amused.

He resumed his art exploration on your imager, he will find a way to send it back to you.

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

He didn’t sent it back.

He kept it, he has it every day in his inner pocket, close to his heart. He rummages through it when he can, seeing you through the pictures, getting to know you through each paint stroke.

He innocently thought about you two becoming art friends to satisfy his knowledge cravings, but instead, he developed an... interesting bound with you.

Without your knowledge.

He tried several times to come to see you at your art studio to give it back, only to remain at the door, silently spying on you painting through the cracked door.

He wished not to disturb the holy inspiration flow so precious to artists. He would break your entire rhythm if he knocked at the door and stopped you.

How could he dare disturb the process of art? Especially yours? So he remained at the door for long hours until you decided to exit the room or he heard someone come by.

When you weren’t here he forced the door open to tidy up the place and look at your last pieces.

But one day you were simply preparing yourself to paint so he entered. Unannounced, unwanted he walked in like he owned the place. You didn’t see him at first, focusing on your flimsy sheets when you raised back on your feet to discover him observing your latest piece with attention, his hand holding his chin, appreciating every detail.

“Oh dear Maker!” You jumped back.

He turned his head to you with a tight smile.

“My apologies, Princess.” He said not at all sorry.

“What are you doing here?!” You asked in some sort of panick.

“Your father requested my presence today, and I had hoped to be able to catch you paint.” He mundanely explained it like it was evidence.

“And why is that?” You asked suspiciously, hiding some sketches behind you.

“My apologies Princess, I got ahead of myself. I have something belonging to you and wanted to give back.”

He took out the small imager of his pocket to hand it to you. He already has several copies and backups of all your art.

“My imager!” You shouted, relieved. “Where did you get it?”

“You actually gave it to me years ago when I was still a Commodore.” He explains gently.

You took the imager back and looked in the gallery, with an elated smile.

“I don’t think I ever caught your name, Mister.” You raise back your clear gaze at him.

Of course, you knew his name, he was the only alien of the fleet, surely his name traveled the corridors of the Palace and he knew it. But Politeness and etiquette demanded you asked.

And you are a very polite woman.

He put his right hand on his heart and bowed to you.

“I am Vice Admiral Thrawn. I am delighted to meet you again, Your Majesty.”

You elegantly bowed back.

“I am (Y/n) (L/n).”

“Are you not a Palpatine?” Thrawn tilted his head.

You bite your lower lips, like you spoke too much.

“I... Prefer to identify with my mother’s name.” You explain.

“It is a very beautiful name, it suits you marvelously.” He reassured you, “Do you mind if I remain for your next session? I long to observe an artist in their element.”

“Oh well...” You spin your head towards the holo clock on the wall and all of your glee seems to melt, your smile disappearing, “I am afraid there won’t be a session today... Yet again.”

Thrawn squinted.

“Is there a problem, your Majesty?”

“No its...” You sighed deeply, “Another model ditched me apparently. He should have been here an hour ago...”

“If you allow me, your Majesty, I can replace him if you wish.” Thrawn proposed immediately.

“I...” You purse your lips, thinking “I usually book models for three to four hours, are you sure you have that time?”

“I do today.” He answered politely, hiding his enthusiasm, “By a splendid hasard I have nothing booked for the rest of the day. I can model for you as long as you need.”

He very carefully planned today’s agenda to have his afternoon and evening free after his visit to the Emperor. It will postpone some operations on the Chimaera, but nothing he cannot catch up on, he made sure of it.

You hesitated, your gaze traveling from Thrawn’s stern face to your flimsy sheets.

It is the fifth model ditching you.

The fifth Thrawn got rid off.

Cleanly.

Discreetly.

When he entered your studio in your absence he got the occasion to detail your work and picked up on your... attraction, towards those young men.

Something that infuriated him greatly, even though he wasn’t sure why. He never felt like that before, longing for your presence, to get to know you better and well. This is a very new sentiment to him, he desires to be with you, to listen to you talk, to help you, to just be here in the same room as you. You could be silent and still, sitting on a pedestal and he would sit and look at you with all his attention, trying to pierce your secrets.

Why are you doing that to him? Where does this deep sentiment of covetousness come from? Right now he just wants to grab your hand and flee away from the Imperial Palace with you, take the first shuttle and take off for the never-ending universe, take you far away from that man you call father and Emperor for you both to live free.

He always feels so cold all day long, but in your vicinity, everything warms up, the ice melts, and the sun dares from its rays on his flesh, bringing him back to life and waking him up from a long coma. Laying his gaze on you he feels like opening his eyes for the first time and taking his first breath.

Is that... Love?

Did Cupid finally hit him with an arrow after ignoring him all his life?

He quite likes how that sounds.

He wants more. So, so much more...

But for now, he looked at you hesitating, patient, with a tight polite smile of someone only desiring to help.

“Well... If it isn’t too much trouble for you, I would appreciate it. What about a portrait to start?”

“But of course, Your Majesty. I am here to serve.” He bowed his head again deeply pleased that his plan worked.

He cannot help but wonder, how do you see him? Is he handsome or repulsive to your eyes? Is he powerful or weak?

He will soon know it through your primary sketches...

-------

“What are you thinking about Grand Admiral Thrawn?” You call him back to reality

Thrawn blinks, realizing he is posing for you once again in your studio. It is quite rare that he lets his memories take the forefront of his mind but his mind drifted off observing you painting him like that.

You took great care to not look at him in the eyes since that party and he is greatly pleased by the turmoil he stirred within you. Today again you cannot look in his direction without your face’s heat signals rising.

How delectable...

You draped a long fabric on him and gave him a staff to hold, ordering his pose, and started to paint. Holding the pose is hard but that only pushes him to appreciate art even more. He feels your focused gaze skimming his skin, detailing his muscles, observing the crooks and crannies of his flesh, taking in the different shades of blue of his skin.

He feels his heart accelerating with your eyes traveling his naked form.

He never exposed himself in such a way to anybody before.

It is so intimate.

So erotic...

He feels great under your gaze, he feels... Empowered. Like he could become what he was always meant to be under your brush, that through your gaze he truly could realize himself. He feels his chest puffing up with pride and satisfaction. That surge of warmth spreading in his chest and heart when your eyes skim his skin feels so soft and right...

“You truly have mesmerizing eyes, I hope I will be able to do them justice...” You say almost to yourself, fully focused on your sketch.

“We could do a series of portraits after, you could study them in detail.” He proposes.

“Thank you Grand Admiral.” You smile.

“Please, call me Thrawn, Your Majesty. I am a simple man at your art service in this room.”

“Then call me (Y/n).” You decide, “Let’s just be a man and a woman for this afternoon.”

“I simply cannot, Your Majesty. You are an Imperial Princess, I cannot address you with such familiarity.” He counters.

Who is he to address you so casually? He will not strip you down of your titles and grandeur.

You pout, visibly displeased by his response.

“All right...” You say very disappointed.

He clenches his jaw, conscious of his misstep.

“If you truly desire it, I will address you as you wish (Y/n).” He responds softly.

But in his mind he will keep using your titles, they suit you so well.

You nodd enthusiastically, relieved by his new response.

“Do you want to take a look?” You ask.

He descends from the pedestal and passes on a gown to modestly cover himself, but he doesn’t close it, coming to admire your genius on the canvas, discovering himself through your own eyes.

You take a picture with your imager that he gave back, adding it to your collection. His heart sprints at the view of the imager in a very Pavlovian response.

He had... other uses for your imager.

He will never admit it, not even under torture, but... He furiously masturbated several times using your art collection on the imager. He has no rational explanation for it. One day he was terribly bothered, to his utmost inconvenience, and hoped that some nice paintings could distract him.

But instead

He just got such a clear picture of you, of your good nature, of your amazingly sweet personality that he became hard like wood, worsening the situation. He found a self-portrait of yourself, looking straight back at him with such a clear and assured gaze... And he just lost it.

He fisted himself, entranced by those expressive eyes looking brazenly at him.

He never came so hard before, his entire body struck by lightning, setting fire to his very soul. He was left breathless and disoriented, his large chest rising up and down rapidly, your impudent gaze fixing him intently.

The high was so high the descent was devastating, leaving him craving more of you, by any means necessary...

That’s when he decided to enter your studio for the first time.

Thrawn discovers the canvas.

He discovers himself slouching regally on a throne like he is presiding over a tedious political case and is about to give his royal judgment.

You remain a step behind, fidgeting your fingers.

“What do you think?” You ask a bit worried.

An idea flashes in his mind, a bad idea, but oh so delicious...

“Technically very interesting and avant-garde. But there is something...” He teases sadistically.

“Something? What? What is wrong? What did I do wrong?” You immediately panick.

“Are you familiar with male anatomy?” He asks, falsely investigating.

Of course, you are familiar with it, he saw you paint it plenty of times.

“Yes! I am!” You protest.

“Let’s see...” He gently takes your hands to place them on his large pecs.

Your eyes round up in surprise and your breath is caught in your throat.

“Feel the muscles, how they are built in the body.” He casually instructs while he takes your hands for a jaunt on his body, caressing himself with your soft palms.

“Hum... Grand Admiral?” You try.

“Feel where they start and end, where they cross paths and attach to the bones.” He slowly pushes your hands down his abdominals.

You audibly gasp as he directs your hands on his naked body. While your body heat skyrockets in your embarrassment and confusion, he revels in the softness of your touch and the freshness of your hands on his thick skin.

Your touch is delightful. Delicate and tender. He has all the pain in the world to not moan in bliss...

He presses your palms on his abdominals, pushing them farther and farther south.

“It is very important you understand how the muscles twist and bend.” He lectures you like you didn’t already know that.

“Grand Admiral...” You press him more and more embarassed.

He takes a step forward and you take a step back.

He takes another one and you do the same.

He finally blocks you against the desk where you keep all your colors and pigments. You jolt when your back hits the wooden table, caged between his half-naked body and the furniture. He stops your hands on his groin region, right above his cock.

He looks at your flustered face intently, how you evade his gaze and your heat signals are the worst he ever saw. He refrains from licking your face as he so desperately wants to.

Your sex is irradiating a warm light to his infrared vision, well awake and demanding attention. He takes great pride in the reaction of your body to his daring advances, but you also appear tense.

“Feel how my male body is different from your female body, feel it deeply... within you...” He whispers, looming forward to press his forehead against yours to look at your eluding gaze. He pulls your hands to wrap your arms around his waist as his own hands come to seize your hips, slightly slipping them under your corseted top to caress your smooth human skin.

You cannot help the gasp escaping you, shocked to your core but indubitably... interested. Curious and craving for more.

Still, the uneasy feeling remains in the pearl of your eyes.

He presses your hips together and rolls his pelvis, delighting himself in your hot and bothered reaction. Your hands are trembling and sweaty but they hold on his lower back. You slowly and timidly raise your gaze to meet his, mouth agape and with a short breath.

You gulp as he smiles, satisfied.

Are you a virgin? Will he be your first?

His heart pumps harder!

You first... But more importantly your last!

He lowers himself with a satisfied grin, but right before he is about to kiss you, he suddenly grabs your ass to lift you up and put you on the table, making you yelp in surprise. His hands lift your skirt to caress your round thighs, dividing them open to slide between them swiftly.

His blood is beating furiously, his hands caressing and exploring your gorgeous body eagerly, mentally pesting against those useless clothes hiding your naked perfection to his burning rubies. You let out a weak moan between precocious fear and irrefutable excitement.

Your hands circle his shoulders and you dig your nails into his blue flesh, to his utmost pleasure, pulling you tighter towards you.

Everything comes to a halt as you look into each other eyes with heavy breathing.

He wants you.

He craves you.

And he will have you!

In one way or another, you will be his and his alone.

He will rip you out of your father’s claws and build you a life of comfort and love. He will hold you close and tight, showering you with adoration every day, worshipping at your feet.

Thrawn taunts you with his lips, hovering them over your parted mouth, making your throat go dry with anticipation. He teases you with a kiss on the tip of your nose, before letting out a low growl as your gazes meet, you cannot help but moisten your plump lips with your tongue with a short breath.

Thrawn hand seizes your lower back to pull you close and tight against him, his second hand embracing the back of your skull to pull you ever so slightly closer to his tempting grin.

You look at each other in a suspended moment, listening to each other heavy heartbeat, feeling the sheer tension in the room before Thrawn lowers himself with the intent to kiss you.

“Please... Do not hurt me...” You ask with a voice so low and feeble he barely hears you, tears in your eyes.

He stops his motion.

Why would-

“Sorry for my late arrival Princess, I-”

A man enters the studio unannounced, absolutely ruining the moment. You yelp in surprise, pulling on your skirt to cover your bare legs while Thrawn merely turns his upper body towards the intruder to shoot him with his glare, making no effort to cover his modesty.

The man is clearly embarrassed to have walked in during an intimate moment, but Thrawn wants him more than embarrassed. He wants him repentant and desperate.

“I am sorry, Sir.” You jump off the table, flustered, pushing your hair behind your ear to put up a front, “Thrawn, I present you Sir Hatway, a curator of an art gallery I invited to judge my art.” You gesture towards the impudent.

The man clearly doesn't know what to do with himself in front of a naked Chiss.

“Sir Hatway, this is Vice Admiral Thrawn of the Imperial Navy and one of my favorite model.”

Thrawn heart speeds up at the compliment, but outside he is still shooting down Hatway, frowning, displeased.

“Should I... Wait outside, Princess?” The impolite man asks.

‘Yes he should!’ Thrawn thinks, clasping his hands behind his back.

“No! No...” You hurriedly respond, “It is all right, you didn’t interrupt anything. We can look at my paintings now.”

Thrawn gaze slides to you.

What do you mean ‘didn’t interrupt anything’? He wants to ask impudently.

He chastises himself. You are an imperial Princess. You cannot just fool around with anyone like that without consequences from your father, you must preserve your reputation.

The insolent nods unsure, still uneasy, before turning towards Thrawn with a smile he surely hoped to be affable, but honestly is just pathetic. He takes a step forward with his hand extended.

“Please to meet you Grand Admiral Thrawn.”

Thrawn consciously takes his time to gauge him up and down from all his height, straightening his back to look at him with all the smugness his rank conferred him. He finally took the man’s hand to shake it.

“The pleasure is mine, Sir Hatway.” Thrawn tightens his grip until the man winces in pain, “You will obviously not say a word of what you saw.” He asks, deadly cold.

“N-no, sir. I saw nothing and know nothing...” He pitifully responds

“Good...” The Chiss nods, venomous.

“You can go, Grand Admiral.” You say, fidgeting your fingers, still visibly agitated, “We are done for today.”

“If you allow me, Your Majesty. I am interested to witness your audition.”

“I...” You bite your lower lips again, thinking, “All right.” You concede.

When Thrawn exits the changing room in his pristine white uniform, Sir Hatway is no longer the pitiful man who entered the studio. He stands proudly before your paintings, detailing them and judging them imperially.

You remain a bit behind, full of apprehension and hope. Like the day you showed Thrawn your imager.

“This is not very good to be honest with you, Your Majesty. This is amateurish at best, and I am being generous.”

Thrawn stops dead in his tracks. Did he hear right?

“But I...” You try.

“It will not be possible I am afraid. You should abandon painting entirely, this is not a world for a fragile flower like you...”

Thrawn takes a single glance at the painting you are presenting right now.

Your dear mother’s portrait.

You spend long hours on this one, pouring your tears and blood in the paint to bring it to life and honor that woman.

And that... Uncultured fool rejects it?! Calls it amateurish?! Thrawn never saw such passion in a portrait in a long long time!

He heard enough.

He walks to the man with three long strides, catching both of your attention.

“Sir. I will invite you to take back your words immediately.” He said very coldly, camping in front of the fool, towering over him with all his height.

“Who do you think you are to teach my job?!” The impudent retorted, any traces of the former shy man long gone.

“Who do you think YOU are?! Is your heart so dry to be so blind before such a shining jewel, before such explicit talent, before such an evident masterpiece? I can not let you say such things.”

The man looks at Thrawn afraid and confused but sticks to his guns.

“No! It is my job to evaluate artists that wish to enter our art gallery and she doesn’t have the level expected.”

“Can you not see she is ahead of her time? That she is avant-garde in so many aspects? I pity your gallery Sir, we must only find mediocrity inside.”

“Are you insulting me?!”

“You insulted her first.”

“Grand admiral please...” You try to calm them both

Thrawn raises his hand to sush you.

“She has no talents, and no future in the art world. I am doing her a favor by telling her early.” He bites.

Thrawn feels about to punch this man.

Instead, he takes a step back and takes out his pair of gloves from his pocket, and throws them at the impudent’s face.

“I will protect her honor, I challenge you sir.”

“What?! No! This is getting ridiculous, stop-” You try to interject again.

“Fine! Whenever you damn please Alien!” The fool retorts.

@bluechiss @thrawnalani @justanothersadperson93 @al-astakbar @thrawnspetgoose @readinglistfics @elise2174 @debonaire-princess @twilekchiss @pencil-urchin @ineedazeezee @mssbridgerton @dance-like-russia-isnt-watching @Cortisolcosplay, @obbicrystaleo, @germie2037 @davesrightshoe @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni @leo4242564

#thrawn x reader #thrawn x you #thrawn x f!reader #thrawn #grand admiral thrawn #mitth'raw'nuruodo #fanfic #vibratingskull

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julianalvarez9 · 1 year

Text

named after you / john stones

author's note: my mind hasn't stopped thinking about that damn interview where john speaks about bernardo's dog named after him so i had to write this. started as a blurb, ended as a full fic + socmed au. i hate myself.

wc: 1.5k words.

pairing: john stones x footballer!reader (doesn't really impact much of the story, except she's injured).

face claim: esme morgan 💌

contains: excessive use of pet names, roasting jack grealish just because (i love you jack), they're in love but they don't know it, mentions of injury and a foot cast but nothing too detailed (because i don't know shit about injuries)

summary: your best friend is dumbfounded to learn that you've never had a dog, not even as a kid. he goes above and beyond to change that when the circumstances ask for a way to cheer you up.

"you've never had a dog before?".

john can't believe his ears. but to be fair, everyone at the little studio set where you're filming the next video for city's youtube channel is as incredulous as he is. you just laugh at his reaction, before explaining. "well, i wanted one when i was a kid, but my parents said i was too small to have one. and then i just never asked again".

his brows just keep on furrowing, and it's like he had forgotten about the stack of cards he had in hand, with the 20 questions he was supposed to ask you for the video prepared by the team. "yeah, but you're what? 24 now? you could have a dog," he said, like it was obvious. to be fair, he was right. after all, you lived alone: no partner, no kids, no family in the country. having a little pet to take care of and love would make you happy, but you weren't sure if you would have the time to take care of a little dog now, with how packed your schedule is. maybe that's why you hadn't really thought about getting a furry friend. "i suppose. didn't think about it before," you shrug.

"fine. i'm getting you a dog".

it's been months since that interaction, and you haven't thought about john's promise since. the video went live on the team's youtube channel a few weeks after, and as expected, everyone loved it. the friendship you had with the city player was always cherished by the fans, and you couldn't really blame them. he was your best friend since you arrived in the club, and having his support from the beginning really made the adaptation period easier.

you realized how much you basked in his affection and care when you suffered a season-ending injury. it wasn't that hard, to be honest, but since the end of the season was less than a month away, you knew that the recovery period would be longer than what it took to get you back on the pitch in time for the last game. john has been there from the first moment, sending you a message as soon as he saw you went down on the grass. you only saw it after the medical exams were done, when the doctors had already told you that you probably wouldn't get to play again until next season.

facing the reality about you not being there for your teammates, not being able to help them in any way, shape or form, at least where it mattered to you -in the pitch-, was rough. you went from the training center for recovery to home, all day, every day, never getting quite far from the prefabricated route: your only focus was to get healthy again. you weren't even seeing john that often, with his schedule being as overwhelming as always and you don’t even daring to set a foot in the etihad if you weren't there to play.

but john, your good best friend john, knew exactly what to do to cheer you up.

“are you home?”.

the call alone was weird. john wasn’t one to talk much on the phone, and much less, while driving. if he wasn’t using free hands, you’ll kill him. “why are you calling me while driving, stones?”.

“asked you a question first. answer, little one”.

the nickname alone made you roll your eyes, and he swore he could picture your annoyed face in his mind. the joke had been running between you two ever since you two meet, really, not only because of the slight age gap, but also, due to how he towered over you. wasn’t rocket science, it was what his position on the field demanded, while you, as a striker, only had to be quick. “yeah, dad, i’m home”.

“whoa, what an attitude. i’m about to get home, so you better fix it”.

you couldn't even process him calling your place home, or protest against him coming without a longer notice -not a 2 second warning, like this one, because he had already hung up before you could even mutter a confused “what?”.

if looks could kill, you’d be charged with a murder.

you’re glaring at john’s car from the second it sets a wheel into your front yard. he’s quick in parking the car and stepping out of it, but instead of going to greet you, standing on the doorway with your arms crossed, he goes to open his rear door.

“what are you doing?” you ask, almost screaming, to ensure that he hears even if he’s quite far from you. john appears to be arranging something on the back of the car, but he smiles when answering your question. “go inside. wait on the sofa. eyes closed”.

you’re about to make a funny comment, except his smile goes away the second you take too long to fulfill his wishes. you decide to quit being difficult and, with a bit of difficulty due to the cast shoe you have in your feet, make your way to the couch. your eyes remain open, though, watching the match your team was playing on the tv. once you heard the door closing, you shut your eyes.

“do you have your hands ready?”.

you frown, but still, your arms are extended with your palms up per john’s request. soon, you’re opening up your eyes when you feel a warm ball of fur placed on your hands.

“john, did you get me a dog?”.

you almost have tears in your eyes when you place the little jack russell on your lap, and it curls into a ball, falling asleep almost instantly. “isn’t he the prettiest boy ever?” john coos, squatting so he can get a good look at the little dog you’re holding. “john, i can’t have a dog. i’m never at home,” you rationalize once the initial emotion has settled in. you start to think about your schedule, how you’re seemingly always away. the worry must have painted on your face, because the man in front of you notices it, and is quick to find your hand, previously resting on the little canine, to squeeze reassuringly.

“yes, you can. you’re home now, aren’t you?” he smiles, and you’re rolling your eyes, again, for what feels like the hundredth time today. “he’s gonna help with your recovery. but you don’t have to worry about him being alone here once you’re back: our schedules don't always match. when you can't have him, i'll take care of him". the way he’s looking at you now, with his fluffy hair and sweet smile is making you melt almost as much as the sight of the little puppy resting on your legs.

long seconds pass before any of you say anything, too focused on your little friend, before you realize john hasn’t told you how he’s called. “what’s his name?” you ask, and he looks up at you before shaking his head. “doesn’t have one. it’s up to you”. the smile you have on your face after hearing him speak, has your best friend thinking that you’re up to no good. and he’s proven right when you open your mouth again.

"i'm naming him after you".

his eyebrows furrow and he’s shaking his head again, clear discontent in his face now. "what? you can't. i won't allow you to," he opposes in a high pitched tone, and you laugh before answering. "why not? he's my dog,” you point out, and the puppy on your lap suddenly wakes up, probably awakened by the small argument held between both of you. you direct your hand to caress his little head, and he rewards you by licking your palm, almost like a little kiss. “i think he likes it. don't you, johnny boy?".

he has to straighten up so you don’t see the smallest pink rose to his cheeks when hearing you say johnny boy. he always told you he despised the nickname, which was why you had stopped using it, but instead, he lied because he liked hearing you say it.

"but why john?" he presses, again, hoping that, maybe, it’ll make you change your mind. he knows it's wishful thinking: after being friends with you for so long, john is aware that when an idea pops into your pretty brain, it’s almost impossible to shake it off. "first, you're the one that got him,” you list off, and it has him rolling his eyes. you think it’s funny how the roles are reversed, and the smallest giggle escapes your list before continuing with your explanation. “second, he's a jack russell".

"and? you could name him after jack," he says, and he’s hopeful when the doubt is planted on your face. it takes you a few seconds before you’re shaking your head, scrunching up your nose in disagreement. "nah, he can't jump that high”. you’ve switched your focus now, from person-john to dog-john, and your voice gets a little higher when speaking to him. “when you grow up you'll jump as high as your daddy here, won't you, pretty boy?".

john feels like he could faint by the amount of pet names that seem to flow effortlessly from your lips. "okay that's enough," he says, and you laugh at how agitated he is. "it's settled then. john stones, meet john stones".

yourusername

Liked by johnstonesofficial, jackgrealish and others.

yourusername everyone, meet john stones

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jackgrealish glad to see he's into football like his daddy 😂 johnstonesofficial

yourusername such a talented little boy 🤍

johnstonesofficial john stones jr*

yourusername so you're john stones sr?

rubendias 🧓🏻🧓🏻

mancity bring him to training next time! 💙

yourusername will do 🤝🏻

#football imagines #football imagine #football x you #football x reader #john stones imagine #john stones x reader #john stones instagram au #john stones social media au #john stones x you #john stones fluff

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lossie92 · 2 years

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I wish you would write a fic where Tobirama is kidnapped and Hashirama, Madara, etc have to save him.

Hi anon! This got a bit longer than intended, but your idea really inspired me. Hope you don't mind a/b/o 😅

The ask game post can be found here.

EDIT: Yes, you can still send new asks for this. If I like them, I'll write a snippet for them 🙃

Warnings: a/b/o, swearing

"My brother is missing."

Madara blinked, for a brief moment unable to process what Hashirama was saying.

Granted, when he got an urgent message from his friend this morning asking for a meeting at their usual place he had prepared himself for receiving bad news. There was really no other explanation for why the two of them would need to meet so early and in secret.

However, his predictions for what could have gone wrong centred around a potential coup or some such incident, not... this.

They were embarking on the long journey towards true peace between their clans and to say the tensions were high would have been a gross understatement even though the ceasefire had held for almost a full year by now.

Regardless of that monumental success not all of their clansmen were happy with the rapid changes. This unfortunately made the negotiations a truly exhausting experience. As the parties involved were not only their clansmen, but also their allies who were similarly peeved, it made for a rather unpleasant few months of constant back and forth, and seemingly never-ending bickering.

Madara was beyond tired of all of this by now, to say the least.

Thankfully, the situation was still manageable and they were able to sign off on some vital parts of the peace agreement the last time they convened a little over a week ago, including, but not limited to, a marital agreement between the Senju and the Uchiha.

The agreement effectively made Senju Tobirama Madara's future wife – a wife who had apparently gone missing somehow.

"Come again?" He asked, hoping that maybe he misunderstood what his friend had said. "What do you mean he's—"

"You heard me!" Hashirama threw his hands up in exasperation.

The air around them was by now filled with the sour scent of his distress, which made Madara tense up involuntarily. Though the logical part of him knew the other alpha wasn't about to attack him, his instincts begged to differ.

"My brother! Your betrothed! Tobirama!” The other alpha all but yelled. “He went missing yesterday. I don't know what happened or where he is, but he's just… just gone!"

"Alright, alright! You can stop yelling now, dear gods," Madara said in response, trying to keep his voice as even as possible and not succumb to the urge to yell back. There was no need to alert anyone who happened to be in their vicinity that something was wrong. "I still don't understand how he can be gone though," he said next. "Wasn't he supposed to be working on the treaty? Nevermind preparing for the wedding?"

For a moment Hashirama said nothing, just looked down in complete silence. It was obvious he was worried and Madara couldn't blame him for it.

If his own brother was suddenly nowhere to be found he would have likely felt the same.

Eventually Hashirama sighed heavily and then pushed his hair away from his face before saying, "He was, yes. That's why I don't know what could have possibly happened. He wasn't scheduled for a mission or a patrol, I would have known if that was the case. He just up and disappeared."

Madara considered that carefully. The treaty, the wedding preparations, the sudden disappearance… All together it wasn't painting a pretty picture, that's for sure.

"Do you think he could have made a run for it?" He asked after a moment.

Though he didn't want to accuse Tobirama of something like this, it did make a disturbing amount of sense.

"He wouldn't be the first runaway bride," he continued, "and given the circumstances, it would be quite understandable as well, you know…"

Which was true enough. The idea was still somewhat insulting, of course, but Madara knew what he looked like and was equally aware of his reputation. Still, he wasn't some sort of a brute and he had made a conscious effort to court Tobirama, even going so far as to send the other man a rare scroll as a gift along with the customary scent token. Tobirama thanked him for it in a short, but polite letter and he had even sent a scent token of his own, which Madara had, maybe naively so, thought to be a good sign.

Unbidden he placed his hand over his heart or rather the inner pocket located there in which he kept the handkerchief covered with Tobirama's sweet inviting scent.

It hurt to think Tobirama was so against their marriage that he would choose what amounted to exile over it. Madara would have to be an idiot not to take into account the fact that the omega had plenty of reasons to be scared of him or simply unwilling to wed him, but knowing this didn't make him feel any better.

"No!" Hashirama denied vehemently. "No, Tobi… He's—He wouldn't do that!"

"Are you sure?"

Hashirama looked affronted by that. "Of course I am! He wants this peace as much as we do. He wouldn't– it's not like him. I know my brother, Madara. I know him. He wouldn't do it, I swear."

"Do you have a better theory then?"

"Not really," Hashirama admitted as he started to pace back and forth.

He always did that when he was stressed and needed to let some of the energy out. Just like every other time Madara saw him do it the ground under his feet was suddenly covered with a carpet of grass and vines that seemed to have a life and will of their own, since they moved in tune with Hashirama’s every step.

"You must have some ideas," Madara pressed after a moment. "Come on, something must have seemed odd to you or you would be waiting for him at home instead of meeting with me!"

Hashirama still seemed to hesitate, but after a few more minutes he finally said, "Well, at first I thought he just went somewhere quiet to train. He does that, you know? Train alone?"

"Alright. And?"

"And I don't usually interrupt him or try to find him until he reappears. He's… he just needs his space sometimes and I try to respect that," Hashirama told him. "This time I needed him for something though and went to all his usual spots, but he wasn't there. At first I wasn't really worried. He's an omega, but he can protect himself, you know? Always did. But I got a bit uneasy when he didn't come home in the evening, so I tried looking again and even felt for him with natural chakra, but there was nothing. He's just gone, Madara. I didn't know what to do or who to tell. I— This is going to ruin everything, isn't it?"

Madara hummed in agreement, knowing Hashirama was right about that.

The situation between all the clans was precarious as is. If Tobirama failed to show up at the treaty signing and the truth about his absence got out…

"Did he take any of his weapons?" He asked. "A change of clothes? Any provisions?"

"His usual training gear is gone," Hashirama answered, "and his katana. I don't know about food or clothes, but it's possible, I suppose?"

"And you still think it's not likely he ran away?"

"He left his happuri."

Madara frowned, confused by that seemingly random answer. "And that matters because…?"

Hashirama smiled at him sadly. "Tobirama wouldn't leave for good without it," he said. "It was the last gift he received from our brothers the year they both died. If he was actually planning to leave for good, I'm certain he would have taken it with him."

"Aa," Madara acknowledged.

He did understand the sentiment. As someone who had lost all but one of his siblings as well he knew how much value a gift like this would hold.

Nevertheless the first conclusion regarding Tobirama's whereabouts was still an attempt to escape an unwanted marriage. It made the most sense no matter what Hashirama said and how much Madara himself didn't want to believe it to be the truth. At the same time he did trust his friend enough to take his word when he said his brother wouldn't have done something like this.

Not that either his opinion or Hashirama’s reassurances were going to matter much.

Should Tobirama's absence become public knowledge, people would make assumptions and, just like Hashirama had said, it was going to ruin all they have worked for. Madara was sure the Elders of his clan would take this as a grievous offence and accuse the Senju of trying to back out of their end of the deal, which couldn't possibly end in anything other than utter disaster.

Madara's eyes narrowed.

That sounded like a motif if he ever saw one.

"Maybe… Is it possible your brother was kidnapped?"

Completely bewildered, Hashirama repeated, "Kidnapped?"

"That's what I said."

"But… but why?"

"To make the Senju appear dishonest, for one," Madara explained. "I know it sounds far-fetched, but you said it yourself. Your brother has a habit of training alone. You don't usually go looking for him and I bet nobody else does either?" When Hashirama shook his head, Madara continued, "There you go. The way I see it, that would provide someone with the perfect opportunity. Even if Tobirama put up a fight, which he likely did, it would go unnoticed. And the fact he had some of his gear with him would only help to frame you, no? It would be almost—"

"Almost as if he really left on his own," Hashirama finished for him. "Fuck. Why didn't I think of that?"

Though Madara was tempted to say it was because Hashirama tended to see the best in people while he himself tended to have a more realistic, if not downright pessimistic, outlook on life, it felt unnecessarily cruel to do so.

"It makes so much sense…" Hashirama continued. "But this would also mean someone had to know Tobi would be alone."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning they had to have inside information. This is not something just anyone would know," Hashirama explained.

"But you said it's one of your brother's habits. Wouldn't it be possible for someone to figure it out on their own?"

Hashirama seemed to think about it for a moment before he shook his head. "It's not likely. At least I don't think it is. Our clan is rather… protective when it comes to our omegas."

"So what, you think it's impossible someone slipped up or was manipulated into revealing this information?" Madara asked. "It didn't have to be treason. An accident is a possibility."

It took a while before Hashirama spoke again, but when he did, he seemed resigned and tired, defeated almost, as if he had been keeping all of this to himself for far too long – as if the thought of someone from his clan was involved in this mess was unbearable.

"I… yes. Yes, I suppose that could have happened. Any of it, really," he said. "My brother, he's not exactly… liked. Or respected. Many disagreed with my decision to name an omega as my heir even though we're brothers and it was the most obvious choice. It's–” He paused and took a deep breath before continuing, “I hope it's not the case, but I wouldn't be surprised if someone had done this out of malice."

"You really think someone would be capable of that?" Madara asked, hardly able to wrap his head around what he was hearing.

"Yes," was Hashirama's simple and immediate answer.

The fact the other was so sure of it was equal parts shocking and chilling.

For obvious reasons Madara had no clue about the inner politics of the Senju clan, but he had always assumed their clans couldn't be all that different from each other.

Apparently he was wrong.

"Wait, you mean to tell me your people would rather see Tobirama harmed than in a position of power?"

Hashirama grimaced, chagrined, but nodded.

"Because he's, what, an omega?" Madara asked. He sounded incredulous to his own ears. "You can't be fucking serious…"

"It's not just because of that," Hashirama told him. "The circumstances surrounding my brother's birth… it's complicated."

"That's bullshit and you know it, Hashirama," Madara responded. "How do you expect us to actually succeed at establishing a village if that's what your clan believes in? Do you expect that my clansmen will bow down to this nonsense? That they will make themselves lesser just to appease alphas with too big an ego to see anything past the tips of their own fucking noses?"

"I don't! I would never—!"

"But you're making excuses for them!" Madara said hotly, interrupting him. "You're excusing behaviour that is frankly unacceptable to say the least and could have easily led to your brother going missing! How the fuck can you—"

In two steps Hashirama was right in his face. His hands twisted in Madara's mantle and there was only so much Madara could do not to respond by clasping his own hands over Hashirama’s wrist and squeezing to the point he knew it had to hurt.

"YOU THINK I DON'T KNOW THAT?" Hashirama screamed. He looked wild, as if he was one breath away from completely losing it. "You think I'm not aware how fucking crazy it all is? Do you think I haven't fought for it to change? To keep my little brother safe and happy? Why the fuck do you think I agreed to this marriage in the first place?"

Madara’s eyes widened.

"I want something better for him," Hashirama continued. "The way you speak about your clan and your pack… I know he will be happier with you than he will ever be if he stays. The Senju… They will honour the treaty, I can assure you of that. But as long as Tobirama remains a part of this clan he will not be respected by them and he will be neither safe nor happy."

"You put a lot of trust in my words," Madara said when he could find his voice again. “Some would say blind trust.”

Hashirama simply smiled before he let him go and stepped back once Madara released his hold as well.

"It’s not blind at all. I know you, my friend," he said. "Besides, can you deny I'm right?"

"Why does this feel like a trick question?" Madara asked in lieu of a response, which made Hashirama laugh.

"I promise you, it's not," he said, still smiling, and then added, "it's all about trust, Madara. It's the reason I asked you to meet me here. There's no one else I would come to with something like this."

For the life of him Madara had no idea what to say other than, "Well, you can count on me then, I suppose."

#mdtb #madatobi #tobimada #madara #tobirama #writing prompt #a/b/o au #kidnapped au #lossie writes #naruto #naruto founders #naruto fanfiction

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rabbitenn · 1 year

Note

Hii I read your last momo x reader and loved it so if it’s alright, could I request a romantic scenario about momo and the reader who had been an aspiring musician trying their best to reconnect with each other after momo ghosted them when becoming an idol? Maybe they used to date in the past and grew apart after momo discovered Re:Vale. I’m sorry if this is too specific I’m just in need of an angst to fluff😭🤍

RE: CONNECT.

In the end, it was always you and him.

ft. Sunohara Momose x gn! reader.

cw/genre: angst to fluff, romance. alcohol consumption (kids, don’t drink; adults, drink responsibly !).

hey lovely ! thank you sm for requesting and reading my other momo fic, I’m very happy you enjoyed that one <3 and omg don’t apologize, I really like this idea, we all love some good old angst to fluff hehe ~ I hope I managed to write this according to your expectations, dear 🩷 I’m very sorry for the long wait :((

Momo can’t really believe his eyes right now.

Of all places, this night bar was certainly not where he would have expected to find you again.

Not many people fill the worn out tables of the small local, the dimly lit stage casting you in yellow light.

Why were you here of all places?

You belonged in huge arenas, colored lights moving and changing with the notes you strummed on your guitar.

And yet, no matter how small the venue, everyone went silent the moment you started to play, your voice accompanying the melody your fingers strummed.

For the minutes you’re up there, Momo’s mind goes back five years, when he was just a college student with his soccer dreams shattered, and you were there to pick up the pieces, gluing them back together with the notes of your guitar.

He remembers, how you wanted to pursue a career in music… were your dreams scattered to the wind too, the moment he suddenly disappeared on you?

The music stops.

Momo takes a sip of his beer, almost choking on it in the process.

In the half light, your eyes meet.

—

This can’t be happening.

This really cannot be real.

Why now and why here?

Why is Sunohara Momose, your ex, who you have only seen on stage for the last five years, suddenly in front of you?

Well, is he even your ex, seeing how you didn’t exactly properly break up?

He just disappeared one day. No new texts, no new calls, nothing.

You were heartbroken, and really thought something had happened to him. Until one day, you saw Re:vale perform again.

And Momo was there.

You can’t let yourself show vulnerability now, however, so you keep walking towards him.

Why? You don’t really know, you don’t really think, but next thing you know you’re standing in front of him.

“Hey, [Y/n]… long time no see…” Your ex-boyfriend greets, awkwardly.

He hasn’t changed much, and the little differences aren’t new to you either, you’ve been seeing him on tv, on magazines, ads.

Everywhere except by your side.

You still hate yourself a little for thinking how cute he looks with pink on his cheeks, his sharp canines showing through his shy smile.

You loved that about him.

How he could brighten any room with his cheerfulness, but he could also get so bashful.

Maybe you still do love that about him.

Because as much as resentment and bitterness at his ‘disappearance’ found their way into your heart like a poisonous seed, you find yourself shifting back into old ways.

“Too long, hasn’t it?” Is your answer.

Your lips curve up into a sad smile, as you order a drink from a passing waiter, perhaps just to break the awkward silence.

“Yeah…” Momo mumbles, fuchsia eyes looking to the side. His hands tighten around his own beer, knuckles going white. He glances in your direction, just to find you already staring at the floor, not quite knowing how to carry a conversation that’s been put on hold for half a decade.

Your drink arrives. You nurse it for some moments, it’s larger than you had expected… but oh well, you might need the liquid courage anyway if you’re really here, sitting with someone who… well it’s complicated, you don’t know what he is to you right now.

As your lips graze the rim of the glass, Momo can’t help but reminisce in the way he used to feel them on his own, your hands in his hair, his around your waist….

No, he cannot linger on it now.

That’s over.

And it’s his fault.

He notices your guitar case, propped by your side.

“So, you still play?” He ventures. ‘Stupid’, he chides himself afterwards, ‘you’ve heard them play just now.’

However, his statement of the obvious is met with a sweet smile on your part, then shifting into something more woeful.

“Yeah… I do… It’s just… I was never able to… well, succeed…” You hang your head, hair falling in front of your face.

Momo’s eyes widen, either at your confession or at your state, he’s not entirely sure.

Probably at both.

But this isn’t good. He remembers all too clearly what happened the last time you got drunk.

He doesn’t want to see you getting sick again…

So, with a temptative motion, the idol reaches for your glass.

“[Y/n]…” He winces when he utters your name now. Just your name, not the cute pet names he used to come up with for you. “I think you’ve had enough…” Your ex-lover’s hand brushes yours when he tries to retrieve your glass.

“No!” You pout, dragging the drink back towards you.

“Come on, [Y/n], you’ll feel sick afterwards if you keep this up.” Momo tries, brows knitting together in concern.

“Won’t…” You slur, pulling your glass closer towards you, throwing your head back as you down its remaining contents in one go.

This would be a long night.

—

Effectively, after a while, you feel nauseous.

All you can register is the grey concrete of a dim lit street and walls covered in shadow.

And the feel of someone holding your hair back.

Your legs are going to give out from under you… this is bad… wasn’t someone telling you not to drink this much moments ago?

You should have listened.

Where is he now?

“Momo…” You mumble weakly, as you feel your vision going dark and all strength leaving you.

You never hit the floor.

Arms that used to hold you every night support you, your face against a shoulder that feels warm and comforting…

Maybe you’re delirious, or maybe you’d been longing for this feeling for too many years.

“Missed you…” Are your last words before your consciousness abandons you.

“Rest now, baby…” Momo whispers, a tinge of sadness in his voice, in his smile, as he hooks one arm under your knees, the other, around your shoulders.

—

You come to on a bed that feels both familiar and unknown.

Daylight pricks painfully against your bleary eyes the moment you push your covers away.

This t-shirt… you don’t remember having worn it in so long… You just know it belongs to someone you used to love, the print on its front from a band you used to listen to.

“Good that you’re awake…” A familiar voice utters nearby, its tone soft and full of concern.

A gasp leaves your lips when your eyes meet vibrant pink irises.

You suddenly sit up straight, pulling the covers closer around you.

You bring a hand to your head, the abrupt move clearly not good for your hangover.

“M-Momo?” You ask, as you look around and realize that, yes, this is, in fact, not your house.

“Good morning.” He smiles awkwardly, those damned small fangs too cute. “You… uh… were pretty drunk last night…”

Heat rises to your cheeks as memories of the pub come back to you, the too-big-beer and the fact you didn’t drink often, a deadly combination.

“I’m sorry for imposing.” You say, going to get up, realizing you’re not wearing any pants, the oversized t-shirt stopping just where your thighs begin. “I… where are my clothes?”

“I washed them, they should be dry by now.” Your host explains.

Wow, he went and washed them and all, when you know how he isn’t the best at keeping up with laundry.

“Uh… could you… bring them… I’m going to get changed and leave.”

“Are you sure you feel okay?” Those puppy eyes and that tone. They almost make you reconsider.

“I shouldn’t be here to begin with.” You let out. Then you click your tongue at yourself, realizing how ungrateful your statement sounded. “I mean, thank you for having cared for me, but I’ve caused you enough trouble.”

Your ex’s expression darkens, as he turns on his heel, retrieving your clothes from the bathroom.

You get dressed in a rush, pick up your belongings, and are out of his doorstep before things can get more awkward.

Momo stays there, back leaning against the door you just closed between you, wondering, is there a second chance for you two?

What he doesn’t know yet is that you’ll come knocking on his door soon enough.

You find out as soon as you get to your apartment complex, though, the elevator mirror showing back an oversized t-shirt that’s definitely not yours.

—

Why are you wearing your best clothes, and why are you fussing over whether your hair looks good enough and your makeup is alright, you can’t fully understand.

This is not some date, and even if it was, or rather, back when it could have been, it’s not like he hasn’t seen you with no makeup, sweats and messy hair.

You take a deep breath, before ringing his doorbell, hands clinging to the bag that contains the reason for this visit.

“Yeah? Who is it?” His voice comes from the other side of the intercom, and the stupid thought of wondering if you look decent through its camera crosses your mind.

You clear your throat.

“It’s me. I… I forgot to return something to you the other day…”

A sound announcing the door’s opening accompanies his “Of course, come in.”

You can imagine his tender smile just by hearing his voice.

No, you have to focus. You’re here to return his t-shirt, thank him for the other night, and then, leave.

You can’t let your heart fool you again, five years of solitude should have been enough for the moral of this story.

You can’t help but smooth your hair as your heartbeat quickens while the elevator goes up, and up, and maybe you wish it’d never stop.

But finally, this limbo suspended in mid-air stops, the doors opening with a ‘ding’, the door to his apartment already open.

“Hey.” Momo greets you, white hoodie and black sweats on, as his hand fiddles with the door handle, the bright azalea petals contained in his stare slowly falling to the ground as his gaze casts downward.

This expression… you remember memories archived in now yellowing pages, when your lips used to graze his cheek; words of praise for him, the lyrics to the love song you composed with the compliments you showered him in.

“Hi.” You breathe out, biting your lower lip, eyes averted to the side.

A few seconds of heavy silence pass, too many things you wish you could say now; too many years you’d like to have had by his side; too many things he wishes he could do differently now.

You shake your head, mustering a smile.

You realize it’s genuine, that you’re truly happy to be standing in front of him right now, right here, even if things can’t really go back to the way they used to be.

“This is yours.” You offer him the bag. “I left with it by accident the other day… I wanted to thank you for taking care of me that night too…”

The idol takes the package from you, surprise palpable in the way his gaze widens.

“Well, I’ll be on my w-“

“Would you like to come in?”

You two question at the same time.

You give him a sad smile.

“Momo I shouldn’t…”

“Please…” He practically begs you, like he used to ask for ‘one more!’ whenever you played songs for him on your guitar, under starry summer skies. “I- I need to tell you something! We- I want to talk to you…”

“Momo.” You call him, a bit stern. “You had five whole years to reach out…” You inhale deeply. “If it could wait that long then it’s not important, is it?”

“It is!” He goes to reach for you, but stops himself.

You won’t look at him.

Weren’t you happy a minute ago to be here? With him?

So why? Why do you pull away now?

“Please, [Y/n]… I- I was stupid, okay? When I joined Yuki and formed the new Re:vale… I wanted to do my best for him, in five years… And in so, I ended up neglecting you. I don’t know why I acted that way, I can’t understand why I let us drift apart… So please, let me fix it?”

You don’t know if it’s his words, the desperation his tone carries, or his pleading eyes, but you really can’t hold half a decade of pent-up emotions anymore.

“You idiot…” You mumble, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes. “Do you have any idea how worried I was? You just… might as well have vanished. Until I saw you on tv one day, and I knew you were okay…”

Arms that stopped your freefall just the other night wrap around you, rivers of lost time streaming down your cheeks, dewdrops of regret on his lashes.

“What are we, Momo?” You ask, voice a quivering crystal thread, holding on on sheer will power and a heart that never really stopped being his.

“Why don’t we find out again, baby?” Comes his reply, his term of endearment for you managing to curl your lips into a nostalgic smile. “[Y/n]? Go on a date with me?” Is the temptative question he utters in the privacy of just you and him.

With your face burrowed into his shoulder, and his fresh and musky scent surrounding you in new morning light, you know this is a one-answer question.

“I’d love that.” You say, as his hands cup your face, thumbing away your tears.

Your lips still won’t touch again.

But the night is young.

And many more will come after this one.

And for now, that is enough.

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